The eye-roll I’d been so successful at tamping down forced its way to the surface.
“Of course,” the peddler added, “if you were hoping for something dull and utilitarian, I could scour the bottom of my wagon and see if there’s a rag or two I can spare.”
“I’m sure it’ll do.”
He indicated my arm with the jut of his pointy chin—the arm I’d scraped within an inch of its life shoving my way through cracks in the cave walls.“Just make sure you don’t bleed on the fabric.Blood stains are notoriously stubborn to get out.”
His tone was light…but now his eyes were searching mine in a way that wasn’t entirely mocking.He thought someone here was being rough with me.
I liked his pity even less than his mockery.
“I’ll be fine,” I said firmly.“Besides, it’s not as if anyone will pay attention to what a slave is wearing when they’re all wrapped up in the funeral rites.”
Silver arched an eyebrow.“Orcs kill each other so efficiently, I’ve never known them to trouble themselves with rites.Just throw the carcass on the fire and move on to the next battle.”
“Not every orc is a fighter.”
“Ah, so the old man hasn’t set off on the rest of his journey yet.I was very fond of Taruut, you know.Once his eyesight faded, he developed quite the sweet tooth.I always made sure to save a bit of honeycomb just for him.”
I suddenly missed Taruut terribly—how he’d laugh when I got an orcish custom totally wrong, and the way he would turn a mundane conversation into an impromptu lesson on some esoteric topic like herbal remedies or plant identification.
But at least now he was safe from harm.Unlike Droko, who’d be a lot bloodier than my arm if he couldn’t find the shaman’s crypt.
“The funeral is tomorrow.”I hoped it would be, anyhow
“Well, then.Perhaps I will stay and pay my respects.After all, nothing says goodbye like one last hurrah.”
Fantastic.
“In the meanwhile,” he said, “your friend Quinn asked me to deliver this.”
His leather vest was so covered in buckles and lacings, I didn’t even see the pocket until he teased his long, tapered fingers into the opening and withdrew a note on a scrap of bark-paper.Was Quinn planning another escape—one he couldn’t dare whisper about in earshot of the chieftain?I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that.Probably because it would complicate matters to take him with me when I carved my way to freedom.
I was so sure Quinn had sent me some illicit plans that when I unfolded the slip of paper, I was baffled by what was actually there.
A recipe.
“What’s this supposed to be?”
Silver made a big show of seeing the note for the first time—as if he didn’t know damn well what was on it—and said, “It’s called Easewater.Dreamweed, a very potent, very specific numbing agent.Night laurel—very relaxing.And rocknut oil, so delightfully slippery—and sure to last all…night…long.”
If this guy thought talking about lube would make me blush, he could think again.
Silver fluttered his eyelashes.“If you haven’t got all the ingredients, I may be able to dredge up—”
“I’m sure the shaman’s apothecary stores can handle it.”
“Very good.But just so you’re aware….”He found a shard of graphite somewhere in his overcomplicated getup, grabbed the note from me, flipped it over, and began to write as he spoke.“There are two ways the potion might be mixed.Juice the night laurel and add the oil, and the two very different ingredients bind together in such a way as make a most unique—and delightful—blend.”He sketched some kind of stirring motion.“But if it turns out things don’t mix properly, you’ll have a real mess on your hands.In that case, it’s best to scrap the whole thing.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Silver handed me the paper.As he did, he held my gaze just a moment too long.So quietly I could barely hear it, he added, “I could never be a slave.No matter how finely gilded the cage.”
I glanced down at his sketch and saw he hadn’t been talking about mixing potions at all—but warning me to leave if things went wrong.And they weren’t instructions he’d scribbled on the back after all…but a map.Once I oriented myself, I recognized the cave.The village wall.And beside that was a meandering path—one which presumably led to freedom.
I stuffed the note into my waistband.Since I’d spent the night with Droko, I’d been of two minds about leaving—but not anymore.Maybe it was the contrarian in me, but this offer to help me escape only made me more determined to stick around.“I don’t need your plan.Call it a cage if you will.But I know full well what’s beyond these walls.”Pointedly, I swung Droko’s cloak around my shoulders.“At least here, someone actually cares about me.”
“Never mind, then.”Silver tilted his head and smiled a cryptic smile.“I thought the shaman’s grand gesture of giving you his cloak was just a clever way to put his scent on you—and cover his own tracks.My mistake…I’m sure you know best.”
