Page 13 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

“Good day.” Moerrven’s response was about as grumpy-sounding as I’d have expected.

“The new crop was so big I don’t know what to do with all of them, so I thought I’d stop by!”

“Thank you, Tedaar,” Moerrven said.

“Jodvara came by.” A pause. Something being set down on a table. “She said something rather interesting.”

I should have gotten out of the bath. I should have dried off, put on the clothes, walked out there like a normal person. Instead I eased the book down and stayed still in the water, keeping my breath shallow.

“She said you have a soulmate.”

What?

“That’s a strong word for—” Moerrven, sounding like a man trying to swallow a rock.

“She said you were carrying him on your back, and you called him your soulmate in the middle of the road.” A chair scraped against stone. Someone sitting down. “In front of Blarinda, who went home and told her mother, who told the baker, who told Jodvara. And a male soulmate too, after all those years with Bryndala. Is he here?”

“He’s… bathing.”

Tedaar gasped. “Bathing?”

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s just a normal bath.”

“The whole valley is talking,” Tedaar said. “A human! Who would have believed it? Though many of your books do mix the magical races. And you allowed him to touch your trolgar. The sacred spot on your horns that only a lover can touch.”

His sacred spot? Was that like his prostate? That was a rather forward thing to ask, wasn’t it?

I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, as I imagined how uncomfortable Moerrven must look right now. He hadn’t even been able to handle me opening his smutty books in front of him.

“Who is he?” Tedaar asked. “Where did he come from?”

“It’s complicated. He’s from far away. He’s looking for a friend who has gone missing.”

“And that’s how you met?” Tedaar asked, sighing dramatically. “How romantic.”

I expected Moerrven to deny that it was romantic, but instead, he said, “Yes.”

“Oh, it brings me such joy to know that you’re finding your way to love again! And I cannot believe you’ve kept him secret for weeks.”

Weeks? What was Moerrven telling people?

Moerrven said something unintelligible, probably one of his vast repertoire of noncommittal grunts.

“You know, I read your last three books, Moerrven.” Tedaar’s voice had shifted, softer now, careful.

“What does this have to do with my books?”

“They were beautiful, but they were devastating. Every single one ended in death. Your books used to bring such joy; now, I don’t know. Maybe sometimes I like a sad read to process my sorrow, but I miss the joy.”

I could not hear Moerrven’s response, but I could imagine the way his jaw would tighten.

“People are worried, Moerrven. Not just your sisters. The whole valley. The baker asks me if you’re eating. Old Stennmark keeps a stool for you at the Ram’s Head even though you haven’t been in six months. Halverd brews your favorite ale in small batches so it’s fresh when you finally come by.”

My chest hurt, the quiet hurt of hearing something you weren’t supposed to hear, something private and tender and real, about a person you’d known for less than a day.

“We loved Bryndala,” Tedaar said. “We love you. And we would very much like your next book to have a happy ending.”

Moerrven was silent.