Page 12 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc

I shrugged. “Caught her gathering them.”

“And you let her go?” Disbelief colored his voice.

“What was I supposed to do? Kill her?” The mere thought turned my stomach. “She’s not dangerous, just desperate to save her familiar. A gorgon turned it to stone.”

Osen studied me with uncomfortable intensity. “You care what happens to this witch.”

“I care about not starting a war with Silvermist over a handful of mushrooms.” I snorted, but it didn’t cover the bitterness of the lie. “She works at their hospital now.”

Or she had, before I’d apparently fucked that too. Her furious words echoed in my head:Stop ruining my life. First her ritual, then dinner with that prick doctor. I shoved down the unwelcome sourness that tried to crawl up my throat.

Not my problem. None of it was my problem. She was just another witch bringing chaos to clan lands.

“Then we compromise.” Osen rose, brushing dirt from his pants. “She can perform her ritual, but only under supervision. Your supervision.”

“No.” The word exploded from my chest. “Find someone else.”

“You already know her. You know the situation.” His tone brooked no argument. “This way, she gets her ritual. We maintain control of our borders. Everyone wins. Unless there’s some reason you can’t handle this duty?”

Images flashed through my mind. Pale skin in moonlight. The arch of her spine. Her lips forming my name.

“Fine.” I yanked my line from the water. “But I’m not responsible for whatever trouble she causes.”

“Just keep her from causing any.” Osen’s satisfied nod only irritated me more. He turned to leave, thenpaused. “And make sure your father understands his place. The clan’s had enough of his madness.”

My fingers tightened on the empty fishing basket until the wood creaked. He wasn’t wrong—I’d watched my father spiral further and further into delusions and face-saving tales of nonexistent allies. And after he’d swung that ax at Osen... But hearing my cousin dismiss him so coldly, like some rabid beast that needed putting down, made my blood boil even as shame twisted in my gut.

Talk sense into him. Make him understand.As if I hadn’t spent months trying.

I left without a single damn fish. The empty basket mocked me as I packed up my gear and shouldered the other supplies. I’d wasted too much time arguing with Osen. Father would be in one of his moods by the time I arrived—hungry and suspicious and full of questions I couldn’t answer without setting him off.

Something gray darted between the trees ahead, too deliberate to be a squirrel. I dropped the basket, hand flying to my knife.

Yellow eyes gleamed from behind a fallen log. The cat—Miranda’s familiar—stared with unsettling intelligence. My hand stayed on my knife, remembering how that same innocent-looking creature had torn a dark witch’s soul from her body. Just because this magic wore a friendly face didn’t make it less dangerous.

But it had also saved Torain’s life. Saved the clan.The contradiction made my head ache worse than any migraine.

I tried stepping around him. The cat simply jumped on a boulder, tail twitching. When I moved again, he repeated the maneuver.

“Fuck off, cat.” My voice carried more confidence than I felt. “I’m not in the mood for witch games.”

Those yellow eyes continued to stare at me. The familiar’s fluffy tail twitched once, twice, before it turned and trotted further up the path.

Curiosity won over caution. I followed, knife still drawn.

Around the path’s bend, perched on a flat rock, sat a woven basket. The smell hit me before I even nudged up the lid. Fresh fish. Six of them, cleaned and ready to cook.

The familiar sat beside it, tail curled neatly around his paws.

“I don’t need handouts from your witch.”

The cat’s stare felt judgmental. Like he knew exactly what choice I faced—show up empty-handed and watch Father spiral further into his delusions, or swallow my pride and accept help from the very people who’d caused this mess.

“Fine.” I sheathed my knife and grabbed the basket. “But this changes nothing.”

The familiar yawned, showing off too many of those sharp teeth. I didn’t flinch—did not flinch—but the beast was gone between one blink and the next.

Leaving the basket.

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