Chapter 22
Pip
By day two, I’d found my system: I sat sideways in Aeldryc’s lap, his chest and arm curled around me, leaving my hands free to crochet.
Bram’s walk was steady enough that my hands could work the yarn without too much wobble, and Aeldryc’s body was warm and solid and shaped exactly right for leaning on, which I was beginning to suspect was his primary function in the universe.
Behind us, Periwinkle carried luggage contentedly. I was sure he was perfectly happy to be carrying fifty pounds of bags instead of a hundred and fifty of adult human.
“What are you making, sweetheart?” Aeldryc asked.
“A scarf.”
“For whom?”
“Periwinkle.”
He made a weird choking sound, like he was hiding a laugh. “The horse does not need a scarf.”
“Everyone needs a scarf. Don’t worry, I’ll make you a scarf, too.”
He snorted. “I was not worried.”
“Were too. But it’s okay, baby. I know you worry.”
He shuddered in that pleased way he did when I called him baby…or sir. I kept crocheting, working through a skein of lavender yarn from Lyriel’s stash. It was a simple pattern I could do blind, because looking down on a moving horse meant motion sickness.
My arm grazed Aeldryc’s stomach, and his breathing changed. It was subtle—a slight deepening, a tension in the chest behind me—but I was learning to read his body the way I’d learned to read yarn tension.
Four Grey Guard rode ahead of us in a loose formation. Thyren the Darkwater and Oeryth the Blackgale at the front, with Sylavael and Daeryn behind them. They were close today, and gave us no privacy.
“Your human appears to be knitting,” Thyren called as he slowed to ride alongside us.
“Crocheting,” I called back.
Stone-faced, Oeryth the Blackgale turned in his saddle, his gaze traveling over us.
“The human has domesticated you, Commander.”
“Careful, Blackgale.”
“You’re carrying him like a parcel. A scarf-making parcel. And you called him sweetheart.”
Thyren studied the horizon with too much focus, probably trying not to laugh.
“I can have any of you reassigned to the northern border, counting snowflakes,” Aeldryc said.
“Yes, Commander.”
“And Periwinkle deserves nice things,” I said.
A beat of silence.
“Is Periwinkle the horse?” Thyren asked.
Thyren turned back to the road, shoulders shaking.
Aeldryc’s arm tightened around my waist. The corner of his mouth did that familiar thing, trying hard not to smile and failing.
He kissed the top of my head. I lifted my face to his and accepted a full, open-mouthed and delicious kiss that made me lose count of my stitches.
“You’re cute,” I said, combing my fingers through his hair.
He groaned and pressed his face into his hands.
“Not at all a shadow daddy like I thought. Much too sweet.”
“I am not sweet.” Aeldryc nipped my ear before I could start listing the ways he was sweet in front of his men.
The landscape roughened, neat farms giving way to rocky hillsides and rivers brown with spring melt. Trees leaned close over the narrow road, their canopy turning the midday light dim and green.
“Sorrend is ahead,” Aeldryc murmured, his voice close to my ear. “We’ll stop at the inn for the night.”
I stashed my crochet project and sat up straighter.
The road descended into a shallow valley, crossing a stone bridge before rising into a town nestled between two hills.
Everything about it was built on a larger scale: stone buildings with thick walls and heavy doors in impossibly tall frames.
Through a tavern window, I saw chairs wide enough for two of me.
As we passed a blacksmith’s forge, a massive troll hammered a glowing piece of metal with a force that seemed to shake the ground.
“Are trolls dangerous?” I asked, suddenly worried that Sky was not okay. “Like would one of them… eat Sky?”
Oeryth burst out laughing. “Trolls are mostly vegetarian, and pacifists. More likely to bore you to death with their latest literary work than eat you.”
Thyren shook his head. “Boring? Troll prose is some of the finest in the land.”
“Finest at putting you to sleep,” Oeryth muttered. Their argument faded as we rode up to the inn, where a troll woman with tree-trunk arms and an unimpressed face watched our approach.
The innkeeper took our coin and assigned us to three rooms. A boy was dispatched for our bags.
“I’m starving.” I tugged toward the common room after we’d set our things in our room.
“You ate an apple an hour ago.”
“That was an hour ago. I’ve lived a whole life since then. I’ve suffered.”
The common room was warm, loud, full. A long communal table was packed with a mix of trolls, fae, and humans, while in a corner, a group of dwarves argued with passionate gestures.
A woman in travel clothes arm-wrestled a troll and lost cheerfully.
Another dealt cards to a mixed table where everyone was cheating equally.
Seeing other humans in Qoksmere was still a strange thrill, but since nobody looked twice, I clearly wasn’t the only one.
Two trolls looked up.
The one on the left was enormous: dark gray, like wet slate, with a heavy brow and a wide jaw that looked like it could crack stone.
His horns swept back the way a ram’s do, and his bare arms had the kind of muscle that comes from actual work, not a gym.
His hands were the first thing I really registered: each one big enough to wrap around my skull.
