Page 62 of Her Orc Healer

Maeve turned back to Uldrek solemnly. “You owe him forever now.”

Uldrek pressed a hand to his chest, looking scandalized. "A life-debt? Really?”

Maeve giggled, and I had to fight back a smile of my own.

Despite myself, I was watching Kazrek carefully. He carried himself the same as always—measured, solid—but there was something different about him with them. The easy way he bantered with Uldrek, the quiet deference he showed to Vorgrim. This was a different Kazrek than the one who lingered in my shop with quiet insistence, or the one who kissed me in the dark when no one was watching.

This was Kazrek among his own.

Auntie Brindle, still seated with Maeve, narrowed her sharp eyes on Vorgrim. "And you? Besides scaring children with your glacier stare, what’s your claim to fame?"

“Vorgrim was my mentor,” Kazrek answered for the older orc.

Maeve tilted her head up at Kazrek. “You learned from him? Like I learn from Auntie Brindle?”

“Close enough,” Vorgrim murmured, reaching for the tea and pouring himself a cup. “He was good at patching wounds before we met, but battlefield medicine and real healing are two different things. Managed to convince him not every wound needed stitching with a sewing needle and sheer willpower.”

“Barely,” Uldrek muttered, rubbing his leg as if his old wound still ached. “Nearly lost my damn soul to his bedside manner.”

Maeve gasped, solemn. “Kazrek, did you almost steal his soul?”

Kazrek turned a slow, unimpressed look on Uldrek. The other orc grinned, unapologetic.

“I did not,” Kazrek answered simply.

Maeve considered that for a moment, then nodded firmly, satisfied. “That’s good.”

Vorgrim, watching the exchange with quiet interest, lifted his tea to his lips. “Your girl’s sharp,” he noted, addressing Kazrek directly.

“She’s not my—” Kazrek started, but Uldrek cut in.

“She might as well be,” Uldrek said with a smirk, elbowing Kazrek in the ribs. “What’s the old saying? Blood is what you’re born with, but family is what you claim?”

I swallowed hard, glancing at Kazrek, but he wasn’t looking at me—his eyes were fixed on Uldrek, unreadable. This was something I hadn’t expected, something I wasn’t sure how to navigate. Kazrek, who rarely let anyone close, who carried his past like a wound that refused to close, had people. A friend who teased him like a younger brother would, and a mentor who carried enough quiet weight that even Kazrek, steady as stone, seemed to shift around him.

And now, they were here, in my shop, in my space, as if they belonged. And Maeve had already decided they did.

I glanced at Auntie Brindle, who watched the whole exchange with sharp amusement. “Well,” she mused, sipping her tea. “This day just got a great deal more interesting.”

Uldrek stretched his long legs under the table, entirely at ease, his hands laced behind his head as he surveyed the shop with the air of a man who had already decided he liked the place. "I have to say, Kaz, this is not where I pictured you settling down."

Kazrek grunted, tearing a piece of bread from the breakfast bundle they’d brought. "That’s because I didn’t settle down."

Uldrek smirked, tipping his head toward Maeve, who was currently attempting to weave dried flowers into Auntie Brindle’s thick curls. "Could have fooled me."

Kazrek didn’t respond. But I saw the slight tick in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched where they rested on the table.

Vorgrim, who had remained quiet, took another slow sip of his tea, his scarred hands remarkably steady. "Not a bad choice of place," he mused. "Peaceful enough. Though I imagine that youngling keeps you on your toes."

He was watching me now, his gaze unreadable, like he was assessing something he hadn’t quite made his mind up about yet. I lifted my chin just slightly, refusing to shrink under the weight of it. "She has her moments," I said. “But we all do.”

Uldrek chuckled. "She’s got a spine, this one."

"Of course she does," Auntie Brindle interjected archly. "Else I wouldn’t be wasting my time here, would I?"

Maeve tugged at Brindle’s hair again, frowning in concentration. "Auntie Brindle, hold still!"

Brindle scoffed but relented, allowing Maeve to continue her determined braiding. Then, she patted Maeve’s tiny hands. "Come, girl, let’s fetch the dye jars from the back. I need something bright in this dreary room, and I trust your eye for color."

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