Page 48 of When the Merchant Met the Orc

“Here, Ma!” he stage whispers.

Halvard and I trade a grin. My cheeks heat as I imagine those tusks dragging along my inner thigh, so I sit quickly and focus on the flickering bonfire.

Halvard plunges into a ghost story about an orc who lived high in the mountains.

“Once upon a time, there was a young orc lad who lived high in the distant, foggy mountains where ghosts are known to dwell.”

Nate shivers in excitement and grins up at me.

Halvard continues. “The wind spoke to him every night until he stole a crystal from a sacred cave…”

Always a fidgeter, Nate picks at the straw and twirls a piece around his thumb over and over. He listens better when he keeps his hands busy. Another reason why Ivydowns is the school for him. They have the staff and training to teach him.

The ghost story goes on, but I’m too busy watching the way Halvard’s hands move as he talks to hear the details. He frowns as he describes the ghost appearing, and his lip curls over a tusk. I swallow and?—

“Hello!” a male voice whispers behind me.

I turn to see Osric, standing there in his usual business clothing. I am torn at the sight of him. I’m happy and I’m disappointed, both.

“May I?” he asks, indicating a space on the ground to my right.

“Of course.”

Halvard doesn’t seem to notice Osric, or at least he gives away nothing and simply goes on with his tale. Nate eyes Osric, his lips a flat line. I give Nate a nod, indicating I’ll introduce him properly once Halvard is finished with his telling.

The bonfire snaps, and Osric jumps back a bit, blinking. He gives me a sheepish grin.

“I’m not used to outdoor activities,” he whispers.

Nate rolls his eyes, brings his knees up, and hugs them to his chest as he stares at Halvard. Nate’s fingers move quickly as he taps a rhythm on his elbows.

I rub Nate’s back and nod at Osric to acknowledge the fact that Osric is out of his comfort zone here.

Halvard is ending the ghost story; his rising, dramatic tone gives it away. “…and though no one ever saw the orc lad of the mountains again, to this day, if you walk the dusky path to his old hut, you’ll hear him whisper a warning. ‘Listen to the wind. Honor the old magic.’”

It was a better choice than the tale of Bourin that Halvard relayed to me during our journey.

Nate leaps up to clap, and the other younglings join in the enthusiastic praise.

Halvard puts a hand on his chest and bows at the waist. “Glad you enjoyed it, lads and lasses. Now, I give up the telling to another. Who has a story to share?”

Cyrus sweeps in and slaps Halvard amicably on the back. “I can take a round, friend!”

“Just keep it youngling-friendly, Cyrus.”

The dragon shifter waves off Halvard’s concern and takes a seat. “This tale will teach you exactly zero things, younglings!” Cyrus begins his telling to a chorus of cheers.

Osric touches my elbow. “Do you think we could talk somewhere?”

“But the Twilight Telling is a big part of our Nocturne celebration.”

“You can’t leave now!” Nate whispers in a hiss.

I study Osric's slightly pained expression. “Let’s wait until Cyrus is through, all right?” I whisper.

“Of course,” Osric says.

When Cyrus wraps up his ridiculous ghost story about a large goat that turned into a dragon, Nate leans over and whispers in my ear.