Page 40 of Her Orc Healer

Auntie Brindle stepped out, her small form swathed in layers of skirts and a thick woolen shawl, her sharp eyes glinting in the lantern light. She took one look at the two of us, then let out a little hum, the kind that made it very clear she already knew more than she should.

It hadn’t even been a full day since she arrived, but somehow, she fit like she’d always been here. Like I had simply forgotten a space existed for her until she filled it.

“Maeve’s out cold,” she announced, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “And I’m off to my own rest—unless you need me to knock some sense into you before I go.” She directed that last part at me, arching a knowing brow.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. “I’m fine.”

The brownie gave a slow nod, entirely unconvinced. “Of course you are.”

Iris grinned. “She did kiss that orc of hers tonight.”

Brindle’s expression didn’t so much as flicker with surprise. Instead, she clicked her tongue, amused. “About time.”

I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I hate both of you.”

Brindle just chuckled. “And yet, here we are.”

Iris lifted her mug in mock toast. “To terrible life choices.”

Brindle laughed, shaking her head as she turned back toward the door. “Don’t stay up brooding too long, girl. You might start getting ideas.” She winked, then disappeared inside, leaving me to exactly that problem.

I sighed, tipping my head back against the railing.

Iris took another sip of her cider before setting the mug beside her. “So. Are you going to tell me why you ran?”

I stiffened. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” Her voice was too soft for teasing now, too knowing. “You ran, Ro.”

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. The air smelled like autumn, like the last of the alder leaves clinging to the trees, like cider and woodsmoke and everything that should have made me feel safe. But I didn’t feel safe. Not with the way my chest still ached.

When I finally spoke, my voice was quieter. “Because it felt like something.”

Iris didn’t say anything, just waited.

I swallowed. “Because it felt like something I shouldn’t want.”

A breeze stirred my hair, lifting the loose strands at my temples.

Iris exhaled through her nose, leaning back against the railing. She rubbed her thumb over the rim of her cup, thoughtful. “You ever wonder why I never married?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “I—what?”

“I had a man once. Good man, mostly. Had a knack for carving, hands like they were made for shaping the world into something softer.” She shook her head, glancing out over the street below. “But he wanted more than what I could give. Wanted roots. A house with a gate. I was too restless. Too stubborn. Thought needing someone would make me small.”

Iris turned back to me then, her expression unreadable. “And by the time I figured out I’d been wrong, he was gone.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“I’m not saying your story is mine,” she said, tilting her head at me. “But don’t go thinking you’re the first fool to run from something good just because you don’t know what to do with it.”

I swallowed, shifting my grip on the mug. I had never thought of Iris as someone who could have settled down. She was too steady, too comfortable in her own skin. But maybe she hadn’t always been. Maybe she’d once been unsure, too.

My stomach twisted. “Iris—”

She raised a hand, cutting me off. “I’m not asking for a heart-to-heart. Just… maybe don’t be so certain that running is the safer choice.”

I curled my fingers around my mug, staring down at the swirling cider. “I don’t—” My voice wavered. “People leave, Iris.”