Page 79 of Her Orc Healer

“No promises.”

Maeve let out a delighted shriek somewhere behind us, and we turned to see her dangling a handful of glowmoth husks like they were treasure. Brindle looked completely unbothered.

Iris smiled. “She’s alright, that one. Like flint and honey.”

I nodded. “She’s my whole damn heart.”

“Well then,” Iris said, brushing her hands off, “guess we better make sure no one tries to steal it.”

Back at the apartment, the warmth of the fire had already chased away the evening chill. Maeve lay curled in her blankets, her small body slack with sleep, one hand still loosely gripping the pouch of herbs she’d gathered. Brindle had tucked her in without a word, smoothing a calloused hand over Maeve’s forehead before stepping away to tend the kettle.

I sat at the worn table, turning the cracked pendant between my fingers. The room smelled of damp wool and steeping tea, of cloves and dried lavender. Safe scents. Familiar ones. But they did nothing to settle my gut.

Brindle, bustling around the hearth, was quiet.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, edged with something careful. “Maeve’s light,” she said, watching the fire. “It’s still strong. Bright. But something’s curling in at the edges.” She hesitated, then flicked a glance my way. “Flickering. Like smoke under a door.”

I went very still.

A dozen questions crowded my tongue, but I only asked one. “Is there time?”

Brindle poured the tea. The liquid sloshed warm into the cup, steam unfurling into the air. She wrapped her hands around the clay, thoughtful.

Then, without looking up, she said, “There’s always time.”

A pause. A breath.

“Just not always enough.”

I swallowed, throat tight. The fire crackled, casting gold light against the walls. Brindle’s words settled heavily in my chest, like ink sinking deep into parchment.

I scraped a hand over my face and exhaled. “I don’t know what to do.”

Brindle didn’t offer false reassurances. Didn’t try to play down what we both knew was coming. She just reached across the table and set a steaming cup in front of me. A quiet offering.

I took it.

The tea was scorching, but I drank anyway, letting the heat steady me. Choices curled at the edges of my mind, pressing in. Too many uncertainties, not enough answers. But one thing was solid. One thing was sure.

Kazrek would be here soon.

I stood, leaving my half-drunk tea behind, and stepped out onto the threshold.

The sun was sinking behind the rooftops, casting the sky in burnished gold. It was the kind of light that turned everything soft and fleeting, edges melting into one another like ink bleeding into parchment. I watched it, arms crossed, the ghost of Brindle’s words lingering in my mind.

Time always runs out eventually.

Footsteps crested the stone path below. I didn't turn, not at first. I didn't need to. I knew his stride by now, the quiet certainty of it.

Kazrek stopped a few paces away. “You ready?”

I held onto the horizon a moment longer, watching light drip like honey between the rooftops. My hands curled into my sleeves.

One breath. Then another.

I turned, met Kazrek’s gaze—those gold-flecked eyes steady on mine, waiting—and nodded once. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 22

---