Chapter 3
Halvard
Iwalk through town, enjoying the carved gourds—dusk hollows—set about.
At the pub, we usually carve six so there’s one at every entrance, including windows.
They flicker with candlelight. It’s an old tradition for Nocturne, designed to help the visiting spirits find their way into their loved ones' homes to bless them.
My mind wanders back to what Rychell said about our contract. I wish she would relax and trust me.
The longing to take care of her thrums through me like a ballad.
I can imagine knotting her hair on top of her head and massaging her shoulders and neck.
She doesn’t have anyone to do that for her.
I would be completely content weeding her kitchen garden and tending to Tamar so she could nap, read, or research her heart out.
And then, in the evening, I’d take her to bed and find her favorite ways to be touched.
I’d whisper my love into her ear and show her with my hands and my body how treasured she is.
I want to be the one who cracks that icy surface and brings the warmth hiding inside her into bloom.
Cyrus waves his scaled, green hand in front of my face. “Halvard!”
I trip on an uneven cobblestone. “Oh, hi.” He looks worried. “What’s wrong?”
My dragon shifter boss snorts a laugh and leads me into his pub, The Gold Coin. “I think you’re the one who needs to answer that. Did you hit your head, friend?”
I shove him gently. “Shut it, dragon. I’ve been at Rychell’s.”
“Ah, yes. She gets you hot and bothered with one cold look, doesn’t she?”
“She’s not cold.”
“I don’t mean it like that, really. She’s kind and clever. She’s just, well, she’s very professional,” Cyrus says. “I should probably be more like her.”
I laugh and help him clear up some dishes from the bar area. The sun comes in through the windows and the place smells like fresh bread. It’s a great place to work. Lots of fun and solid money, too.
Cyrus opens the coin box and counts out the coppers to be sure we can continue to make change for customers today. “Why were you at Rychell’s?”
“I’m going to be her bodyguard for her trip to Honey Sands.”
Eyebrows lifting, Cyrus studies my face. “She isn’t the only clever one, eh? That will be a perfect setup.”
“I can’t say I didn’t think of the possibility of getting to know her better.”
“She gets a safe journey, and you get time with your crush,” Cyrus says.
I grin. “Exactly.”
“Does she seem to be interested at all yet?”
“I love that yet you added in there,” I say.
He nods. “You’re welcome.”
“As you know, she is not the flirting type, so there’s no way to know.”
“Watch for her touching her hair or her lips,” Cyrus says.
“Really? That’s a thing?”
“It definitely is.”
“All right. I don’t know why I would question the playboy of the town,” I say, teasing him with the human term.
Chucking, he leaves the bar area and heads toward the kitchen. “As I said, you’re a clever fellow.”
The next morning, I put my sheathed sword on my back, my shield too, and then I walk to Rychell’s.
She is already setting up the wagon and her horse, Tamar.
She buckles a strap and looks up with a smile.
My stomach flips like she’s the first female I’ve ever seen.
Tamar huffs a hello, and I run a quick hand down her snout.
“Good morning, ladies,” I say, trying not to stare at Rychell’s lovely profile. “How can I help?”
“Morning,” Rychell says, her curious gaze taking in the hilt of my sword over my shoulder and the curved top of my shield. “I sent Nate on to Kaya’s. We’ll stop there before leaving, all right?”
“Sounds good.”
“Will you grab that sack there?” She nods toward the closed front door of her home, where a large bag sits.
While I lift the sack of what smells like dried oregano, Rychell tucks a small chest under the driver’s bench in the front of the wagon. I set the oregano in the back and take a minute to check the wagon’s wheels.
“They’re all right, aren’t they?” she asks. “I had that one replaced over the summer.”
“It’s fine. I’m only checking out of habit. It was part of my duties when I was in the king’s army.”
“I didn’t know you had been in the army.”
“Aye. That’s why I teach sword lessons. Making some use of my skills to help our folks stay safe.”
“I never really thought about warriors making sure cart wheels are sound.”
“Soldiers of the king are required to do everything one normally does on a journey. We were constantly traveling back then. To the southern border, to the north. On and on. And it’s not as if we have employees of any kind. It was all up to us.”
“What else did you have to do during your time working for the king?”
Her curious face, all bunched eyebrows and pursed lips, is completely adorable.
“Well, fighting, obviously,” I reply.
“What were your strengths and why are you grinning?”
“I enjoy the way you dive into conversations.”
“What do you mean?”
We climb into the wagon. She takes the driver’s bench, and I settle into the back of the open-topped cart. I remove my sword and shield and set them down beside me—within easy reach. Once Tamar is clomping along the cobblestones, I finally answer Rychell’s question.
“What I meant was that most folks warm up with some small talk. The weather. Friends and family updates. But not you. You take a different tack.”
“I suppose I do. I get bored talking about the weather and how everyone’s grandmother is.”
I bark a laugh. “Love that honesty, too.”
Her lips quirk up slightly at the corners, and her gaze flashes across my face. Then her half-grin falters, and her eyes pinch. “You don’t have to talk about your past. Sorry if I was being too nosy.”
We cross the market and are almost to Two Cats Bakery.
“I don’t mind at all,” I say. “I don’t miss my former life as a warrior, but I was lucky enough not to be too scarred by it. I am not sure if that makes me less of a person.”
“Certainly not. We don’t get to choose how our hearts deal with horrible situations.”
“Well, I didn’t mind cutting down the bands of criminals who pillaged the borderlands. I hated every second of the war, though.”
She chews her lip and finishes adjusting Tamar’s reins. “I can imagine.”
“My strength is with the sword.” I tap the hilt of my weapon. It’s strapped to my back, a familiar weight after so many years of fighting before I came to Leafshire Cove.
Rychell stops Tamar with a tug on the reins, and we climb out of the wagon and start toward Kaya’s bakery door. But the door flies open before Rychell can knock.
“Ma!” Nate runs from the front door with Sio, Baker Kaya’s talking maplecat, at his heels.
Maplecats are common enough. Their red-brown fur has the look of autumn leaves. It’s not magic. It’s a natural camouflage the species developed for hiding in the wilds of the forest. But talking maplecats? There is only one that I know of.
Nate smashes into Rychell’s leg and holds on as if she’s leaving forever.
Sio eyes me, and I give the cat a nod.
“Morning, Sio.”
The pelt is sticky in places, the maple leaf shapes distorted.
“What happened to you?” I ask the cat.
“The combination of Nate and a jar of honey,” Sio says, glaring daggers at the young male.
“Well, you smell lovely,” I say, smirking.
Sio hisses and leaps into the back of the wagon. He sits on the bag of oregano.
Rychell scoops up Nate and hugs him close. “It won’t be a long trip. When I return, we’ll go to the Nocturne Festival together.”
“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 say no to 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.