Page 1 of When the Merchant Met the Orc

Chapter 1

Rychell

Ireach high and point to a plum-colored book,Spices and Edible Plants of the Eastern Veiled Kingdoms, sitting on my small library’s back shelf. The book shimmers with golden magic, slides from the bookshelf, and lands gently in my lap. The pages shush against one another as I open the tome. I lean back in my emerald green armchair by the fire. Our town witch bespelled the library as a gift to the last person who lived here. As a human, I will never stop being impressed by her and her power.

My library is one of the most perfect places in the world. The way the dust motes dance in the sunlight from the window. How cozy I feel surrounded by full-to-bursting bookshelves. The particular brand of quiet here. It’s exactly as I want it to be.

I chew the inside of my cheek as I flip through the illustrated pages of the spice text to decide what I need to purchase during my trip. The book smells like garlic; I shouldn’t have left it in my spice room last week.

Turmeric, I have. Hmm. Arrowroot? I do need more of that, I think. I’ll check. Yarrow. Wolffang mushroom. Ooo, maybe.

Pushing my hair behind my ears and thinking, I look up at the sun streaming in.

My son bursts into the library, hair in all directions and his pixie wings—the same blue as his skin—fluttering behind him. “It’s almost time for the herald’s broadsheet. Get ready for morning reading!”

Before I can answer him, he flashes his smile—missing two teeth at the front—and disappears into the kitchen. Nate is my little western wind, wild and free. The best day of my life was the day I adopted him.

I lift the quill from the small table near my favorite chair, dip it into the inkwell, then scribble the rest of my list.

Cardamom, ginger, sandalwood. Vanilla, starspice, and leafeen.

“Your handwriting is bad, Ma.”

I jump and realize Nate has returned. He rubs his eye with one small fist and holds the day’s news sheet with the other.

“So horribly bad that it hurts to look at?” I say dramatically, putting a hand to my chest like he’s stabbed me through the heart.

He grins and laughs. “No, Ma. Notthatbad. Just not as good as most adults.”

I set the spice book aside and pull him into my lap, the herald’s broadsheet crinkling between us.

“Blessed Stones, you are getting heavy,” I say.

He nods against my shoulder and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “I’ve been eating extra scones at the bakery.”

I ease him to a sitting position in my lap and study his face. “Are you going to be fully grown by the time I return?”

He giggles. “Probably. Mistress Kaya spoils me.”

The baker adores him. “Truer words have never been spoken.”

“But don’t make her stop, Ma.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You’ll be okay with her, right? Are you worried at all?”

Usually, I take him with me to fetch more spices to sell at the market. My upcoming journey to the port is the first step in my plan to expand my business so I can pay for Nate to attend Ivydowns. The specialized school has a tutor for each student, and they teach using the student’s interests. Nate has difficulty paying attention, so Ivydowns means the difference between him failing and thriving. But the special school isn’t cheap. I’ll have to get my hands on more exotic spices to sell as our town grows and competition blooms.

Nate nods, and his hair flops across his forehead. “I will be very fine,” he says. “Mistress Kaya said I’m going to take care of the maplecats.” Holding up his hand, he counts off. “Water. Food twice a day. Tidy up shed hair. Make sure they aren’t underfoot when she’s baking.”

“Wonderful. You’ll be grand at that, I’m certain.”

Wearing a proud smirk, he leans back and studies my face. There’s a flicker of unease in his eyes. “There aren’t any ruffians on the road to the coast, are there?”

My heart cinches. Ever since he heard that ridiculous story about the thieves and the talking goat—a story fabricated in the moment—he’s been obsessed with the wordruffians.

“I’ll be fine, love.”

Nate eases the broadsheet out and spreads it on his lap. I watch over his shoulder as he skims a line with his index finger. We read together every morning, even on market days when we sell spices to our fellow Leafshire Cove townsfolk.