Page 85 of Her Orc Healer

I tightened my grip on the mug, knuckles aching.

I hadn’t protected Finn. Hadn’t stopped her from getting tangled in things too big to escape.

And now… Maeve.

Was I going to fail her too?

The morning crawled by with agonizing slowness. Every time the light shifted outside, every creak of the old building settling, my eyes would dart to the door. Expecting it to open. Expecting him.

By midmorning, I'd rearranged the display shelf twice and started on a fresh batch of indigo ink that nobody had ordered. Maeve dozed fitfully in her nook, occasionally asking for more tea or another blanket, her usual vibrant presence dimmed like a lantern running low on oil.

When the bell above the door finally rang, my heart leapt traitorously in my chest—and then sank just as quickly when I saw who had entered.

Not Kazrek, but Uldrek. He wasn’t wearing his armor today—just a rough-spun shirt rolled to the elbows, a battered leather vest, and a grin that looked like it had survived a dozen brawls and hadn’t lost a tooth for it.

"Morning," he said with easy confidence.

I nodded and straightened, pushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Can I help you?"

“Hope so,” he said, stepping inside without hesitation. “Vorgrim’s running low on a few things—charcoal, bloodroot powder, something that doesn’t smear when he sweats through his robes. Said your inks were worth the walk.”

I set down the pestle I wasn’t using and nodded toward the shelf by the far window. “Pigments are labeled. Custom blends are in the back.”

He glanced over at Maeve, who was watching him with wary curiosity from her blanket nest. "Hey, little warrior. Not feeling well today?"

Maeve shook her head. "M'waiting for Kazrek," she said. "He makes the best medicine."

Uldrek looked back at me. "Yeah, he's good at that. Always was."

He scanned the jars, lips moving silently as he read, before he plucked three from the shelf and turned back to me.

“We’re making a final supply run before the caravan starts moving again. Vorgrim wanted to get his hands on some proper ink before we’re in the foothills with nothing but boiled root and borrowed chalk.”

I nodded, already reaching for paper to tally the cost. “How soon are you leaving?”

“Week, maybe less,” he said casually. “Depends on weather, stragglers, politics. You know how it is.”

I didn’t, but I let it pass.

He leaned a forearm on the counter, watching me work. “Kaz hasn’t told you, has he?”

My pen hesitated. “Told me what?”

“That Vorgrim offered him a place with the guild. Official. Traveling medic. Rank, supplies, the whole bit.”

I kept writing. Slowly. Deliberately. “No. He didn’t mention it.”

“Huh.” Uldrek scratched his jaw, looking genuinely surprised. “Well. Suppose he’s not one to talk about himself much. Still… If he says yes, we’ll be glad to have him. Finally—a healer who doesn’t grumble his way through a fever bandage.”

He grinned like it was just another piece of harmless gossip.

Like he hadn’t just confirmed what I already feared.

I finished the tally. “Three jars,” I said, voice steady. “Six and two silver.”

Uldrek counted the coins into my hand and gave a little two-fingered salute. “Thanks. Maybe we’ll see you before we head out.”

“Maybe.” I smiled, tightly. “Goodbye, Uldrek.”