“Son,” Mr. Derinor says, and they pat each other firmly on the back while hugging. Kellyn then greets the oldest two children and makes the introductions again, but there are now too many children for me to keep them all straight.

Temra, Petrik, and I are crammed onto one end of the table together. Children are spread out on either side of us while Kellyn sits closer to his parents at the head of the table.

“So, how did you all meet?” Mrs. Derinor—Kahlia—wants to know.

Since we can barely hear the question over the noisy table, Kellyn answers. “I was in Lirasu in between jobs, hoping to commission a weapon from the magical blacksmith there. She was, unfortunately, far too busy to take on a new commission just then. I hope to catch her when she’s free another time.” Kellyn makes a pointed look my way. “Then I met these three. They paid me to take them to Thersa on business, but we became such good friends that we’re still traveling together. They have a job in the capital, so I thought we’d stop by on our way and visit for a bit.”

The lie is so smooth, but I think that’s mostly because it’s filled with truths or near truths, anyway.

“And what business are you in?” Mr. Derinor asks.

“Ziva is a smithy,” Temra says. “I’m her assistant. We’re traveling to the capital in search of work.” Technically not a lie.

Petrik wipes his lips on the back of one hand. “I’m a storyteller.”

Also not a lie, but definitely not the whole truth. We’re probably safe in this small town that rarely receives news of what’s happening outside of it. But if anyone in the village does hear about the warlord’s bounty and knows that a scholar of magic and a gifted blacksmith have arrived, they just might put it all together.

“How wonderful,” Kahlia says. “You must tell us a story before the children go to bed.”

Groans sound around the table. Not in regard to the story, but the bedtime, I think.

“Kellyn,” Kyren, the eleven-year-old, says, “did you kill any bandits on the road this time?”

“Kyren, that is not appropriate dinner conversation,” Mr. Derinor says.

“Nor is it appropriate conversation at all,” Kahlia adds.

“Quite right.”

Kellyn winks at the boy, a promise to tell him all about it later.

Kyren turns to the three of us at the end of the table. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a mercenary like my brother.”

“You most certainly will not,” Mrs. Derinor says. “It’s bad enough that I have to spend my days worrying over Kellyn. Horrid profession.”

I think Kellyn senses a lecture coming on, because he changes the subject, asking his da about the crops and farming.

We mostly keep silent during dinner. There’s too much to observe to bother with talking. At one point, a fight between two boys breaks out, but Mrs. Derinor stops it with a single look.