The one on the right was leaner, though leaner was relative.
He had blue-gray skin, polished horns curving upward, a thick beard braided through with copper beads.
He was, objectively, handsome. He was also watching me the way you’d watch something you weren’t sure was real, his warm brown eyes open and unhurried, taking inventory.
“Evening,” the dark gray one said. His voice was deep enough to vibrate in my chest.
“Good evening,” Aeldryc said.
“I’m Brogan,” the dark gray one said, nodding to the blue-gray one. “This is Davik. My husband.”
“Nice to meet you!” I said cheerfully, shaking each of their hands. “How do you come to be at this fine establishment?”
Davik lifted his ale. “We’re merchants on the trade route from Murkholm east. This is a regular stop for us.”
“Well, I’m Pip. And this is Aeldryc.”
Brogan’s eyes caught the Grey Guard insignia. His eyebrows rose. “The Lord Commander of the Grey Guard?”
“He’s… off duty at the moment. Just relaxing.”
“And you’re his—?” Davik read the way Aeldryc’s thigh pressed against mine, my hand on his knee.
“Partner.” I liked it when Aeldryc called me that. At this rate, I was going to embroider it on a pillow.
Food came: stew thick with root vegetables and meat so tender it dissolved; bread dark and nutty; ale bitter and smoky. I only took a few sips, not wanting to get drunk.
The talk flowed as easily as the smoky ale, and I settled into the warmth of the fire, feeling more relaxed than I had in days. I learned they’d been together eight years, ever since a fateful meeting at a market where Davik’s aggressive haggling had somehow made Brogan fall instantly in love.
“He drove the hardest bargain I’d ever seen,” Brogan said. “I had to marry him or go bankrupt.”
“You’d go bankrupt either way. Such a softie,” Davik said.
“Being kind gets you repeat customers!”
They bickered like a couple who’d turned arguing into a love language. Brogan was loud with big gestures and a friendly demeanor; Davik was dry and sharp, with a deadpan smile and a wicked sense of humor.
Aeldryc relaxed, his rigid bearing gradually softening as we talked to the couple. He leaned back and drank his ale. When Brogan joked about troll roads, Aeldryc’s dry comment about infrastructure spending made them howl.
After second round arrived, Aeldryc produced the sketch and asked them if they’d seen Sky.
It was a charcoal drawing by one of the palace artists, skillfully rendered from a rough sketch I’d made of Sky. The artist clearly had a better eye for faces than I did. It wasn’t perfect, but close enough: the sharp jaw, the messy hair, and that slightly-too-confident grin.
“Looking for this human,” Aeldryc said, sliding the sketch across. “His name is Sky, and he’s friends with my…er… with Pippin.”
I elbowed Aeldryc, wondering what he’d been about to call me.
They studied the sketch together; Brogan tilted it toward the firelight as Davik leaned in, their horns nearly touching.
“Haven’t seen him,” Brogan said. “But I suppose that’s not saying much.”
“Not like we pay attention,” Davik added.
Aeldryc took the sketch back, expression neutral. I saw the frustration beneath: jaw tight, fingers folding the paper with too much precision.
“If we see him, who do we contact?”
“The Grey Guard at Feravael. Any county garrison will relay it.”
Brogan nodded, then smiled at me, patting my hand. “Hope you find your friend.”
“Thank you. If you do happen to see him, could you let him know we’re looking? He might not realize I’m here, too.”
Dinner arrived, and the conversation lapsed into a debate about some troll book that I knew nothing about that was taking the literary world by storm.
I tuned them out, watching the other patrons, both troll and human, as they interacted.
No one seemed at all bothered by the giant guys with horns wandering about.
When I tuned back in, they were talking about a popular adventure romance story. Aeldryc admitted he hadn’t read it.
“You should,” Brogan said. “The love interests are both male, and there are some sexy scenes between them.”
I perked up. “Sexy how?”
“Now you’re listening?” Aeldryc asked. I stuck my tongue out at him.
“The couple explores sharing, and it’s devastatingly sexy,” Davik said. “Ever since we read it, Brogan and I have been experimenting with the same sort of fun.”
“Have you?” Now it was Aeldryc’s turn to perk up. “What sorts of fun?”
“We’ve found it’s best to fuck other couples,” Brogan said, leaning forward. The table creaked. “No jealousy, everyone goes home to his own partner, but we get to have a little fun along the way.” His brown eyes were warm, direct, unashamed. “If you’re interested.”
Aeldryc’s hand found the silver chain at my throat. One finger hooked beneath it, and I felt the pull of it low in my stomach. The touch meant what it meant. He was considering it, already seeing how to orchestrate the encounter.
“Pippin?”
I took in Brogan’s broad, kind face and his massive hands, then Davik’s lean jaw and polished horns as his arm draped behind Brogan. They were stunning, in love, and asking without shame.
“God, yes.”
Brogan grinned, and Davik’s mouth curved. Aeldryc’s finger tightened on the chain, and cutlery hummed.