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.”
“Well, I used to have a wolf dog.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot about him.”
“He was sixteen years old before he passed,” she says, happiness and sadness weighing her words.
“That’s impressive,” I say.
She sighs. “I will never stop missing him.”
“I understand. I had a pup when I was young,” I say. “Orcs don’t usually have pets. Orcish parents aren’t usually keen on having pets in the house.”
“I hate to admit this, but you’re the only orc I’ve ever really spoken to at length. Except for Batilda, but I’m pretty sure she isn’t your traditional orc.”
Our town gossip assuredly isn’t traditional. “My mother would have boxed my ears if I talked as openly about people as she does.”
“She means well, though.”
“I agree. My mother was strict, as most orcish mothers are. My father, too. They were good to me, though. I had plenty of love at home as a youngling. I still visit them from time to time. They live along the western coast.”
“What were some of your traditions as a child? Or a youngling, I guess I should say?”
“I consider the terms interchangeable. Let’s see. We told stories at the hearth on the full moon.”
“Like we do for Twilight Telling?”
Twilight Telling was a very popular portion of the Nocturne Festival. “Aye, very much like that, but usually, orcish tales involve some sort of ethics lesson.”
“Less fun then.”
I chuckle and nod. Twilight Telling stories are really only to scare everyone a little. It’s part of the whole Nocturne mood. “My father used to tell me the story of Bourin the Bold.”
“What was Bourin up to?”
“A lot, actually.”
“Do tell.”
“He stole his neighbor’s wife, then broke into the royal treasury to take back the taxes he’d paid the previous year.”
“Bourin had a bit of a breakdown, eh?”
“You could say so.”
“And what did young Halvard learn from this tale?”
“That if you are big and strong, you might get away with your crimes at first, but your wrongdoings will come back to haunt you later. Bourin went mad when the ghosts of his ancestors invaded his dreams and flooded him with shame.”
“Okay, I think you might be able to use that at Twilight Telling. Maybe juice it up a little with some visible ghosts and a curse or two?”
I laugh. “Noted. I’ll give it a whirl. Do you have a date for the Nocturne Festival?”
Rychell’s focus snaps to the road in front of us. “Halvard, I’m not looking for a relationship like that. Friendship, yes. But romance, no.”
I don’t flinch at her bluntness. I knew this was coming. The walls she had up were incredibly obvious.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything past having one night of revelry.”
“Do you mean a one-night stand?” she asks.
Another human term. I’d heard it enough at the pub to know the gist. “If that’s what you want.” I would do my best to turn that one night into a lifetime.
Rychell doesn’t answer, but she lifts a hand and tucks her hair behind her ear. Victory swells inside my chest. If Cyrus was right, that motion means she is interested. Even if part of her doesn’t want to be.