Page 26 of Truth's Blade

For a moment, Theo couldn’t understand what he was talking about, and then realized he must think this was about the paint set.

Melodie lifted a shoulder as she got close enough to talk quietly. “We aren’t here about that.”

The old man looked up, confused, and then glanced across the field to the rest of their group. “Is this about the goat?” He almost squeaked out the words.

“In a way,” Theo said, coming to stand beside Melodie. “I want to know the story of how you came by the goat, and why you left it tied to the bridge.”

The old man looked between him and Melodie, and started shaking his head. “I don’t know?—”

“You do,” Melodie interrupted him gently. “Telling the truth, no matter what it is, will bring no trouble on you. Only the opposite is true.”

“You’re telling me stealing is not a crime in Grimwalt?” he asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

“But we aren’t Grimwaldian,” Theo told him. “We have no authority here to impose the laws. We are after the man who had the paints and the goat. We want to find him very much.”

“Who are you, if you aren’t Grimwaldian?” His voice quavered.

“Kassia and Cervantes,” Theo answered. “We know you came across him on the other side of Grimwalt’s border. You worry about being arrested as a thief. The man we’re talking about stole something much more valuable than magic paints and a goat.”

“You will let me go on my way?”

“If you answer truthfully.” Melodie tilted her head back, eyes narrowed. “You saw something when you stole the paints.”

He looked at her with such shock, Theo had to believe she was completely right. The old man did know something.

“Quick, now. Tell us, and we’ll leave you to go on your way.” Melodie waved a hand impatiently. “It’s important.”

“Who are you?” He was still suspicious.

“What do we look like?” Theo asked.

The trader pointed at the others, waiting on the road, then at him. “You look military. She . . .” He glanced at Melodie. “She looks like a sweet young woman who shouldn’t be mixed up with the likes of you.”

Melodie crouched down. “You stole from him, and he will not forget it. Ever. That’s why you left the Grimwalt market square after only one day. That’s why you’re already on the road, so early. You know he will come for you. Tell us what you know, and with luck, we will deal with him for you.”

The old man stared at her for a long moment, then let out a shuddering breath. “If he finds out I told . . .”

“He won’t find out.” Melodie was firm.

“You know what the paint box does?” The trader sounded both skeptical and curious.

“I do. Now tell us.”

The man hesitated, then looked at Theo, and winced. Cleared his throat hurriedly. “I came across a camp fire on my way to Illoa. I had had a wheel break earlier in the day and it took a long time to fix, so I pushed my journey later into the night than usual to get to the town. I saw the fire and realized I was still too far to make it that night, and went to join fellow travelers.” He paused. “There was a goat standing over some figures sleeping around the fire, and an old man who had been attacked with a knife or a sword lying on the ground.”

He pushed himself to his feet, looked at Theo again, and then sank back down to his haunches. “I didn’t want trouble, and so I was just going to leave, but I thought the goat might be good for milk, and there was a small bag at the back of the cart, so I took both and left.”

He looked up cautiously.

“And?” Melodie tapped fingers on the top of her hand, reminding him to hurry.

“And once I was on my way and had a chance to look through the bag, I found the paints, and a letter from someone in Bartolo to someone called Marchant in Warven.” He waved his hand to the left. “I’ve heard of Warven before, it’s on the way to Taunen, but off the main road. About two days by cart from Illoa.”

“What was the letter about?” Theo asked.

“It said there was an item Marchant would find extremely interesting, but the man in Bartolo—I can’t remember the name— would not send it via courier. He said it was worth too much, and if Marchant wanted it, he would have to come and get it himself or send a proxy.” The merchant shrugged. “I guessed the paint box was that item. And that Marchant had bought it, and was on his way back home.”

That sounded like a logical explanation. Marchant would have passed close to the children’s camp on the road from Bartolo to Illoa. This was most likely a chance event, not a premeditated kidnapping of the princess.

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