Chapter 5

Telise

T he letter was waiting for me at the courier's office when I returned to the capital.

"I learned of your name while complimenting a man's leopard-hide cloak," it reads. "I've been searching for a new apprentice to share my trade, and I think that perhaps you would be the one."

An apprentice? I've been an amateur for who knows how many years, and in that time, I've picked up on my own most of what an apprentice would have learned. But it's signed by a name I recognize: Sden Noralt, an artisan who works out of the neutral city of Eyra Cove. It's on the edge of the Frattern Islands, a highly contested territory where fighting frequently breaks out.

A brave and a foolish place to run a business, but with twice as many potential customers.

What reason do I have to refuse it? I don't think I want to travel with Deleran again, and I don't have any other grand ideas now that I've cleaned, stitched, sewn, and sold my bear pelts.

"All right," I write back. "I'm in." And I get on a boat before he can answer.

It costs me a pretty penny to get there, and I have to carry all of my heavy equipment with me, so I pay for an extra-large room on the ship. But I have a sense that this is the right move, and that if I follow through, something significant in my life will change. And that's just what I need right now.

Eyra Cove is a bustling, somewhat terrifying place. Everything is in motion all the time, from the piers where a significant amount of the business is done, all the way to the hopping inns and bars and various other hedonistic holes. You can find anything you want in Eyra Cove—and do anything you want, too. It's just the sort of place for me.

Sden works out of a respectable establishment, and I like him right away. He's all human through-and-through, but with none of the hang-ups. He barters in Freysian with humans, and switches seamlessly to Trollkin to sell a pair of gloves to an orc. No one seems to bat an eyelash at his prices, either. Every piece he makes is branded with his mark.

"That cloak you made was one of the prettiest I've seen," Sden says when I finally arrive, dragging my piles of gear along with me. "You have a lot of talent, but I can see you've never been classically trained."

"Is it that obvious?" I say.

"Not to most. But I think we can clean you up good, and you could become a master craftsman someday, too."

That's a high honor. I could charge double, even triple what I do now for my better pieces with a master craftsman license .

"And you're doing this for me because...?"

"Well, I'll take a cut of all your profits while you work under me," he says. "And you'll work—supervised—on some of my pieces without pay. That's the trade."

Hmm. It doesn't feel very fair, but I'll be learning a skill that's priceless. So I accept his offer, and we shake on it.

"Very good." Without another word, he gestures to his back room. "Why don't you get to work?"

I don't need to be told twice.

A good portion of my money will go towards renting out a room at the inn, which is unfortunate. I won't get to save nearly as much as I would've liked, thinking that surely my new master would put me up.

But I've also underestimated how much money one can make with a storefront in Eyra Cove. I sell almost all of the pieces I've brought with me within a few days.

"I can tell that fur is your specialty," Sden says one day, and unveils a whole pallet of furs in need of attention. "One of my hunters brought this in."

"I won't need to hunt my own pelts anymore?" I ask. I'm almost disappointed to hear this—hunting and collecting is one of the things I've always enjoyed about this trade.

"No. Your focus will be entirely on craft." He'll take a bigger cut of pieces I sell made with them, but I expected that.

So I take up residence in the inn, and for months, I work myself nearly to the bone at Sden's shop. I start to pick up a few words of Trollkin here and there. It's bizarre to shake hands with orcs as we strike deals. I know how to count, at least, which makes it far easier to bargain and haggle with our customers.

Every once in a while, some fight will break out between a drunk human and an equally drunk troll, but it's always handled quickly, efficiently, and usually with some blood. Security is no joke around Eyra Cove.

But it's a lonely place, too. Sden is a quiet, harsh man who works almost entirely in silence, and everyone else is a passer-by. Even though I've drowned myself in my work, I'm starving in places I haven't ever felt before.

I need companionship, friendship, or something else that feels just out of my reach.

Raz'jin

Maybe the emeralds were a lie.

