Page 78 of Her Orc Healer

We both laughed, the sound breaking the quiet around us without disturbing it. A gentle sort of release.

“So that’s it?” I asked. “No spark?”

Iris tucked her knife back into its sheath. “We’re going out again tonight.” She paused. “I think I’m past the point of looking for a fire. I’d rather have something warm but not scalding. Comfortable.”

I looked ahead to where Maeve had her face pressed into a patch of lavender, Brindle crouched beside her, murmuring something too low to catch.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I said quietly.

Iris glanced at me, one brow arched. “Huh. That doesn’t sound like you.”

I shrugged, but the heat in my cheeks gave me away.

“Oh, stars,” she said, grinning now. “You’ve gone soft.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, tugging a bit of moss off a nearby branch. “It’s the mist. Makes people sentimental.”

She let out a warm laugh. “It’s not the mist. It’s the orc who keeps showing up with food and stubborn patience.”

I tried to scoff, but it came out more like a smile.

Up ahead, Maeve let out a little whoop of triumph and held up something leafy in both hands. Brindle gave her a slow nod, clearly impressed, and Maeve beamed like she’d won a medal. She stuffed the herb into her gathering pouch—backward, half-hanging out—and darted off toward another clump of green with wild purpose.

“She’s really taken to Brindle,” Iris said, watching them for a moment.

“She has,” I murmured. I watched Maeve plop onto a patch of moss and immediately pull out a rock she’d probably try to convince me was magical. “Wasn’t sure how that’d go, honestly.”

Iris plucked a curling leaf off a nearby stalk. “Brownies are particular. Kids, too. When it works, it works.”

I nodded, silent.

A moment passed.

“She’s been different lately,” I said finally. “Maeve.”

Iris didn’t look at me, didn’t press. Just waited, letting the pause do the heavy lifting.

I scraped some mud off my boot with a stick. “It’s probably nothing. Just… odd things. Little outbursts. More power than usual.” I swallowed. “And there’s someone from Finn’s past sniffing around.”

Now she looked at me. Not alarmed. Just alert. “You want me to worry yet?”

“Not yet,” I said, but my voice wasn’t as sure as I wanted it to be. “Just… keep an eye out. If something ever felt off, I’d want you to say.”

Iris tilted her head. “You mean, aside from the usual level of off that surrounds you?”

I huffed out a breath that almost counted as a laugh.

“She’s a good kid,” Iris added, more gently. “Too bright to slip away without someone noticing.”

“I know.” My throat tightened. “I just… I don’t know what Finn got caught up in. But she apparently didn’t take it with her.”

Another beat passed. Then Iris said, matter-of-fact, “Well. If anyone’s going to scare off ghosts with nothing but a glare and a feather quill, it’s you.”

I gave her a tired smile. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” she said. “And if you ever need me to set a trap or mix something that smells terrible and burns worse, just say the word.”

“Would you label it first this time?”

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