Page 23 of When the Merchant Met the Orc

Magnus laughs again and waves us into his home.

“This is a traditional orcish home,” I explain to Rychell. Her head is on a swivel as we enter the cozy abode. “The hearth is carved to represent the spirit of the forest.” Leaves, acorns, and twisting branches make up a large face whose open mouth houses the fire. “Orcs used to live in caves in the woods, so that’s why we keep it dark inside.”

“But the ceiling is nice and high,” Rychell says, eyeing the wooden beams twelve feet above us.

“Well, we aren’t a small people.”

“No, you are not.” She grins, and my heart flips over. I love making her smile. Perhaps if I can do that often enough, she’ll forget about stuffy old Osric.

Five younglings—some green like Magnus, some pale-skinned, all short and stocky—run through the room shouting playfully and tossing a leather ball.

“Stay outside!” Magnus bellows, his smile taking the edge off his command.

“We will, Papa!” they yell back. A door slams somewhere in the house.

Magnus looks to Rychell and gestures to the deep, wooden chairs by the fire. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Rychell sits and runs her beautiful, graceful fingers over the chair’s elaborate arms. Some of her fingertips are stained orange, red, and brown from all of her spice work. I wish I could kiss each one of them slowly.

“The four seasons are represented in most of our woodwork,” I say. “It’s a skill we’re taught from an early age.”

“The apple blossoms are very pretty and so detailed!” She points to the left arm of her chair. “What type of bird is this?”

Magnus hands us each a cup of sugar beet spirit. “That is the dawn bird, a common type of swallow that lives in the low trees of this area. Sip that carefully, now. Don’t down it all in one go. My Aila makes it as strong as her mate!”

Rychell looks to me, and I nod, sipping the traditional drink. It packs a punch. She drinks and then holds the cup out to stare at it.

“I’ve never tasted anything like this.”

“It’s made from sugar beets,” Magnus says. “Aila adds the juice of apples and molasses to sweeten it.”

Blinking, Rychell takes another sip, then sets the cup on the round table by her chair. We chat about our trip here and the market. Magnus finishes his spirit and leans back into his seat.

“So, how long have you two been together? I haven’t heard much from you these last months, Halvard.”

Before I can correct Magnus, Aila strides into the room. The light from the three round windows on the far wall dances across her pink wings. Her skin is nearly the same shade as her wings, a spring hue like that of a cherry blossom. She couldn’t be more opposite to Magnus in looks if she tried, but they both have what Tully the witch would call sunbeam vibes.

“Oh, we have guests!” With her fingers, she wallops Halvard across the back of the head. “Someone should have called for me immediately.”

Magnus chuckles and rubs a hand through his dark hair. “Apologies, my darling star.”

She bumps his shoulder with her hip as she flounces past him and takes Rychell’s hands in hers. She only glances my way. “Halvard, it is wonderful to see you in good health, but I just want to get to know your mate.”

“We’re not—” Rychell starts.

“Mates, yet? Ah, sorry. Well, potential mate anyway. I can tell you everything you need to know to prepare for your ritual with an orc.” She tugs Rychell up and sweeps her out of the room like a storm made of goodwill and soap bubbles.

Magus waves to them, then focuses on me. “When did you two meet? When do you plan to mate?”

I have to clear this up right away. “We are friends. That’s it.”

“No, you’re not.” Magnus taps his nose.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, we seem to both have a strong physical attraction to one another. Believe me, I’m trying to woo the woman. I adore her. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. Kind. Good to her son.”

“Son?”

“She isn’t with anyone. She adopted the little lad.”