Chapter 11
Rychell
Halvard eyes the captains, his gaze bright in the dark, reminding me that he can see at night nearly as well as he does in the daylight. There’s so much I don’t know about orcs, but I do recall that fact now.
“Do you have business here?” he asks.
My stomach twists. He is going to be grouchy about my answer.
We pass a captain wearing an eye patch who is sharing tea with a merchant cloaked in green. Part of their conversation carries over the echoing sounds of the market outside.
“…and if we hadn’t had that magical storm last year, prices would be different. But you must include my risk and the well-being of my crew…”
“I’m meeting Osric at the last table,” I say, finally answering Halvard.
“Oh. Of course.” Halvard’s tone is dark.
I glance at him. “You can enjoy the market on your own while I meet with him if you like.”
“Not a chance. Unless you are ordering me away as my employer.”
I give him a flat look. He is being ridiculous. “Osric isn’t dangerous.”
“How do you know? He could drug you with a cup of tea, Tully style, and have you on his ship and gone before anyone was the wiser. There are boats docked just there.” He nods toward the end of the corridor, where the view of the crowded docks is visible in the bright sun.
He’s referencing what Tully the witch did to get Laini and Rom together. Thankfully, Tully was sternly rebuked for her behavior and has promised never to dose anyone with love potion without consent again.
“But it’s crowded,” I say. “Osric wouldn’t get away with hoisting a sleeping woman to his boat without suffering some questions from the good folks in Honey Sands.”
“He would if he were good at making up a story. My wife here had a bit too much at her brother and his partner’s house today. Poor lass,” he says, using his version of Osric's voice.
I bark a laugh. “That’s actually such a good impersonation of him.”
We work to stop snickering as we find Osric's table. The merchant greets us cordially, and we chat about simple things like the weather, meeting Archer Darkheart, and if we plan on attending the pre-Nocturne party this evening. Osric isn’t going; he has to leave on a short sail down the coast to investigate a crop of lavender he plans to buy.
“Before I go, can we set a date to meet again? I’d like to visit your town since, as discussed, we could live part-time there.”
Halvard’s practically boiling behind me. Somehow, I can feel his displeasure. But thankfully, he keeps it to himself.
“How about we meet on Nocturne in Leafshire Cove? The festival takes place in the main square, so you can’t miss it. Meet me an hour before dusk at the dessert table.”
Osric accepts the information and nods, smiling. “Have you ever studied the origin of Nocturne?”
“I haven’t, but now I want to,” I say, feeling excited.
“Perhaps we can make a study of it together?” Osric's thin eyebrows lift.
“I’d like that very much.”
“Good,” Osric says. “I’ll see you then, and we can discuss more about the similarities and differences in our hometowns’ celebrations.”
My mind churns around the etymology of the word nocturne. I love that Osric is interested in trivial subjects. I’m the same way.
The trader looks up at Halvard, a tinge of worry in his eyes. “I would invite you to join us at the Nocturne festival, but of course, that wouldn’t quite make sense, would it?” He laughs.
I chuckle along with him, feeling oddly like a traitor.
Halvard’s nostrils flare slightly, but other than that, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Thank you, Osric. I’ll be quite busy at the pub, I imagine. Festivals bring in travelers by the wagonload.”
Halvard isn’t coming to the festival at all?
“Aye, that’s true here as well,” Osric says.
“The market is rather crowded now.” He leans past me and looks out the other end of the corridor.
“Listen. Why don’t we meet before then as well?
We could have tea at The Steaming Kettle.
It’s on the north side of the market on the main road.
You can’t miss it. Ten in the morning sounds all right?
After that, I will take you on a tour of my warehouse near my docks. ”
I try very hard to ignore Halvard’s looming presence.
“That would be wonderful,” I say, pleased that Osric is interested enough in our potential partnership to show me his place of business.
“See you then,” Osric says.
Halvard and I say goodbye, the orc’s words far more terse than I wish they were.
The sun pours onto our heads as we exit the tunnel, and we charge back into the busy marketplace.
Halvard picks out a few apples and two meat pies for us, then we find a quieter spot to sit by the sea.
The sand is soft and white; boulders dot the area and make for a perfect set of table and chairs.
The pie is lovely—sage, squash, and sausage fill the flaky shell.
Halvard drinks from his waterskin, and eyebrows lifted in question, hands it to me. I accept it and down a swallow of cold water.
“I’m off to visit my cousin once we’re done here, if that’s all right,” he says.
“Of course.”
“I’d love for you to meet him if you’d like to. You can learn more about orc culture. But a warning. He has an absolute bevy of younglings, and I think you’ll love meeting Aila, his wife.”
I don’t have anything else to do at the moment. We have all day until the party. “If we can drop off our purchases at the inn and check on Tamar first, I’m in.”