Page 8 of When the Merchant Met the Orc

“I’m going as Romulus!”

Rom is our town gargoyle, the one who shields us from magical storms.

“You’ll look great as a gargoyle, Nate,” I say. “Who is going to make your wings?”

“Kaya said that Laini could do it.”

I trade a smile with Rychell. Laini is the town weaver and Rom’s mate.

“I’m sure she will, darling.” Rychell sets Nate on the driver’s bench and begins to climb in beside him. I offer a hand up. “Thank you, but I’m fine,” she says, not taking the offer.

I lower my hand, trying not to show how disappointed I am. I would have loved to feel those slim fingers curling around my larger ones.

Once I’m seated behind the driver’s bench with Sio, the oregano, and the empty crates and straw-wrapped vials, Rychell wiggles the reins to get Tamar going.

Kaya bursts from the front door with a greeting to Rychell. Nate squeezes his mother’s arm, then shimmies off the side of the wagon like a lizard. Sio jumps down and meows.

Kaya hugs Nate and waves at me. “Want a cinnamon roll for the road?”

“What person in the world would saynoto that?” I ask.

Kaya holds up a paper-wrapped treat to me.

I happily accept the warm roll. “Thank you.”

She gives one to Rychell, too, who smiles in gratitude. With one last wave at Nate, who is perched inside the bakery at the bay window, we begin our journey together.

Hopefully, this is also the beginning of a deeper relationship.

Chapter 4

Halvard

Rychell appears to be deep in thought, so I leave her be. She doesn’t speak until the town walls are well behind us.

“We will need to stop every once in a while to water and rest Tamar,” she says.

“Of course.”

“Would you be willing to teach me some sword techniques when we have time?”

I blink. Is that what she was pondering? “I guess I could.”

“If you don’t want to,” she says, “it’s fine. I have no experience at all. I don’t even have a sword. I’ve never even held a sword.”

“It might be wiser to start with a knife,” I say.

Honest curiosity shines from her blue eyes. “Why is that?”

Blessed Stones, but she is pretty. “Because swords are heavy and knives are easier to hide,” I say.

“Sneakier and smarter. I like it,” she says.

I snort a laugh. “Thought you might.”

“I don’t have one, though.”

“You don’t? You should always have a knife with you,” I say. “You’re too lovely to go around without a weapon.”