Page 4 of Her Orc Healer

She shrugged, but there was mischief in the motion. "If it is, you're the one most likely to find it."

I scoffed, setting my cup down. "Not in this lifetime."

"Not with that attitude."

"Iris."

She grinned. "What? Just saying, nothing is impossible. Stranger things have happened than a lost library waiting to be found."

Some part of me wanted to argue, to cite logic, reason, the practical truths of my life. But another part of me, smaller and quieter, wanted to believe her. I could almost picture it—almost feel the pull of it.

But then—

"Oh, rot!" I shot up so quickly that the tonic nearly sloshed over the rim.

Iris blinked. "That’s a strong reaction to self-reflection."

"No," I groaned, already moving toward the back counter. "Corwin’s parchment stall—I was supposed to pick up an order before midday."

I dug through the mess of receipts and ledgers, my pulse kicking up as I realized just how late it had gotten.

"If I don’t get there soon, he’ll sell it to someone else," I muttered.

Iris sighed, leaning back. "Rowena—"

"Not a word," I warned, already reaching for my coin pouch.

"Just saying, if you keep running yourself ragged, one day your body’s going to force you to stop."

I waved her off, bending down to scoop Maeve into my arms. "And yet today is not that day."

Maeve, delighted at being hoisted into the air, threw her arms around my neck. "Where we goin'?"

"To the market," I said, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before settling her on my hip. "And you, Miss May, are sticking to my side like glue."

Iris shook her head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a warning.

But I was already pushing open the door, stepping into the crisp morning air, Maeve still humming against my shoulder.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Chapter 2

TheEverwoodmarketwasalready alive with noise by the time I stepped onto the cobbled main street, Maeve perched on my hip and my coin pouch pressed tightly to my side.

Vendors called out their wares in sing-song chants, their voices rising above the murmur of customers bartering over fresh produce, bolts of dyed fabric, and polished trinkets. A lute thrummed a merry tune somewhere nearby, half-buried beneath the steady clatter of wagon wheels and boots against stone.

Maeve inhaled deeply, sighing in delight. “Smells like pie.”

“It smells like fish and damp wool,” I muttered, adjusting my grip on her as I stepped around a slow-moving cart piled high with pumpkins.

She ignored me, twisting in my arms to point toward a cluster of wooden stalls near the square’s center. “We gettin’ treats?”

I exhaled through my nose. “We’re getting parchment, madder root, and linseed oil. Necessary things.”

Maeve deflated dramatically. “Pie’s necessary.”

“You have a very loose definition of necessity.”

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