I messed up

The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh grain as I follow Io toward the cart. The village is already awake, people moving between homes and workshops, preparing for the day ahead. But unlike the usual routine, there’s a different energy hanging in the air. Anticipation.

Io moves with purpose, securing the straps on the cart, her expression unreadable. I can tell she’s focused—probably running numbers in her head, planning every move before we even get there.

“The most important part of today—we’re selling wheat and cloth,” she finally says, tightening the last strap. “We’ll take the cart and meet the merchants.”

So this is it. My first real glimpse into how trade works here. I straighten up, suddenly very aware that this isn’t just another errand.

“What should I do?”

“You stay in the cart,” she says firmly. “Take notes. Watch, listen, and don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

“Got it,” I say, though I’m not sure how much help I’ll actually be.

“We’ll have guards,” she continues, “but they’ll stay hidden. We don’t want to scare the merchants. If anything goes wrong, run to the trees.”

That catches my attention. “Go wrong? What, exactly, could go wrong?”

She tightens the straps on another sack, not looking at me. “We deal with them regularly, but that doesn’t mean they like us. Some of them are willing to trade, others… see it as charity. Or worse.”

Right. The whole heretic thing. I swallow.

“Also,” she tosses something at me, “wear this and keep your face covered.”

I hold up the bundle of cloth. “A hood, huh?”

“Yes. This way, we can pass you off as one of us.”

I run my fingers over the fabric. It’s heavier than I expected—sturdy, meant for traveling. Io is already pulling up her own hood, adjusting it so only a few strands of blonde hair peek out.

She looks up, catching me watching her. “If they think you’re a regular merchant’s assistant, they won’t ask questions. If they realize you’re an outsider, we could have problems.”

I get the hint and pull the hood over my head. “So, pretend I belong. Don’t talk. Run if things get dicey. Anything else?”

“Yes,” she gestures toward the cart, “help me load the wheat.”

I grab the closest sack and lift. It’s heavier than I expected, but I manage. “Five sacks,” I say. “Is that a lot?”

She tilts her head, considering. “It’s enough to get what we need, if we don’t get cheated.”

“And what exactly are we buying?”

“Medicine, fabric, tools—anything we can’t make ourselves.” She pauses, then sighs. “I hate dealing with them.”

That’s new. “Why?”

Io gives me a flat look. “Because they think they’re doing us a favor. And sometimes, they try to use that against us.”

Blackmail. I don’t ask if that’s happened before. Her expression tells me everything I need to know.

I finish loading the cart, dusting off my hands. “And you’re sure we’ll get a fair deal today?”

“No,” she says, climbing up to take the reins. “That’s why I brought you.”

I blink. “What?”

She smirks. “You’re good at numbers, aren’t you?”

I hesitate. “I guess.”

“Then pay attention.” She flicks the reins. The cart jerks forward.

We roll toward the meeting, and I get the feeling this will be far more than just a simple trade.

###

The meeting spot is nothing more than a side road. No landmarks, no signs, nothing to suggest that deals are made here. Just trees and the worn dirt path cutting through them. It makes sense—no prying eyes, no unwanted attention. A perfect place for people who don’t want their business known.

I glance at Io. She stands next to the cart, arms crossed, scanning the treeline with sharp focus. She doesn’t look nervous. That makes one of us.

“Is this a usual spot?” I ask, shifting my weight uneasily.

“It’s one of them,” she replies. “No one patrols here, and if things go wrong, we have exits in every direction.”

Right. That’s comforting.

The air feels heavier the longer we wait. It’s quiet—too quiet. I can’t even hear birds. Is that normal? I grip the notebook Io handed me earlier. My job is simple: take notes, check numbers. That should be easy enough, right?

I exhale. God, I’m nervous. This is like a high-stakes business deal, except instead of boardrooms and overpriced coffee, I’m sitting in a wooden cart on a nameless road, in a world I barely understand. This isn’t eBay. This is real trade. If I screw up, I don’t just get a bad seller rating—I could get Io into real trouble.

A faint noise. Hoofbeats. Wheels creaking.

“Here they come,” Io murmurs. She jumps down from the cart, pulling her hood up, and walks to the center of the road.

I straighten, trying to get a good look at the approaching figures. A wagon, slightly bigger than ours, rolls into view, pulled by two sturdy-looking horses. Three people sit at the front—two men and a woman. Their clothes are more refined than the villagers’, layered and well-tailored, but practical. No silk or gold, nothing flashy. One of them wears a sword at his hip.

I gulp. I knew they might be armed, but seeing it up close makes my stomach twist.

The wagon slows to a stop. The lead merchant, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a sharp gaze, swings down. He adjusts his coat, studying Io with something between caution and familiarity.

Then he speaks.

“Wir trefen uns wieder.”

A new language. My implant doesn’t react. It must not have enough data.

“Scheint so.” Io responds smoothly.