I spend days, and then weeks, searching the islands for any sign of a green flash. Blizzek's little ore-tracking device wouldn't help me here, anyway. That's what makes jewels such a pain in the ass to prospect—there's really no way to find them without sheer luck.

I lie underneath my tarp, trying to wait out the rain for what feels like hours. I'm just about to give up and go home, when I notice the rain is forcing the sand to recede. I jump out of my tarp and start wandering the shore as the sand pulls away from the rocks, draining off into the sea. Then I find it: There's a small, glimmering emerald, buried inside a great boulder. I kneel by it and pull out my pickaxe.

Here it is. The jewel I came looking for.

But when I have it out and in my palms, I don't feel the way I'd hoped. It doesn't trigger some big change, like I think I'd been expecting. It's just a pretty rock sitting in my hand. An expensive rock, for sure, but a rock, nonetheless.

I stuff it into my pocket and return to my tarp. After making a light meal out of a turtle, I rip the tarp down and bundle it all up, then trudge through the rain back the way I came.

I'll head to Eyra Cove and get on the next ship home, then sell the emerald off in Kalishagg. I can't stand this anymore, whatever it is—this obnoxious funk I've found myself in. I'm about ready to bash my own head in. Maybe what I really need is to join the war effort. I could dress myself up in some nice armor, take my double-handed axe, and kill some human scum. Maybe some good, old-fashioned bloodshed would soothe me in the place I'm desperately needing to be soothed.

When I reach the city, it's less busy than when I arrived. The cool winds of winter are blowing in, and most people who aren't idiots have gone back home by now. But there are still locals around, and a few like me trying to eke out a living before retiring home for the coming months.

I turn the emerald over inside my hand as I browse the shops. It reminds me of one of her bright green eyes, shining out of that pale, freckled face. So I buy my room for the night with some of my few remaining coins, and head downstairs to have a drink.

The inn is quiet, only one argument breaking out near the fire pit between a human and an orc. What it's about, I can't imagine, but it gets quickly diffused. The human is kicked out on his ass, and I have to laugh a little at that.

It's growing late and I'm about to head to my room to retire for the night when the door is roughly kicked open. A small person in a thick, fur-trim hood and stylish matching pants walks in. I can tell without trying that it's a human female, with good, thick hips. Immediately I wonder what she looks like under there.

Ugh. Here I go again. Maybe coming to neutral territory wasn't such a good idea now that I seem to have a penchant for women that are totally off-limits to me.

I turn away as she approaches the bar and sits four seats down from me. I don't need to look at her. In fact, I should probably set aside this last half of my beer and just leave now, before I get any stupid ideas.

I'm getting up and dropping a coin on the bar when I accidentally glance down at my neighbor. She's pulled her hood off, and underneath, she has a whole waterfall of red-orange hair. There's a nick across her freckled cheek that I instantly recognize.

It's her.

I must make some sort of gagging noise in my surprise because she immediately turns her head to look at me. The very same recognition that I had dawns on her face, and I think that for sure she's going to get up and run the fuck away, as fast as she can.

Instead, something very different happens. She takes in the sight of me, all of me, and smiles.

Telise

He's here.

The trollkin I met in the woods that day, who cut me down and helped me escape certain death, is sitting right next to me at a bar in Eyra Cove.

I thought for sure I'd never, ever see him again. It would be like finding a needle in a whole field full of haystacks. And yet here he is, all seven feet of him, getting up out of his seat with half of a full beer in front of him.

His blue skin looks more sallow than I remember, and I'm shocked at how clear my memory of him is in comparison to seeing him now. Even though he seems tired, he has that same carefree posture and the hunch to his shoulders that says he doesn't worry about much of anything besides his coin. His tusks are more scratched up since last time, like he's used them a few times to protect his face from an incoming attack.

But those clear, clever eyes are the same. I would recognize them anywhere.

