Page 26 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

Sky went back to reading, and he did not refrain from commentary about lubricant and euphemisms. My fingers tightened in his hair without thinking, and his reading stopped mid-sentence.

“Sorry,” I said, loosening my grip.

“Don’t be. I like it.”

We were quiet for a while after that. Sky closed the book on his chest, and Poppy wandered back to her habitat.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

My stomach dropped. “Must you?”

“Do you actually not like being touched, or do you just not let people touch you?”

The question landed precisely where it was intended to. I kept my eyes on the road.

“Because those are very different things,” he said. “The first one means I should stop. The second one means nobody’s done this for you in a long time and you’re out of practice at admitting you want it.”

The lake reflected the mountains. Clover’s hooves clopped on stone. My fingers were still in his hair, and the answer was so obvious that speaking it would have been redundant.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Sky said. “The fingers in my hair are saying it for you.”

“You are infuriating.”

“I know. But I’m comfortable, and you’re warm, and I’m pretty sure you like it.” He opened the book and started reading again. His head was warm on my thigh, the sun was on the water, my hand was in his hair, and I was not at peace. But I was something close enough to it that I could not bring myself to move.

We stopped for lunch by the lakeshore, at a flat rock shelf that jutted into the water. I unpacked the food with my usual efficiency while Sky took off his sneakers and waded into the shallows, yelping at the cold. Poppy sat on the rock and watched him with the disdain of a creature who had never once voluntarily gotten wet.

He came back with his trouser hems soaked and his cheeks flushed. He ate bread and cheese sitting close enough that our shoulders touched, talking about a lake near his home where he and his brother used to swim. He was laughing as he told it, but the laugh never reached his eyes.

I gave him the last piece of cheese without saying anything about it.

After lunch, Sky fell asleep on my thigh.

Chapter 9

Sky

“Don’t we need shelter or something?” I stared at the patch of dirt Moerrven had selected for the night. “This is literally just going to be the ground with a fire on it.”

“It’s a clearing with good drainage and a natural windbreak.” He was already unloading the wagon with irritating efficiency, setting up Poppy’s travel habitat with the same care he’d give a five-star hotel suite. “I’ve camped here before. It’s perfectly adequate.”

“Adequate is not a word that inspires confidence in a sleeping arrangement.” I hugged my arms around myself. The sun was dropping behind the mountains, and the air had gone from pleasant to bite-your-nose cold in about twenty minutes. We’d been crawling through these mountains for two days, and now Moerrven was selecting a patch of dirt with the quiet satisfaction of a man checking into a resort. “Where I’m from, camping involves a tent. And a sleeping bag. And sometimes a cabin with a hot tub, which is the best kind of camping.”

“We have bedrolls.”

“But bedrolls still go on the ground?”

“Yes. Where else would they go?”

“I don’t know, Moerrven, I guess I was hoping you’d pull a cozy inn out of your pocket.”

“One more night of camping after this one, and we reach a town,” Moerrven said.

One more night. I supposed I could manage that.

He shot me a look, his mouth set in a flat line, but his eyes had gone soft at the corners in a way that told me he wasn’t completely furious with me. Then he went back to arranging Poppy’s blankets in her habitat and setting out her evening fish. I watched as she circled her blanket nest three times and settled in with the calm of a creature who trusted that her personal staff would handle everything. Moerrven latched the habitat door, checked the latch twice, and checked it a third time.

“I’m pretty sure it’s locked,” I said.