Page 11 of Stealing the Troll’s Heart

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. Aftermaking 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 territorywasn’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’mshocked 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.

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