Page 68 of Heimlock

“To burn the other side!” I say with glee.

Fillipe bounces on the balls of his feet, laughing hysterically. It’s overdramatic, but still makes me laugh. “Another! Another!”

“Sorry, buddy. I don’t have another one ready.”

A deep voice next to me says, “Why did the Dragon wink at the blacksmith?”

I grin at Trinte, who’s appeared out of nowhere.

Fillipe shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“He said he liked someone who could handle the heat.” Trinte winks at me. Winks! Hope is a small, blooming kernel in my heart, even as my emotions don’t know what to do with themselves. His mood changes could give a stone whiplash.

While Fillipe moves down the line, I ask, “Was moving bags of rice fun?”

“Absolutely titillating,” he says dryly. “You’re out here having all the fun, apparently. I didn’t know you told jokes.”

I chuckle. “I have a book of jokes that I pull inspiration from. It’s expected now.”

Trinte’s mouth quirks. “I like that.”

“You like something?”

“You’re my penance for spending my entire life torturing Fynn, aren’t you?” he says flatly, but he can’t hide the small smile breaking through.

I bat my eyelashes. “Penance. Reward. Depends on perspective.”

He grunts in amusement, grabbing a pair of tongs. “Perspective, indeed.”

As dinner continues, I introduce him to the families. Some have been here too long; so long, I’ve seen some of these five-year-olds grow up.

Toward the end of the line, a frail woman approaches, eyeing Trinte nervously. He’s bigger than basically everyone here, minus some male Orcs. She clutches her elbows, shoulders bowed as she shuffles forward. Her black, curly hair is in need of a good wash.

The haunted, hollow look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. After years, I can sniff it out instantly. When she holds out a plate, I say quietly, “Hi, I’m Kyrielle.”

Her brown eyes shoot to Trinte, full of fear. I sense him take a few steps back.

“Janeeka.” Her voice trembles.

Giving Trinte a meaningful look, I place the tongs on the table and motion for Janeeka to step out of line. While Trinte passes out the rolls, I bring Janeeka off toward a quiet spot. The plate trembles in her hands.

“How long have you been here, Janeeka?” I murmur, taking stock of the faded bruises.

“Two days.”

I frown. “Are you being followed?”

The way her eyes dart everywhere but my face, the answer is obvious. She nods. “My husband.”

Old, nurtured anger rises. “What’s his name?”

“Laurice.”

“Species?”

“Forest Sprite.”

I take extra pleasure in taking care of Forest Sprites — as if I can retroactively save my younger self. “Is he searching for you?”