Page 57 of Till Orc Do Us Part
When he finishes, applause rolls like thunder.
I blink fast.
He runs back, plops into Drokhaz’s lap like he’s done it a hundred times.
And Drokhaz… doesn’t move.
Just rests a broad hand carefully on Jamie’s shoulder, gaze steady on the stage.
The ache in my chest spreads.
A dozen more readers pass.
Then Liara nudges me. “Final slot’s open.”
I glance at the list—blank.
“Want me to close it?” I ask.
“No need,” a low voice says from behind me.
I turn.
Drokhaz rises, slow and deliberate. Jamie beams beside him.
“I would speak,” he says simply.
The mic feels too small when he takes it—fingers steady, gaze sweeping the crowd like he’s built for this.
“My words are not verse,” he begins. Voice low, gravel-rich. “But they were given to me by a voice that matters.”
He unfolds a small scrap of paper.
And I know what it is.
Jamie’s story.
Drokhaz reads, slow and clear.
“The Green Giant had strong hands but a kind heart…”
Each line lands soft but deep.
By the end—“He used a wrench and a wish. And he fixed it. And then he smiled.”—the crowd is still.
Then applause.
Loud and full and real.
Jamie bounces, clapping hardest of all.
I swallow hard.
Because the man standing beneath those lanterns is not the Drokhaz I met in that town hall.
He’s something more. Something dangerous and fragile and too damn close to my heart.
When he steps down, our eyes lock.
