Page 109 of Her Orc Healer

Epilogue

Part I

Itwasn’teventhetenth morning bell, and already, Maeve was glowing.

Light shimmered at the edge of the shelves—gold threaded with something new now, something soft and wild, like sunlight through leaves. It danced across the jars and paper bundles in warm, quiet pulses.

I wiped my hands on a cloth and turned toward the front counter. “Maeve Byrne,” I said, arching an eyebrow. “What did I say about glowing?”

Maeve, perched cross-legged on the stool behind the counter, didn’t look the least bit repentant. She grinned, palms cupped together, light flickering between her fingers like a captured star.

“You said not to blind the customers,” she replied. “But Mister Edwin said it helps his eyesight.”

“That I did,” came a voice from the front corner of the shop.

Mister Edwin sat patiently on the old wooden bench near the window, one sleeve rolled up and a crooked cane leaning beside him. He lifted his hand—gnarled and stiff with age—and waved it half-heartedly in Maeve’s direction. “Bit of light does wonders for these old bones.”

“You know what else does wonders?” I called, stepping around the counter. “A spoonful of Kazrek’s joint tonic, which I’m guessing is why you’re really here.”

He chuckled, the sound low and sheepish. “Well. That, and your walnut ironroot ink. Letters’ve been coming out sharp enough to impress my grandson, and he thinks everything before steam-presses is ancient.”

I sighed and shook my head, but the smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it. “I’m nearly finished mixing it. But as for Kazrek, I'm not sure when he'll be back."

"Ro! The lavender's turned!" Maeve's voice carried from the back room, followed by the clatter of what sounded like several jars hitting the floor at once. "Don't worry! I've got it!"

I paused, pestle hovering mid-grind. There was a time I would have rushed back there immediately, certain disaster was unfolding. Now, I found myself smiling.

"Use the bronze tongs, not the wooden ones," I called back. "And mind the—"

"I KNOW!" she shouted, indignant. "I'm seven, not a baby."

More clattering. A small crash. Then triumphant: "Got it!"

Behind me, the hinges of the shop door creaked in that specific way they always did when someone was trying to be quiet and failing. I didn't turn around.

"If you're trying to sneak up on me, you need to oil that door first," I said, resuming my grinding.

A familiar grunt answered me. "Been meaning to."

I glanced over my shoulder to find Kazrek standing there, arms laden with supplies—fresh bandages, herbs from the market, a small clay pot that smelled like one of Grok's roasts. His hair was pulled back in a short tail, revealing the strong line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his tusks.

Even after all this time, the sight of him sent a bubble of warmth through my chest. Just a few years ago, I didn't believe in things like this. Not really. Not for me. But then Kazrek arrived, and Maeve glowed, and I broke—

Not apart.

Open.

"You were gone all night," I said.

He set his burdens down on the counter and moved behind me, his hands coming to rest on my hips. I leaned back into the solid warmth of his chest without thinking—a habit formed over countless mornings just like this one.

He pressed a kiss to the side of my neck, just below my ear. “Vorgath’s youngest decided to arrive early.”

I turned to glance up at him. “Everyone alright?”

“She’s fine.” His voice held that worn edge of fatigue—too many hours and not enough rest—but underneath it, I could hear the satisfaction. The quiet pride. “Loud. Healthy. Strong grip for someone five minutes old.”

I smiled. “And Soraya?”