Page 3 of Her Orc Healer

Iris grinned, placing the blossom in Maeve’s palms. “You remember what I taught you? Press the petals in your fingers, just so,”—she mimed crushing the delicate bloom lightly—"until the oil seeps out. Then bring it to me."

Maeve nodded solemnly and scurried to the side table, setting to work with all the careful determination of an apprentice given their first real task.

Edwin gave a small chuckle, adjusting his satchel over his shoulder. “She’ll make a fine herbalist yet,” he mused.

“Over my dead body,” I muttered, swiping the cloth over a faint smear of ink on the counter. The last thing this family needed was another Byrne chasing power she couldn’t control.

And the last thing I needed was to see history repeat itself in a girl with golden hands and my sister’s smile.

“Well,” Edwin said, clearing his throat. “As always, Rowena, your inks remain the finest in Everwood.”

“Glad to hear it,” I replied. “Safe journey back.”

He gave a polite nod before seeing himself out, the shop door swinging shut behind him, leaving only the scent of parchment and old vellum in his wake.

Iris wasted no time. “You’re exhausted,” she declared, perching on the edge of my counter and folding her arms.

“I’m fine.”

“I know when you’re lying. You’ve got that tight little line between your brows.”

I exhaled through my nose, turning my attention to the shop ledger, though the numbers swam before me. “Of course, I’m exhausted. Taxes are higher than last season, orders are thinning, and Maeve needs boots that actually cover her ankles before the autumn rains come.” I snapped the ledger closed. “What would you have me do instead? Close up the shop? Let my father’s work fade into nothing?”

Iris softened, reaching for the discarded herbal brew and pressing it into my hands again. “No,” she said gently. “I would have you breathe. Just for a moment.”

I hated how perceptive my friend was sometimes. The ache had settled in weeks ago, creeping into my bones like damp seeping through old parchment. At first, I told myself it was just the season changing, the lingering chill of early autumn clinging to my skin. But then came the headaches, the moments where my vision swam if I stood too fast, the way my hands had started to tremble if I worked too late into the night. I’d been tired before. This was something else.

I settled onto the rarely used stool behind the counter and took another sip of the tonic.

Iris beamed like she’d won a battle. “You know, you let yourself dream once,” she mused. “What happened to that?”

“I was fifteen,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“You used to scribble notes in your margins,” she continued. “Maps. Routes. Places beyond Everwood.”

I swallowed, heat curling low in my chest. “That was before,” I said. My fingers curled around the cup, absorbing its warmth. “Before Finn left.”

Iris didn’t flinch. "Before Finn left," she echoed, her voice softer now. "Before May. Before the shop became more weight than dream."

I stared into my cup, willing the warmth to seep deeper, past my fingers and into the knots in my chest. "Dreams don’t keep a roof over our heads," I murmured. "They don't pay rising taxes, or buy boots that fit."

"No," Iris admitted. "But they keep people alive in other ways."

I snorted, shaking my head, but I didn't argue.

Across the shop, Maeve let out an exaggerated sigh. "This is hard," she declared, holding up her pinched fingers. "Sticky.”

"That's how you know it's working," Iris said with a knowing smile. "Keep at it."

Maeve groaned dramatically but went back to mashing the petals between her fingers, whispering something to herself as she worked. Watching her, the weight in my chest eased—just a little.

Iris nudged me lightly with her elbow. "Humor me," she said. "If things were different. If you didn’t have the shop, or taxes, or—" she waved a vague hand toward Maeve, "—responsibilities aside, where would you go?"

I almost didn't answer. But the words were there, waiting. "Valara," I said. "The floating markets. The old inkwells along the Black River." I hesitated, lowering my voice. "The Forgotten Library."

Iris let out a soft laugh, something knowing glinting in her gaze. "You still think it's real."

I lifted a brow. "And you don’t?"