Page 9 of Stealing the Troll’s Heart

“Oof.” He groans like I’ve stabbed him. “You couldn’t have at least tried to soften the blow?”

“No.” I’m scowling at nobody. “I needed to make sure it’s out there in no uncertain terms.”

We both fall silent after that. It’ll be a while before I can fall asleep again, because now I’m worried about Deleran slipping into my bed. I know he wouldn’t, not after turning him down with such brutality, but the thought is there.

“Is this about the goddamned troll?” he asks suddenly. He sits up in his furs, the heavy wind buffeting his hair. “You won’t sleep with me because you kissed a troll?”

“It has nothing to do with that.” Okay, maybe it does have a tiny bit to do with that, but also not at all. “I’m not interested. That’s all you need to know.”

He sighs, defeated, and returns to his bed. Now there’s really no more talking.

The next day, he tries to pretend like everything is normal again—joking around, bitching when I ask him to build the fire, even making fun of my aim when I miss a rabbit—but nothing feels the same. Not anymore.

By the time we head back to civilization, we’re hardly speaking to each other. The train ride is long.

“I shouldn’t have ever done it,” Deleran says, leaned back against his seat. He lets out a deep, weary sigh. “I fucked it all up.”

“You sort of did.” But at least him acknowledging it, and then beating himself up about it, brings me a little smile.

“Can you please forgive me, Tea?” The train is slowingdown, pulling into the station. “Can you forget it ever happened?”

“I can’t forget, but I can forgive.”

“That’s the most I can ask for, I guess.”

I hold out a hand, and he takes it. We shake.

Maybe that troll really did ruin me.

Raz’jin

I don’t fuck anymore trollesses, and Blizzek is concerned about me. I turn them down when they approach us in bars—he doesn’t, of course.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, sounding like an annoyed parent with a pouting child.

But I don’t have an answer he would like. How can I tell him that I don’t even desire my own kind anymore? That’s a fucked-up thing to say out loud. I was ruined by one tiny, pinkish tit, one small kiss on the mouth, and a delicate hand on my tusk.

After months pass like this, I’m the one who makes the stupid suggestion that we head to the Frattern Islands. There have always been rumors you can find beautiful emeralds there, coming up from under the waves. While the grunts go out there and die in the war, the nobility are sitting pretty, and they want equally pretty jewels to give all their many wives. And I will be the one to provide them.

“Emeralds?” Blizzek squints at me. “We’re going into contested territory for... emeralds?”

He won’t connect the dots, I’m sure. But all I want is to see those fierce green eyes again, even if they’re just peering up at me from the sand. Not to mention that contested territory—where neither trollkin nor humans have complete control of the landscape—gives me the slightest, slimmest of chances of seeing her again.

“I can go by myself,” I say, huffing.

“Fine.” Blizzek just shrugs, then rolls his shoulders. “I’ve got enough money in the bank. I don’t need to be fishing for emeralds where there certainly aren’t any.”

Great. The perfect opportunity to wander off on my own and see what becomes of me. Prospecting is all I have now that pleasures of the body are off the table. The only two things a troll desires are women and money. If I can’t have one, at least I’ll have the other.

“I’ll see you in a few months, then.”

It’s a long trip by ship from Kalishagg to the islands off the coast, and it’s not really the best time of year, anyway. They’re not tropical islands, not by any stretch of the imagination. They’re the kind with deep-inset rocky shores and high cliffs buffeted by great, frigid waves.

Blizzek gives me a confused goodbye as I pack up my bag and head for the caravan. It’ll take me to the port, where I’ll hop on a ship to carry me across the water. It’s a few weeks each way, and who knows how long I’ll spend searching for treasure?

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he says as I depart.

“What constitutes ‘stupid’?” I ask.

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