Page 15 of When the Merchant Met the Orc

“It’s beautiful.”

“I made it.” There’s a sweet pride in his tone.

“Really?”

“Aye. I apprenticed with a smithy in my youth.”

“Then why did you end up being a warrior?”

His lips purse, which makes his tusks more prominent. “I was trying to impress a female.”

I laugh.

Halvard runs a hand through his hair and takes another knife from his belt. His is a little larger and has a black handle. “Now, mimic my move here.”

He widens his stance, and I do the same. With smooth, slow movements, he holds the knife in front of him, slightly to the right.

“You’re right-handed, yes?” he asks.

“I am.”

With a nod, he continues. The knife slips through the air as he draws it in a horizontal line. He flips his hand over and moves it back again, flipping his wrist so he is back in that first position. I do my best to follow along with my knife, and we do this until I’m actually feeling it in my shoulder.

“Good. Let’s have you practice on me.”

“You sure you’re up for the risk?”

His eyes twinkle. “I can handle you, woman.”

A shiver travels down my body. Something about a male this big talking to me like this has the less practical side of me preening.

He talks to me about where to aim, and I go at him, nervous I’m going to cut him despite his confidence. But he stays back far enough that no contact is made.

“Good. Very good. You move very naturally.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not everyone is naturally graceful like you are. Were you a dancer at some point? Or into some sporting type of hobby?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s nice. I like teaching folks who seem built for defending themselves. It’s easier and more pleasant for all involved.”

“So if I were a clumsy mess, would you still teach me?”

His chuckle is deep. “I would,” he says, locking his gaze on me.

I tug at my corset, suddenly warm.

“Let’s work on another strike. Try this.” He pivots so we are facing the same direction and slides the knife through the airupward in a diagonal motion. Flipping his hand at the top of the invisible line, he drags the blade across an imaginary opponent's back across that same line. I try to do the same, but his frown says I’m doing it very wrong.

“Hmm. May I help you?”

He sheathes his knife. I stutter a yes as he slips behind me and wraps his hand around mine so we’re both holding the greengold blade. His body lightly presses into mine, and he feels even larger this close up. I’m a good two feet shorter than he is. He moves with me and helps me turn my hand the way he did in his demonstration.

“Relax.” His breath tickles the top of my head.

My heart hammers like I’ve had too much black tea. I attempt to breathe slowly and ease my shoulders away from my ears.