She really knows how to speak it. Or at least well enough to fool me.

The merchant’s eyes flick to me. He gestures. “Wer ist der Begleiter?”

Io doesn’t hesitate. “Mein Gehilfe.” She motions toward me.

Assistant. That’s me, apparently. I hope that’s what she said.

The merchant’s expression remains unreadable. He turns back to Io. “Zeig mir, was du hast.”

I swear to god, this sounds like something out of a WWII movie. It's German enough to fool my brain, but not German enough for the implant to recognize.

Everything about this world just keeps getting weirder.

###

It never gets easier.

I've been handling these negotiations for a while now, and yet, every time, there's that moment—right before it begins—where I remind myself how easily things can go wrong. One misstep, one bad deal, and the village suffers.

I glance at Nate. I’ve been dragging him around, testing him, seeing how well he keeps up. He’s new, but sharp. Maybe too sharp. He catches things, asks too many questions. I’ll have to be careful with him. But for now, he’s my note-taker, my extra pair of eyes. And I did promise the chief to make him useful.

Here they come.

"We meet again."

It never gets easier.

I've been handling these negotiations for a while now, and yet, every time, there's that moment—right before it begins—where I remind myself how easily things can go wrong. One misstep, one bad deal, and the village suffers.

I glance at Nate. I’ve been dragging him around, testing him, seeing how well he keeps up. He’s new, but sharp. Maybe too sharp. He catches things, asks too many questions. I’ll have to be careful with him. But for now, he’s my note-taker, my extra pair of eyes. And I did promise the chief to make him useful.

Here they come.

A small caravan of carts and horses rolls up the dirt path. Four men, maybe more, dressed in thick traveling coats. Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair, dismounts first. His coat is lined with fine embroidery—subtle, but enough to show he’s no commoner. He moves like someone who’s used to being in control.

"We meet again."

What a clever remark. As if we haven't been doing this for months.

"Seems so," I reply, keeping my tone neutral. This language still feels strange on my tongue—harsh, clipped. Fitting, honestly, for the type of people who speak it.

His eyes shift to Nate, lingering for a second too long.

"Who's the companion?"

As expected. He’s assessing him, trying to see if he’s worth acknowledging.

"My assistant," I say flatly. No need to overcomplicate things. Nate stiffens slightly but doesn’t speak. Good.

"Show me what you have."

Straight to business. The one thing I actually respect about them.

I motion to Nate, who flips open the ledger, ready to jot down the details.

"As we agreed last time, linen fabrics and wheat."

He walks over to one of our sacks of grain, scoops up a handful, and lets it fall through his fingers like he’s appraising gold.

"Hmph. The only good thing about you forest folk is this wheat of yours," he mutters. "The nobles in Braedon treat it as a luxury, you know that?"

"Yes, you mention it every time we meet. And every time I try to ask for a better price, but…" I trail off, waiting for the usual dismissal.

He grins. "Be glad I’m willing to talk to you at all, let alone buy anything."

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. At least some pampered noble somewhere gets to eat good bread.

Nate, sitting quietly, writes something down in the ledger. I’m curious what, but I’ll check later.

"So, you have what I ordered?" I ask, forcing the conversation forward.

"Wool, medicine, tools."

I move toward the cart as he uncovers the goods. The wool is good quality. The medicine—well, we’ll have to test it, but it seems fine. Then my eyes land on the tools. I narrow my gaze.

I reach down and lift a scythe from the pile, turning it in my hands.

"This is a scythe," I say dryly.

"And?"

"I don’t need something we can make ourselves." I tap the metal edge. "I asked for blacksmithing tools, not farm equipment."

He clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. "But do you have the iron for that?"

Here it comes.

"You know, Alric is a good friend of mine." His smirk widens. "What if, by some accident, he were informed that you’re not interested in buying his iron?"

Bastard. That again.

This is how it always goes. They push, they prod, they remind us how fragile our position is. We don’t have the luxury of walking away from deals, but they do.

I glance at Nate. He’s watching, brows furrowed, as if piecing something together. His grip on the ledger tightens slightly.

I take a slow breath, keeping my voice even. "Is that a threat?"

The merchant laughs. "A simple observation. Nothing more."

Liar.

I’ll need to play this carefully. And maybe, just maybe, Nate will be useful for more than just taking notes.

I glance at Nate, trying to figure out if there’s a way to use him to my advantage. But then—what was that? He jumped. Was he startled? And did he just mutter something? I didn’t catch it. He’s a strange one.

No time for that. Focus. Bluffing might be my only shot.

“You know,” I say, forcing my voice to remain casual, “I was thinking of selling our wheat to Otmar and Matthieu. They’re offering double.”

The merchant throws his head back in laughter. “Oh, you stupid heretics.” His voice drips with amusement. “Little miss, let me make something very clear to you—no one will pay you more for your wheat. It would be a waste, seeing as even the prices in Haverstadt and Osterfeld are rising. Some duke is filling his silos, and you forest folk are in no position to negotiate.”

