Page 34 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

“Frostholm. Sounds cold. Is it cold? It doesn’t look cold.” He was already standing on the bench, one hand on my horn for balance. He did this now with a casual possessiveness that would confirm any rumors there might be about what he was to me without me having to tell any lies to anyone. “It looks cute. It looks like a Christmas card. What’s that big building with the sign?”

“The inn.”

I guided Clover down the main road into the village. It was a pleasant place, Frostholm. I had passed through many times on previous journeys. The buildings were sturdy troll construction, stone walls and slate roofs, with window boxes full of late-season herbs. The market square had a handful of stalls selling produce, leather goods, and the dense seed bread that was a Clovermere specialty.

Sky hopped off the wagon before I had fully stopped it, which was becoming a habit of his, one he seemed agile enough to survive.

“I’m going to explore,” he said, already moving.

“We should secure a room first—”

“Room! Yes! You do that, I’ll be right back! I just saw something over there. Could I have some coins?”

He took my coin purse before I could reply, stole a few coins, shoved the purse back into my hands, and darted off.

I stood there weighing the purse. A responsible person would have called him back and delivered a short lecture on personal property. But after experiencing his command during our second night of camping last night, I discovered I wanted to obey him in this, too. And also, I wanted to know what it was that had lit him like a market lamp. Probably more pastries. I put the purse away and elected to consider the theft an investment in my future pleasure.

I pulled the wagon around behind the inn, dealt with Clover’s tack, brushed her down, spoke to the stablehand about feed and water, paid for overnight stabling, and gathered our bags, packing Poppy up in her little wicker basket for ease of carrying. Sky had still not returned.

I went into the inn, where the innkeeper and his wife greeted me and told me supper would be served at sundown. I left our things on our beds and settled Poppy in a small pet kennel they kept for travelers. Still no Sky.

I wandered to the market square with my hands clasped behind my back and my eyes directed away from the eastern horizon.

I had not anticipated feeling sentimental about this village, though perhaps I should have.

“Moerrven!”

I turned. Sky was striding across the square, eyes bright and jaw set, wearing the look I had learned to associate with either delight or catastrophe, and sometimes both.

“Come look at this shop.”

“I need to—”

Sky planted his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes at me. “Come. Look. At. This. Shop.”

The moment I was within range, he seized my hand and pulled me through the square with the determination of a man on a sacred mission.

The shop was a saddlery, a perfectly respectable one, with leather harnesses hung on wooden pegs and bridles displayed in neat rows and a workbench where a stout troll woman was oiling a set of reins. Horse blankets, buckles, stirrups, and lead ropes filled the shelves.

And, on a rack near the window, hung a collection of riding crops.

“Look at these,” Sky said.

I couldn’t see what was so interesting about the riding crops. I’d never used one myself, but they were common for the disciplining of horses. Perfectly ordinary leather-handled crops with braided flails, designed for equestrian use and nothing else.

“They’re riding crops,” I said.

“They’re beautiful.” He picked one up and ran his fingers along the handle, testing the flex. “Feel how springy this is. This leather is incredible.”

“It is standard tack leather. For horses.”

“Mm-hm.” He gave the crop an experimental flick. The sound it made against his palm was crisp and sharp, and my stomach tightened in a way that I chose not to examine.

“Sky.”

“What?” His expression was innocent. His eyes were not. “I’m shopping for Clover. She could use some encouragement.”

“Clover has never required a crop in her life. She is a gentle and cooperative animal.”