Page 75 of The Orc's Thief
He stacks them together and pulls out another sheet of paper. “I wrote to Irrin to let her know I’m still alive, and to our king to report that we’re heading toward the Stonefrost Clan lands. He’ll be interested to know that no orcs have been seen in these towns for a while.” He dips the quill again and scratches out the place and date in the right-hand corner of the sheet. “The last one is for Sarrai. I’m hoping she’s still in Ultrup when she receives it. I’m going to ask her to check in on your baker friend.”
My breath stalls in my chest. “What?”
He peers up at me between writing words. “You said you were worried about her, didn’t you? What was her name again? Ella?”
“Etta,” I croak through a suddenly tight throat.
He hums, oblivious to my surprise. I can’t help but stare at the letter taking shape on the page, though I can’t make out the words through the tears clouding my vision.
He knew I was concerned about Etta falling prey to the Ravens’ hunt for me, and he’s making sure, however he can, to protect her. For me. All for me.
I was too afraid to think about how my feelings for Arlon have developed, but I know it now. I’m falling for him, and I can’t stop myself. It’s not about how he made me feel in bed, though that would be enough to turn anyone’s head, especially combined with his good looks and powerful body. But it’s more than that—he’s a good man, honest and sincere in his affection toward me. He may be helping me to get me to trust him faster, but helping Etta… That goes above and beyond.
“You should go talk to Mistress Maeve,” he murmurs without looking up. “Ask her quietly about the caravan.”
I swallow down my emotions and nod, even though he’s not watching me. Not trusting myself to speak just yet, I turn away and walk over to the bar, where two young maids are chatting quietly as they dry the cups from breakfast. When they noticeme, they break into a fit of giggles, and my cheeks heat in response. They might have heard what Arlon and I were up to this morning.
“Is Mistress Maeve here?” I ask, fighting off the memories of just how amazing it was to wake up with him. “I’d like to speak to her.”
One of the maids ducks her head and disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with the innkeeper. I motion the older woman to the side, and she follows, her eyebrows raised.
“Did a trading caravan pass through here a few days ago?” I ask, not wanting to waste her time. “It would have been a large one, with several wagons and people.”
She nods immediately. “Three nights ago, they stayed here. Seven wagons, with as many drivers, and…” She taps her fingers against the bar, thinking. “…eleven others? No—twelve, though they didn’t require as many beds because some of the men took shifts guarding the wagons. We weren’t as full then, since the fair only started yesterday.”
I gape at her. Nineteen people? What were they doing this far from Ultrup?
“Was there a woman with them?” I demand. “Shorter than me, beautiful, with long brown hair?”
The innkeeper smirks. “You mean their leader?”
My stomach drops. “Theirleader?”
“There were four other women among the guests,” Mistress Maeve says patiently, “but there was one who organized everything. Paid for their stay, arranged the guard rotations. It’s her you’re asking about, isn’t it? Blue eyes, competent attitude?”
“Yes,” I breathe, because it’s true.
That must have been Lindie, and it makes sense she made a favorable impression on the innkeeper, who appears to run this place mostly on her own. But that would mean my friend isn’t introuble at all. She’s leading this caravan toward the Stonefrost kingdom, all without telling me a thing.
It hurts more than I imagined it would, because this operation must have been days or even weeks in the making. The Ravens didn’t just suddenly decide to nab a dozen people and cross the entire duchy to…what? Run a job in the orc lands?
On impulse, I pull out the folded sheets of paper I tore from Damen’s business ledger. I unfold them, smoothing out the creases with my palms against the cool wood of the bar. “Can you make anything from this?”
Mistress Maeve takes a pair of wire-framed spectacles from a pocket of her dress, puts them on, and peers down at the columns of numbers. “Where did you get this?”
“That doesn’t matter,” I reply hastily. “I just need to know if there’s anything here that might help me figure out what these are for.”
I tap my finger against the newest entries, which I suspect relate to this expedition. Across the room, Arlon catches my gaze, his eyebrows rising as he realizes what I’m doing.
I incline my head, inviting him to join us. He folds the letter in front of him, then saunters over and places a hand on the small of my back. He slips the three letters into the basket with the other patrons’ mail, waiting to be sent out when the post carriage next passes through the village.
“I thought Mistress Maeve might have a look at our…problem,” I tell him. “Seeing as she’s a businesswoman and keeps her own set of books.”
She lifts one eyebrow at me, as if she sees right through my attempt to flatter her into helping us. But she studies the ledger pages anyway, her gaze attentive.
“Well, it seems to be written in code,” she says slowly, running her fingers down the lines. “I’d say these were monthly payments—see the start of them, here?”
Arlon and I lean down to examine the columns she’s indicating.
