Page 19 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“No.” She freezes, then shakes her head. “I don’t take handouts.”
“It’s not a handout,” I counter. “It’s—”
“It is,” she states firmly, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. “My clothes and shoes are fine, Lyrion. I’ll manage. I always do.”
“But I don’t mind—”
“I said ‘no.’”
I bite back the urge to press the point. She’s stubborn, and I worry that I’ve insulted her. But the thought of her walking home in thin soles and a patched cloak settles in my chest like a stone. She may refuse now, but I’ll find another way to see she has what she needs, whether she realizes it or not.
It doesn’t take long to reach Brakkus’s blacksmith shop. I’ve been here once when I needed something repaired. It’s a sturdy stone building with thick wooden beams, the air around it filled with the sharp tang of metal and the comforting warmth of the forge.
Ember, Brakkus’s orange tabby cat, lounges lazily near the anvil, her fur glowing warmly in the forge’s flickering light.
Brakkus himself is an imposing Orc, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled like most of his kind. He has light green skin and golden eyes. His thick, dark hair is tied back loosely, and he gives us a welcoming grin as we approach.
“Hello, Isobel. Lyrion.” His deep voice rumbles pleasantly. He reaches down, stroking Ember affectionately behind the ears.
Errol leaps from the satchel and greets Ember, rubbing his face against hers. I look at Isobel’s cat.“I assume you two know each other?”
“Yes.”His voice slips easily into my mind.“Ember and Brakkus helped me and Isobel when we first came into town.He’s the one who told her about the job opening at the café and put in a good word with Tressa.”
Interesting. I eye the Orc, wondering if he was just being kind or if he perhaps may be interested in Isobel.
Ember looks at Errol.“Why are you with the Elf? Is he courting your human?”She glances at Brakkus.“I hope not. Brakkus would be much better for her.”
I would be insulted, but Brakkusisher owner after all, so of course his cat would think such things about him.
“Why doesn’t Brakkus ask to court her?”Errol asks, completely uncaring that I can hear every word of their conversation.
Ember sighs as she sits down on her haunches.“He probably believes she would think him too brutish to even consider. He’s very self-conscious about his size, you know. It’s the reason he’s hoping for a fated Orc mate.”
“I suppose that’s understandable,”Errol replies.“Still. If things don’t work out with this Elf, I’ll let you know. Maybe you could urge him to reconsider.”
“What?”I give Errol an incredulous look.“There is nothing to work out. Isobel and I are not courting.”
“Maybe not yet.”He shrugs. “But I can see the way you look at my mistress.”
“He seems a bit snooty,”Brakkus’s cat says, speaking about me as if I’m not standing right here.“I personally think Isobel is too good for him.”
“I can still hear you, you know,”I say pointedly.
They both look at me, slowly blink, and then turn back to their conversation, dismissing me entirely.
I stop short of rolling my eyes, trying to tune out their feline commentary so I can focus instead on Isobel and Brakkus.
“Cyran said you might be able to fix this.” Isobel holds out the broken locket. “Do you think you can? It was my mother’s.”
The sight of her vulnerability nearly undoes me. If he cannot fix it, I’m going to insist that we return to the jeweler, and I’ll pay for the repair.
Brakkus takes the locket, examining it closely before giving her a reassuring smile. “It shouldn’t be a problem. But, I must warn you: It won’t be as fine or polished as it would be if the jeweler did the repair.” He cocks his head to one side. “I can do it for free though.”
“Oh, no,” she replies. “I don’t want you to do that. I can pay you, Brakkus.”
“Nonsense.” He waves her off. “You came to visit me every day for a week to tend my wound a few months ago. I owe you. It’s the least I can do.”
I frown at his comment, wondering just how close the two of them are.
