Chapter 11
Moerrven
As we approached the cozy cliffside village of Frostholm, I kept my eyes forward and a fraction to the left, because a fraction to the right, past the last row of houses, the land dropped away into the Greymere Gorge and the mountain road to Highmark beyond.
Or I assumed it was still visible, because my eyes were firmly focused on the little bakery next to the inn.
“Oh, civilization!” Sky sat up from where he had been sprawled across the wagon bench with his head in my lap. The movement jostled Poppy, who had been dozing on top of him. She chirped grumpily at him and went into her habitat. “Oh, good idea, Pops. Best keep you safely locked in your domain.”
I tried not to smile as Sky reached back and closed the door and double-checked the latch to make sure my cat was secure.
“Does this mean we get to sleep on a bed that isn’t the ground?”
“Yes, this is Frostholm,” I said. “A trading village. We can resupply and rest for the night.”
“Frostholm. Sounds cold. Is it cold? It doesn’t look cold.
” He was already standing on the bench, one hand on my horn for balance.
He did this now with a casual possessiveness that would confirm any rumors there might be about what he was to me without me having to tell any lies to anyone.
“It looks cute. It looks like a Christmas card. What’s that big building with the sign? ”
“The inn.”
I guided Clover down the main road into the village.
It was a pleasant place, Frostholm. I had passed through many times on previous journeys.
The buildings were sturdy troll construction, stone walls and slate roofs, with window boxes full of late-season herbs.
The market square had a handful of stalls selling produce, leather goods, and the dense seed bread that was a Clovermere specialty.
Sky hopped off the wagon before I had fully stopped it, which was becoming a habit of his, one he seemed agile enough to survive.
“I’m going to explore,” he said, already moving.
“We should secure a room first—”
“Room! Yes! You do that, I’ll be right back! I just saw something over there. Could I have some coins?”
He took my coin purse before I could reply, stole a few coins, shoved the purse back into my hands, and darted off.
I stood there weighing the purse. A responsible person would have called him back and delivered a short lecture on personal property.
But after experiencing his command during our second night of camping last night, I discovered I wanted to obey him in this, too.
And also, I wanted to know what it was that had lit him like a market lamp.
Probably more pastries. I put the purse away and elected to consider the theft an investment in my future pleasure.
I pulled the wagon around behind the inn, dealt with Clover’s tack, brushed her down, spoke to the stablehand about feed and water, paid for overnight stabling, and gathered our bags, packing Poppy up in her little wicker basket for ease of carrying. Sky had still not returned.
I went into the inn, where the innkeeper and his wife greeted me and told me supper would be served at sundown. I left our things on our beds and settled Poppy in a small pet kennel they kept for travelers. Still no Sky.
I wandered to the market square with my hands clasped behind my back and my eyes directed away from the eastern horizon.
I had not anticipated feeling sentimental about this village, though perhaps I should have.
“Moerrven!”
I turned. Sky was striding across the square, eyes bright and jaw set, wearing the look I had learned to associate with either delight or catastrophe, and sometimes both.
“Come look at this shop.”
“I need to—”
Sky planted his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes at me. “Come. Look. At. This. Shop.”
The moment I was within range, he seized my hand and pulled me through the square with the determination of a man on a sacred mission.
The shop was a saddlery, a perfectly respectable one, with leather harnesses hung on wooden pegs and bridles displayed in neat rows and a workbench where a stout troll woman was oiling a set of reins. Horse blankets, buckles, stirrups, and lead ropes filled the shelves.
And, on a rack near the window, hung a collection of riding crops.
“Look at these,” Sky said.
I couldn’t see what was so interesting about the riding crops. I’d never used one myself, but they were common for the disciplining of horses. Perfectly ordinary leather-handled crops with braided flails, designed for equestrian use and nothing else.
“They’re riding crops,” I said.
“They’re beautiful.” He picked one up and ran his fingers along the handle, testing the flex. “Feel how springy this is. This leather is incredible.”
“It is standard tack leather. For horses.”
“Mm-hm.” He gave the crop an experimental flick. The sound it made against his palm was crisp and sharp and my stomach tightened in a way that I chose not to examine.
“Sky.”
“What?” His expression was innocent. His eyes were not. “I’m shopping for Clover. She could use some encouragement.”
“Clover has never required a crop in her life. She is a gentle and cooperative animal.”
“Well, maybe I’m not shopping for Clover.” He flicked the crop again, and this time he was looking directly at me, and my ears went hot, because we were standing in a public shop in a village where people knew my name.
The shopkeeper glanced up from her workbench. Her name was Helda, if I recalled correctly, and I had purchased several leather goods from her over the years, a replacement bridle, a new strap for the carriage harness, that sort of thing.
“Moerrven Mossren! The great author!” She set down her oiling cloth and beamed. “Haven’t seen you in an age. Are you passing through?”
“A brief stop. We are—”
“And who’s this?” Her gaze moved to Sky with undisguised interest. Sky, who was still holding the riding crop and had arranged his face into an expression of charming sweetness.
“This is Sky. He is my—” The word caught. Traveling companion was accurate and insufficient. Soulmate rose to the tip of my tongue with a familiarity that alarmed me. “He is with me.”
Helda’s eyebrows rose. A smile spread across her face that contained an entire novel’s worth of subtext. “Is he now.”
She looked between us, the massive troll and the small, bright human holding one of her riding crops, and the smile deepened.
