Page 111 of Her Orc Healer

And yet, somehow, it held us all.

Brindle's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and decisive. "Come along, May. Let's go to the riverside and steal some of those sticky buns from the market. The ones with cinnamon."

"We're buying them, not stealing them," I corrected automatically.

Brindle waved a dismissive hand. "Semantics. Maeve, get your shawl. It's still brisk by the water."

"Can I bring back rocks for my collection?" Maeve asked.

"Only the shiniest ones," Brindle agreed. "No more than you can carry. And none that speak, mind you. We learned our lesson last time."

I opened my mouth to ask for clarification on that alarming statement, but Maeve was already racing toward the door, Brindle following at a surprisingly quick pace for someone her size.

"We're going on an adventure!" Maeve announced dramatically. "If we don't return by sundown, tell the Guild Mages we were brave!"

"Be back for dinner," I called after her.

"What she said," Kazrek added, not looking up from the hinge.

Mistress Twigg rose from her seat with a satisfied grunt. "That salve is already working better than the last one. You've got a talent, boy."

Kazrek inclined his head in thanks.

"Still terrible with shelving, though," she added, shuffling toward the door. "Good day to you all."

Quiet descended on the shop, sudden and complete. I turned back to my workbench, expecting to resume my grinding. Instead, I heard the distinct sound of a lock clicking into place.

I looked up to find Kazrek standing at the door, one hand still on the latch, his gaze fixed on me.

"Did you just lock the shop?" I asked. "It's barely noon."

He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping just before me. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him through my dress.

"Maeve's gone for hours," he said, voice low. "No patients. No customers." His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering. "First time we've been alone in days."

I raised an eyebrow. "I do have work to finish."

"Mm." His thumb traced the curve of my jaw. "So do I."

And then his mouth was on mine, warm and insistent, and the pestle slipped from my fingers, forgotten.

Epilogue

Part II

Kazrek’smouthwaswarmand unhurried, his hands braced on either side of my hips like he didn’t plan to let me go for a while.

I curled my fingers into his shirt, tugged him closer until the press of him was something I felt in every line of my body. He tasted like rosemary and smoke, like roasted meat and late spring air. Like home.

“You're tired,” I murmured against his lips.

“I’ll sleep later.”

He bent to kiss the hinge of my jaw, the slope of my neck, slow and reverent. One of his hands slid down, dragging the hem of my apron with it. I let it fall, untying the back with fingers that trembled more from want than hesitation.

I was already thinking about our room upstairs—about the bed with the too-soft mattress, about the shutter we’d never bothered to fix that let in just enough light. About the quiet.

But Kazrek didn’t move to lead me anywhere.