I can't help smiling when I see him. If only I could have thanked him for freeing me that night, I would have. I was terrified, though, and wanted nothing more than to see that miserable orcish town fade into the distance.

He is so stunned at seeing me that he freezes in place. So he recognizes me, too. Good. I did leave an impression on him just like he left one on me.

"Hi," I say in Freysian, and then quickly realize he won't understand me. I try again in Trollkin. "Hello."

He blinks a few times. The shock runs deeper than I expected.

"Hello," he says back in Trollkin. I find his hand has dropped to the little hatchet at his belt, and my smile turns into a frown.

Does he want to kill me, after all this time?

I lift both my hands up in surrender. "No worries," I say in Trollkin. I turn back to the bar right as my beer arrives and tear my eyes away from him. Clearly, he's not as excited to see me as I am to see him. I'll just pretend it didn't happen.

That's when I feel the bar shift, and the huge troll takes a seat right next to me.

"Hello," he says again. "It's you."

I don't know if that's exactly what he's saying, but I do know you , and by his tone of voice I'm pretty sure that's what he means. The bartender watches us out of the corner of his eye, as if expecting a fight to break out.

"It is me," I say, trying to imitate his grammar. His eyes squint a little, and the sides of his mouth turn up. He has such a wide, almost pretty mouth, pulled back where his big tusks emerge from it. They're really just big teeth, or so I learned from a book. Not much different than my own canines.

He laughs then, and I realize I must have said something wrong. He corrects me in Trollkin, and I repeat it back to him. He gives me a faint nod of approval.

"I'm Telise," I say, planting my hand over my heart.

"Tell-issa." His mouth tries to wrap around the word but can't quite do it.

"Tel-eese," I say.

"Tel-eesa." He repeats it back to me, a little bit better this time, but not quite there. Good enough.

"Who are you?" I ask in Trollkin. I know that much, at least.

He places his hand on his chest, imitating what I just did. "Raz'jin."

That's a good one. It fits him and his head of untamed hair. It's sticking out all over, and I just want to go up behind him and fix it.

"Raz'jin," I repeat back to him. He makes an impressed face and nods.

"Good," he says.

"Thank you."

My time here learning how to negotiate in Trollkin is really paying dividends right now. That's when I realize I still need to thank him.

"That time," I say, not sure how to put into words what I want to get across. I hold my hands up and pretend they're bound tight, then imitate cutting through one. "You did? "

Raz'jin nods. "Yes."

I smile again. "Thank you."

His eyes widen at this. They're orange all over, no irises to be seen, and they're streaked through with a red that's almost the color of my hair.

"You're welcome, Tel-eesa."

Almost there.

I don't know much else in Trollkin, so I take a long swig of my beer and wait for him to say something, instead. But when I look up again, I find his eyes are riveted on my face, not a single word coming out of his mouth.

"What?" I ask.

As if I've startled him out of a dream, Raz'jin shakes his head. "Nothing." He takes another sip of his own beer, and the awkward silence falls again.

I wish I knew what to do. There's so much I want to know about him, but I'm not sure how to ask. "Where from?" I finally say. I've taken him by surprise a third time with my question.

"Argsul," he answers. I roughly know where that is—it's firmly within the Trollkin lands. I nod in understanding. "You?"

"Great Oak," I say.

He tilts his head. "West?"

I nod. He hmms . "No trollkin there. Safe."

Very much unlike the world I live in now.

Raz'jin puts two coins on the bar this time, and calls something out to the orcish bartender I can't understand. The bartender gives Raz'jin an equally confused look, but when the troll hits the bar with his fist, the bartender gets working.

He sure knows how to get his way.

Soon, there are two more beers in front of us: One for me and one for him. It's such a polite gesture, that I smile again and say, "Thank you. "

We each lift our beers up by the handle, and Raz'jin holds his out towards me. He wants to cheers.

We tap our mugs.

"Cheers," he says in Trollkin.

"Cheers," I say in Freysian. And then, he smiles back, and takes a long drink.