“Is he the one, then? Dagmarra mentioned you’d found someone. Well. I can see why you’re smiling more.”
I was not smiling. I was standing rigidly in a leather shop while my traveling companion brandished equestrian equipment with suggestive intent.
“I’ll take this one,” Sky said, holding up the crop. “And that one.” He pointed to a shorter, thicker crop on the top shelf. “And do you have anything in a, what would you call it, like a little flat leather paddle? For stubborn oxen?”
Helda nodded. “Got a nice one, good wrist weight. Intended for draft animals that won’t mind their drivers. Shall I show you?”
“Please,” Sky said, as if he were ordering wine at a fine establishment.
I stood motionless and examined a display of horseshoe nails with tremendous interest.
The draft paddle was a well-crafted piece of leatherwork, with a stiff handle, flexible head, and beautiful stitching.
It was designed for livestock management, so I could not say with certainty what Sky needed it for.
It probably wasn’t anything sex-related.
He probably had livestock back in San Jose.
Sky held it up, wiggled his eyebrows, and met my eyes. “This looks fun.”
I excused myself to wait outside because the shop was too warm and also I was going to say something inadvisable. I stood in the square and breathed the cold air and did not look at the gorge.
Bryndala would have laughed. The thought arrived without permission, sharp and specific: I could picture Bryndala standing in this square, watching me panic over a human with a riding crop, and laughing until she had to sit down.
She had always said I needed to loosen up.
For a moment she felt near enough to touch, and guilt came with her, quick and cold, that I could be this wrapped up in a human, thinking of his hands and his laugh with her memory standing right there. I pushed it away. It went more easily than it once would have, and that was its own small guilt.
As Sky emerged from the shop with a wrapped parcel under his arm and a grin that could only be described as predatory, I wondered if Bryndala would have approved of Sky. Not as a lover, of course, but as a friend.
“I got the paddle,” he said. “And two crops. And some very nice leather cord that Helda said was for tying down cargo loads, but I have other plans.”
“Why do I fear your plans?”
“You shouldn’t. I have the best plans.” He bumped his shoulder against my arm and the knot in my chest loosened. “Come on, let’s go find our bed.”
The inn was called The Greymere River Inn. It was clean, warm, and run by a cheerful troll couple who took evident pride in the place. The moment we stepped inside, I realized Sky had not considered a bunkroom a possibility.
Sky stared at the row of narrow wooden bunks with their thin mattresses and communal wool blankets. Four other travelers were already installed, two orc merchants playing cards at a table in the corner, and a pair of elven pilgrims reading on adjacent bunks.
“This is a hostel,” Sky said.
“I don’t know what that is, but this is efficient. Frostholm is a small village.”
“A hostel. With bunk beds. And roommates.”
“The beds have mattresses. Remember how you were waxing poetic about mattresses on our second night of camping?”
“But our second night of camping also included giving you training in the art of blow jobs! How am I supposed to continue that here?”
I glanced around at the other guests. “For once I’m glad you use that strange idiom. Hopefully they all believe you’re talking about explosive work as I first did.”
Sky snickered. “It’s explosive if you do it right.” Then he frowned and looked around. “Where is Poppy?”
“The innkeeper keeps a separate accommodation for pets.”
“This looks worse than my Chinese-American summer camp where we could only speak Mandarin.”
“I do not know what summer camp is, or Mandarin, but I intend to get a good night’s rest. You’re on the bottom, and I’m on top.”
Sky giggled. “Oh, am I?” Then he dropped onto his bunk and bounced experimentally. The frame creaked. “How do we get a good night’s rest without…” He glanced at the orc merchants, who had gone back to their game. “Explosions.”
“Surely you can survive a single night.”
“Not now that I had plans. They are swirling around in my brain and I can’t execute them!” He leaned back on his elbows, sprawled on the narrow bunk, practically dainty against the troll-sized pillows. How could something so cute and small have me so tied up in knots?
“Perhaps,” I said, lowering myself onto the bunk opposite his and ignoring the creak of wood under my weight, “you could save your plans for an establishment with private rooms.”
“When’s that?”
“Perhaps in the next town. I have not been there, so I’m not sure.”
I unpacked and organized our gear, setting aside what we would want for the night, then pulled up a stool to sit next to him. Sky sat cross-legged on his mattress with the resigned air of a man whose evening had not gone to plan.
“If I don’t keep myself distracted, I worry,” he whispered after a moment. “About Pip. About my mom. She totally freaks out if I don’t call, and it’s been days!”
I reached for his hand and gave it a little squeeze, heart breaking for him. “What if you spend the evening planning the use of those, er…” I glanced at the elves on their bunks. “Implements that you bought. A plan you can execute most thoroughly as soon as we are alone.”
His smile returned as quick as it had faded. “I do have ideas. Can I whisper some of them to you?”
Through the window, the last of the daylight caught the mountain ridge to the east, and I did not look at the gorge. And Sky leaned in and whispered, “How do you feel about pain? Measured, controlled, designed to perfectly extend your ecstasy.”
I sat back, ears hot, and huffed out a breath, folding my hands over my lap. “Well. I’ll be sitting here for a few minutes to keep you company.”
“Because you like the idea?”
“Because I very much do not want to put my body’s reaction to the idea on display!” I whispered back, and he burst out laughing, leaning forward and kissing my cheek.