Page 10 of Her Orc Healer

Collapsed. The word chafed. “I was fine.”

His gaze flicked over me briefly, unimpressed. “You were unconscious.”

Maeve giggled. “Kazrek carried you.”

My stomach flipped. “What?”

“Like a princess,” she added, entirely too gleefully.

Heat crawled up the back of my neck. I snapped my focus back to the orc—Kazrek, apparently—who had returned to his work with infuriating calm, as if this was an everyday occurrence. As if carting me through the streets of Everwood had been no more effort than picking up a sack of flour.

“I couldn’t just let you hit the ground,” he said, grinding the pestle against the mortar.

I lifted my arms to cross them over my chest before realizing my sleeves still smelled like him—like warm leather and something faintly medicinal. I dropped them immediately. “Well,” I said, forcing the heat from my voice, “thank you for that. But we should be going.”

Kazrek didn’t look up from his work. “Not yet.”

My back stiffened. “Excuse me?”

That earned me a glance. Brief, assessing. Then he tilted his chin toward the chair beside him. “Sit.”

“I don’t—”

“Sit,” he repeated, slower this time. Still calm. Still entirely unconcerned with my indignation.

Delighted by the back-and-forth, Maeve patted my hip consolingly. “You should listen,” she said sagely. “He’s the healer.”

I scowled. “I am perfectly capable of knowing when I need a healer.”

Kazrek didn’t argue, didn’t push. He simply set aside the mortar, wiped his hands on a cloth, and turned his attention to Maeve.

“You’ve been learning well,” he told her. “But I have one more lesson.”

Maeve perked up immediately, eyes bright. “What is it?”

“Rest,” he said, nodding toward one of the cots lined against the far wall. “A healer’s work is only good if we know when to let the body recover.”

Maeve tilted her head, considering. "Like how you made sure Ro was sleeping so she could get better?"

Kazrek nodded. "Exactly. Even when you're not sick, rest is important for healing, for letting the body rebuild its strength."

For a moment, I thought Maeve would resist. She had endless energy, always bouncing from one thing to the next. But she hesitated only briefly before nodding. “Okay,” she declared, already making her way toward the cot. “But only for a little while.”

Kazrek made a noncommittal sound, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Of course.”

She climbed onto the cot without another word, curling onto her side. Within moments, her breathing evened out, her small body relaxing into the blankets.

I blinked. “How did you—?”

Kazrek merely shrugged. “She listens.”

I frowned. Maeve barely listened to me half the time. But somehow, this orc had convinced her to lie down with nothing but a few words and a patient look.

Kazrek turned back to me, motioning to the chair again. “Now.”

I hesitated, glancing toward the door. I could leave. I could pick up Maeve, walk out, and put this whole mortifying episode behind me.

But the room still wavered at the edges of my vision. My limbs still felt too light, my breath too thin.