Page 36 of When the Merchant Met the Orc

“You make it sound easy.”

“It is!”

I raise a hand and he lowers his voice.

“It is, though, cousin,” he says quietly.

Osric and Rychell are leaving their table. He holds out his arm for her to take, and I cringe as she accepts it.

“I have to go, Magnus.”

We set our empty mugs on the rectangular wooden table by the door.

“Thank you for meeting me,” I say.

Magnus hugs me tightly. “I’m cheering for you on this,” he whispers as Rychell and Osric open the tea house door.

“If you want to come to my place for Nocturne, you’re welcome, you know,” I say.

“Ah, I’ll ask Aila. What about the younglings?”

“They’ll have fun. Our town witch bespells brooms for all the wee ones to fly.”

“They’d love that. Thank you! Perhaps I’ll see you sooner rather than later, cousin.”

Magnus leaves me and greets Osric and Rychell. I stay a few steps back as the three of them make a bit of small talk about the weather and the best places to see the autumn tree colors around Honey Sands.

Soon, Rychell, Osric, and I are on our way toward Osric's warehouse by the docks. I continue to remain a few steps behind Rychell and Osric to give them privacy while they discuss their contract. The pale, thin trader uses a large skeleton key to open the door to his warehouse. Rychell walks inside, and Osric's hand goes to the small of her back.

“That should be your hand. Step closer,” a tiny voice says.

I spin to see the creature that evidently has been whispering in my ear all morning.

Osric is already describing items to Rychell, and I’m crossing the threshold, hanging back a bit more.

“Are you a cherub faerie?” I mouth out with very little sound. The creature flying in front of my face is silvery and moth-like.

“I am!” Her voice is so slight I can hardly hear it.

I’ve heard of these fairies, but I’ve never seen one. “You’re very pretty and I appreciate the interest, faerie, but please move on to another couple,” I say in the quietest whisper I can. Thankfully, one of Osric's employees is pushing a creaky wheelbarrow across the far side of the warehouse and covering my conversation with this little annoyance.

“Not a chance,” the cherub fairy says. She dissolves into giggles, then zips into the darkness of the roof beams.

I groan quietly, then catch up to Rychell.

Every time Osric's body brushes Rychell’s, I feel sick. With each minute she is still holding his arm, I feel a gut punch like I’m fighting Magnus—we boxed often as young lads.

But I can get through this. I can let her make this choice. I must.

Chapter 19

Rychell

Ican feel Halvard behind me, and it’s a toss-up whether I love the feeling of being protected or hate the sensation that he firmly disapproves of this potential merger between Osric and me.

Osric's spice warehouse is twice the size of the Goat and Dragon tavern at home. Wooden boxes, likely sealed against the damp, are stacked to the ceiling, and cities from around the world are painted onto the sides in bright shades of yellow and blue. Labels denote their contents—cinnamon, red cinnamon, dark cinnamon, and cloves. Sacks sewn shut display painted images of their contents. There are ten bags of peppercorns, like little black snowballs, orange calendula leaves, as well as thick and stubby turmeric roots. With the spices easily outdoing the dockside scent of fish, it smells wonderful in here.

“Do you have any purple turmeric?” I ask, wondering if the vampire I bought from earlier sourced his from Osric.