Damn. He called my bluff immediately. I grit my teeth, keeping my expression neutral. I can’t let him see my frustration.

“What are Haverstadt and Osterfeld?”

I whip my head toward Nate. Why are you asking that now?!

The merchant barely glances at him, already irritated.

“Osterfeld is a major wheat producer. Haverstadt is a large market town.” Nate, shut up! I bite back the urge to snap at him and quickly respond to silence him.

The merchant clicks his tongue. “Are you wasting my time, or do you actually want to trade?”

I don’t have the upper hand here. I exhale, steadying myself. “I’ll take it. But I don’t need the scythes. Do you have anything else?”

The merchant rubs his chin, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Hmm… I have these strange plants. Some novelty from across the sea. I took a gamble on them, but no one wants them. I should just get rid of them before I lose more money.”

I frown. “Then why did you buy them in the first place?”

“I had a hunch.” He shrugs and lifts a rough sack. “Some kind of… tough, brown tubers.”

Before I can respond, Nate jerks forward.

“Holy shit! Potatoes!”

He yells. Loudly.

I barely have time to register what he just said before he does the unthinkable—his hood slips back.

The merchant's eyes widen. “He’s not one of you! What is he?” His hand twitches toward his belt. “I should report you for kidnapping!”

Damn it, Nate! I step in front of him instinctively, my mind racing.

“Nate, sit down.” My voice is sharp. If I don’t get control of this now, we’re dead.

I turn back to the merchant. “I’ll make you a deal. Forget about him, and I’ll give you everything we brought. You keep the tools, and I’ll take the wool, medicine… and the useless plant.”

The merchant narrows his eyes. He knows he’s getting the better end of the trade, but that’s the price of keeping Nate from causing any more damage.

“Fine,” he says, spitting on the ground before nodding to his men.

We load the goods. The merchant prepares to leave.

Then Nate whispers to me.

“Ask him if it rained on the road.”

I clench my fists. Not now! “Nate, be quiet. It’s almost over.”

“Ask him!”

I exhale through my nose, turning back to the merchant. “Did it rain on the way here?”

The merchant scoffs. “No, perfect weather for a long voyage. Not a drop since Sableux, and that was two months ago! Nothing makes me happier than a dry road and a stupid forest savage. Till we meet again, little miss.”

I watch him leave, my hands shaking with frustration. That was a bad deal. A very bad deal.

The moment he’s out of earshot, I whirl on Nate.

“Just who do you think you are?” The words come out sharp. I don’t even try to soften them. “You sit there with that ledger, acting like you understand how this works? Do I look so stupid that I can’t do my own job? Do you think I haven’t done this before?” My voice is rising, and I don’t care. “I bought some useless plants and lost a sack of wheat because of you. I should have left you in the forest!”

He flinches.

Good.

I take a breath. “And what was with the questions?” I don’t even want an answer. I shake my head. “Never mind. Keep quiet. We’re going back.”

I don’t look at him for the rest of the trip.

That’s what I get for trusting an outsider.

###

The cart rattles along the forest path, the weight of the trade goods shifting with every bump. Io hasn't spoken a word to me since we left the meeting. I don’t blame her. That deal was awful.

And it was my fault.

I lean back against the sacks of wheat, staring up at the canopy. The branches blur together, my mind racing.

The merchant was smug—too smug. Sure, he always holds the upper hand, but today he was particularly confident. And that offhand comment about Haverstadt and Osterfeld… something about it is nagging at me.

Haverstadt is a major market town. Osterfeld produces wheat.

Osterfeld produces wheat. But prices are rising? That doesn’t make sense. If a major producer has good yields, then wheat should be cheap, not expensive. Unless—

A drought.

Shit.

A drought means crop failures. Crop failures mean food shortages. And food shortages mean famine.

I glance at the sacks of wheat beside me.

Right now, Io and her people have wheat, but they can’t sell it for a good price because merchants know they have no other options. The church’s influence makes sure of that. But if there really is a famine incoming… that changes everything.

Wheat prices will skyrocket.

And if I’m right, the merchants will regret laughing at Io.

But the village still needs to eat. If we sell all our wheat to make a profit, what happens when our own supplies run dry?

Potatoes.

I nearly smack myself for not realizing it sooner.

That’s why I jumped. That’s why my implant spat out those buzzwords. Nutrient-dense staple crop. High yield per acre. Grows in poor soil. Shorter growing cycle.

The village doesn’t know what to do with the potatoes, but I do. If we plant them now, we can replace some of the wheat consumption. That means we can sell the wheat for a good price without starving over the winter.

It’s the perfect leverage.

Now I just have to explain all of this to Io.

…She’s going to kill me.

I glance at her. She’s gripping the reins tighter than necessary, her posture rigid, jaw clenched.

Yeah. Definitely going to kill me.