Page 93 of Her Orc Healer

“And what’s that?”

“I’d take it,” I said. My voice was steady now. “If there’s a way to carry it for her—I will.”

Brindle went still. “You don’t know what it will cost you.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “Because no one else is offering anything at all—not a cure, not a way forward, not even a choice. She might be the only one who understands what this kind of magic costs—and how to take it on.”

I looked at Maeve again. Her skin flushed. Her breath too thin.

“Rowena, don’t,” Brindle tried again.

I lifted the stone in both hands. The surface was smooth as river-worn glass.

“When you’re ready to listen,” the woman had said, “break this.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I brought the stone down hard against the edge of the desk. A sharp, splintering sound split the quiet, the stone shattering like glass.

Light flared—not golden, not warm. A stark, cold white that spilled across the room like frost creeping over a windowpane. It moved strangely, unnatural in its stillness, illuminating nothing yet casting stark shadows in every direction. Shadows that twisted. Shifted.

Breathed.

Maeve shuddered in my arms, a weak, pained sound catching in her throat.

Brindle cursed, a word laced with magic, her wings flaring as she darted back. “Rowena—damn it—”

The already thin air tightened. The walls of the shop stretched and darkened, as if warped by the pulse of magic spiraling out from the broken stone.

And then she was there.

The Woman in Blue.

Not stepping through the door. Not rising from mist. One moment the room was empty—and the next, she was standing in the space between candlelight and shadow, exactly as though she had always been there. Her hands were folded neatly, her expression serene. Not unkind, but wrong. Too composed. Too knowing.

“You’ve made your choice,” she said, her voice smooth as still water.

Brindle shot forward, wings snapping as she thrust out a hand. Shadows coiled before she made it two feet, snaring her wrists with careful, gentle precision, as if restraining a child.

“Let me go,” Brindle hissed, magic crackling around her.

The woman did not even look at her. Her gaze remained locked on me. On Maeve.

Her throat bobbed as she tilted her head, studying the little girl in my arms as though appraising a delicate sculpture.

“She’s unraveling,” the woman said, her voice almost wistful. “But I can hold her together. I can preserve what matters.”

I clutched Maeve closer, my pulse hammering. “Will she be safe?”

Brindle let out a strangled noise behind me, fighting uselessly against the tendrils of shadow pulling her back.

But the woman only smiled. “Safer than she is now.”

The words lodged in my chest, sharp as stone. I swallowed hard. Maeve felt so fragile against me, her breath so thin, like if I didn’t hold her tight enough, she would slip through my fingers.

And hadn’t that always been my fear?

That she would slip through my grasp, no matter how tightly I held on? That love wasn’t enough to keep her safe?