Page 2 of Garlands and Gauntlets

I can’t exactly give the name Greymarch–Theodore Greymarch is dead, according to the new Lord Greymarch.

The bartender returns with a plate piled high with roasted meat, thick slices of bread, and a steaming mug of cider. The smell fills my lungs, and my stomach growls so loudly that I think the people at the next table might’ve heard it.

“Eat up,” Vaelin says, sliding the plate toward me with a grin. “Can’t have you passing out on my watch.”

I hesitate for a moment, the etiquette my adoptive father drilled into me warring with the gnawing hunger in my gut. He was always gentle about it, but he was clear that people would expect me to act like a monster–because people in Hearthwynd don’t trust orcs. But then I pick up the knife and fork and dig in, letting the warmth of the food drown out my embarrassment.

Vaelin watches me, his elbow propped on the bar and his chin resting in his hand. “You’re surprisingly dainty with that fork,” he says.

I clear my throat, make sure to swallow. “Well, I’m a gentleman,” I say.

He gives me a half-smile. “And what brings a gentleman like you to the Frosted Flagon?”

I glance at him, swallowing a mouthful of bread. “Passing through,” I say vaguely.

He arches a dark brow. “Passing through? Big guy like you doesn’t look like a tourist.”

“I’m…working through some stuff,” I admit, choosing my words carefully.

“Aren’t we all?”

I study him for a moment, unsure of how much to share. His green eyes glint in the flickering light, sharp but not unkind, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that makes him hard to read.

“What about you?” I ask, turning the question around. “Do you always hang around taverns looking for strangers to buy dinner for?”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Only the interesting ones.”

I nearly choke on my cider. “Interesting?”

He gestures at me with a lazy flick of his hand. “You’re hard to miss, Theo. Big, green.” He looks pointedly at my beard. “Plus the long hair and beard all braided and decked out…what’s the story there?”

I glance down at my beard, realizing too late how it must look to someone like him—someone sleek and polished, with rings and cuffs that glint in the dim light. “I like the way it looks,” I say, feeling defensive. “Is that…strange?”

“Strange?” Vaelin echoes, his grin widening. “No. It’s charming.”

I feel my cheeks heat, and I quickly take another bite of meat to avoid responding. “Why do you make that seem like it’s a bad thing?”

“Because it isn’t always good to stand out in Hearthwynd,” he says. “The Yule decorations are nice, I know–but this city will chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful.”

“Is that why you’re offering to help me? Because you think I can’t handle it?”

He smirks, leaning closer. “Oh, I’m sure you can handle plenty. But Hearthwynd doesn’t play fair, and something tells me you’re not great at watching your back.”

I scowl, though it’s half-hearted. “I’m not helpless, you know.”

“No,” he says, his grin sharpening. “But you’re a bit of an open book, and that’s dangerous around here.”

By the time I finish my meal, the tavern has grown louder, the laughter and chatter blending with the clink of tankards and the crackle of the fire. Vaelin watches me push the empty plate away, his head tilted slightly like he’s still trying to figure me out.

“Well, Theo,” he says, leaning back in his seat, “how about I show you around? This city can be tricky for someone like you.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Someone like me?”

“Like I said–big, earnest. The kind of guy who looks like he’d help an old lady cross the street just because she smiled at him.”

I frown, unsure if that’s supposed to be a compliment or an insult. “Iwouldhelp an old lady cross the street just because she smiled at me.”

“Exactly,” he says, grinning. “Which is why you need someone like me.”

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