Page 29 of When the Merchant Met the Orc

I laugh and pinch his arm. His muscles tense, and he chuckles as we break apart for the third partner switch. But we don’t switch, and I have no complaints. I’d rather not have to make small talk with strangers. Halvard and I dance the pattern of movements with easy shifts of weight and touch. At the crescendo end of the song, his hand lingers on mine, his thumb tracing a scar on the outer edge of my thumb, near my palm.

“What’s that from?” he asks.

Everyone cheers as the reel ends. They tear off their blindfolds and toss them into the air. We do the same. The colors of Nocturne surround us like a magical storm, and I can’t help but grin in wonder at this gathering. The excitement of those around me is infectious, and I feel light and free.

Halvard nods toward the table, and we head back together.

“The scar,” I say, finally answering him, “it’s from cutting ginger root. I had trouble when I was first learning preparation skills.”

“Whoever stitched you up did a terrible job.”

I touch the uneven skin and laugh. “That was me too.”

“You sewed up your own wound?”

“I’m ambidextrous, so I’m good with both hands,” I say.

“Fascinating. I’ve never met someone with that ability.”

I remember the blood welling and the way I compartmentalized the pain and panic to fix the problem myself. “I was determined not to visit the healer.”

“Because you were worried about the pain of stitching?”

I shake my head. “Because I didn’t have a coin to my name.”

He gives me a wry grin. “I know how that feels. How long ago was that?”

“About eight years.”

The servers bring out trays of Nocturne sweets—sweet rolls with clove and cinnamon, maple syrup candies in the shape of dusk hollows, and small cauldrons filled with spun sugar that’s been flavored with oranges and lavender.

I chew my lip and look down at the array of treats the servers have set on our table. “This is a lot.”

Halvard’s eyes are shining as he rubs his hands together. “I’d say for festival season, it’s just right.”

I grab a sweet roll and bite into the soft warmth. It’s the perfect level of chewy.

Halvard has frozen and is staring at my mouth. He blinks and focuses on the treats. Lifting a hard candy to the flickering pillar candle in the center of our table, he studies the little shape.

“Is it a ghost?” he asks.

“I think so.”

He nods and pops it into his mouth. “Not bad,” he says around the candy, the gold ring in his lip sparkling in the candlelight.

We eat sweets until we’re both complaining about our stomachs and begging servers for water.

Laughing at ourselves, we leave the party and begin the short walk to the inn. The cresent sliver of the moon is bright in the starry sky; only a few clouds like spirits dance across the expanse of night. The air smells like sugar, trees heading into their seasonal rest, and the salt of the sea. I have the urge to take Halvard’s hand, and it’s so strong a pull that I tuck my hands into my pockets.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asks as a few shrub gryphons fly past.

“I’m meeting Osric for morning tea, remember? He’s going to show me around his office and warehouse here by the docks.”

“Sounds good,” he says, sounding like he feels exactly the opposite.

“You don’t need to come.” I should ask him directly not to join us, but honestly, I kind of want him there. The main part of town is fine, but by the water, well, I’ve heard stories that I want no part of. Halvard’s mention of danger yesterday reminded me of those tales.

“I most certainly do. Don’t worry. You won’t even know I’m there. I’ll have breakfast with Magnus, then catch up before you aim for the waterside.”