Page 5 of Her Orc Protector

Edwin noticed but didn’t comment. He limped around the desk, retrieved a folded sheet of parchment from beneath a cracked inkwell, and held it out to me.

“Your tasks are straightforward. Front hall, east alcove, lower stacks. Dusting, sweeping, organizing by initial glyph. Don’t touch anything with a red seal, and if something starts humming, walk away and come get me.”

I took the paper. The list was clear. Tidy. Dated.

“You’ll be paid end of week,” he added.

A door creaked open somewhere down the corridor behind him, and a voice followed—low and clipped. “You didn’t tell me she was bringing a child.”

Edwin sighed, long-suffering but fond. “Fira, we’ve discussed this.”

A second later, she emerged—a dwarven woman in a sharply pressed work coat, sleeves rolled, hair braided back into tight rows. Her scowl hit first, followed closely by eyes that missed nothing. She looked me over from boots to baby, arms crossed.

“This is a scribe’s hall, not a nursery.”

“She’s not a distraction,” I said quietly. “She stays close. I’ll get the work done.”

Fira grunted. “We’ll see.”

She turned to Edwin, lips pursed. “If I find biscuit crumbs in the folios again—”

“That was the fox sprite. Not Issy.”

Fira’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll see,” she said again, disappearing back through the door she came from, boots thudding sharp against the stone.

Edwin exhaled. “That’s her way of saying welcome.”

I wasn’t sure if he was joking.

“She’ll come around,” he said, catching my uncertainty. “She just likes order. And people who don’t spill tea on warded texts.”

“I don’t drink tea,” I said.

“Excellent start.”

The east alcove sat deeper into the building than I’d expected—past the central hall and a short turn that took me under anarched lintel carved with cataloging runes. A faint tingle passed over my skin as I stepped beneath it, like walking through static. Warding spells, meant to keep the wrong hands from the right shelves.

Ellie stayed still, her breath warm against my chest. I adjusted the sling, then wiped my palms on my coat and got to work.

Dusting was straightforward. The shelves here were wide and low, meant for scrolls and bundled papers rather than bound books. I moved carefully, wiping the wood down with even strokes, sorting loose sheaves into neater piles. Most were tagged with sigils I couldn’t read—not magical, just academic shorthand. I recognized the rhythm of it, though. Systems. Quiet logic. Someone had organized all this once with care, and I found myself matching their cadence without thinking too much about it.

It wasn’t hard work. But it asked for attention. I liked that more than I’d expected.

A half-bell passed, maybe more, before Ellie started to fuss. I found a corner nook by Shelf Seven, the sun licking across the floor in a wide triangle of gold. I crouched to sit beside the window, back against the wall, and guided her to nurse.

I didn’t mean to let my head rest half against the stone. But her mouth found rhythm again, and my shoulders eased.

Bootfalls approached.

I looked up quickly. Fira stood at the mouth of the hall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Ellie kept nursing, steady and content, one tiny fist curled against my coat. I met Fira’s gaze, waiting. If she was going to tell me I wasn’t allowed to feed her here, I wanted to hear her say it. Out loud.

But Fira didn’t say anything.

She glanced over the shelves at my work so far. Clean. Organized. Then her eyes dropped to Ellie and the wrap knotted across my shoulder.

“You’ve tied that too high,” she said finally. “Bet it pulls on your spine by midday.”