Page 10

Chapter 9

T he familiar crunch of gravel beneath my boots echoed in the stillness of the forest, a steady rhythm that matched the calm of the morning. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint, earthy scent of pine and wildflowers. It was market day in Everwood, and though I wasn’t heading to town, the distant hum of voices and the occasional clatter of carts floated up to meet me.

My path led me toward Vorgath’s forge, but my thoughts wandered to the night before. The almost-kiss in the forge, the warmth of his presence during dinner, the gentle way he'd told Elias a bedtime story... My cheeks flushed at the memory, and I found myself both eager and nervous to see him again.

As the trail wound around a low ridge, the view opened up, revealing Everwood tucked in the valley below. From this vantage point, the town appeared like a living painting, the market square bustling with color and movement. I paused, listening to the faint echoes of laughter and haggling from the vendors, a distant but steady reminder of home. It wasn’t perfect, but Everwood was resilient—just like the people who’d chosen to rebuild after the war.

“Soraya.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Vorgath's deep voice. I turned to find him standing a short distance up the path, his massive frame blending into the shadow of the trees. How I’d missed him entirely was beyond me, but the sight of him, solid and steady, made my pulse quicken.

“Seven curses, Vorgath! You scared me half to death,” I scolded, pressing a hand to my chest.

He frowned. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

As my heart rate returned to normal, I took in the sight of him. He was dressed in his usual leather and cloth, but his clothes were free of the usual smudges of soot, and his boots looked polished.

“I thought we might run some errands today,” he said, watching me take all of this in. “We need some things from the market for Grimble's order.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And here I thought I would spend another day being yelled at to 'tighten my grip.'”

Vorgath's lips twitched slightly. “Your grip is improving. But even the most dedicated apprentice needs a day of rest.”

“Well, in that case, my poor, blistered hands thank you.”

Instead of continuing toward the forge, he turned toward the town, and I fell into step beside him. His long strides matched my quicker pace, and together, we made our way down the winding path into Everwood.

“How was Elias this morning?” he asked. “Tired after a late night?”

“Oh, he was full of energy as usual. In fact, he spent breakfast regaling Mrs. Crumble with his own version of the story you told him. Apparently, Grokk gained the ability to breathe fire by the end of it.”

Vorgath let out a low chuckle. “A creative child. He reminds me of my brother when we were young.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the casual mention of his brother but pleased that he felt comfortable saying things like that around me.

“He wants to know when you'll visit again to tell him more stories.”

He cut his eyes at me. “What does his mother say?”

I bit my lip to hide the smile threatening to break through. “Well, his mother thinks that could be arranged. Perhaps for dinner again soon?”

Vorgath nodded. “I'd like that.”

“As long as you don’t forget your giant fork,” I reminded him, bumping him playfully with my shoulder and earning myself a small smirk in response.

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the distant chatter of birds. I found myself stealing glances at Vorgath, admiring the way the morning sun caught the highlights in his dark hair and made his green skin glow. It was strange how quickly I'd grown accustomed to his presence, how natural it felt to walk beside him.

As someone approached on the path, I instinctively pressed closer to Vorgath, my shoulder brushing his side. His arm came around my waist, pulling me just a little tighter against him. The closeness was electric, my pulse quickening at the feel of his solid frame beside me, the scent of smoke and iron that clung to him filling my senses.

The passerby—a human woman carrying a basket of vegetables—glanced warily at us, offering a murmured “Good morning” before hurrying past. As soon as she was out of sight, Vorgath’s arm slipped away, the brief moment of contact gone as quickly as it had come. The silence that followed felt heavier now, the comfortable ease replaced by tension.

Clearing his throat, Vorgath spoke. “Your form is improving,” he said. “In the forge, I mean. You’re learning quickly.”

I blinked, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Thank you,” I said. “I never thought I'd enjoy it so much, but it's more than just brute strength. It's... creating. I'm not just making pretty dresses—I'm making things, useful and beautiful things, too, if I get it right. I didn't know how much I needed that.”

Vorgath nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Strength comes with time. But the heart for it—that you’ve already got.”

The simplicity of his praise struck something in me. I opened my mouth to respond, but the words died on my lips as we crested a hill and the bustling market of Everwood came into view. The square was alive with color and noise, stalls overflowing with goods from all corners of Alderwilde. The scent of fresh bread and exotic spices wafted through the air, mingling with the shouts of vendors hawking their wares.

I turned to Vorgath, a grin spreading across my face. “Shall we?”

He nodded. “After you.”

The market bustled with life—vendors shouting to sell their wares, children darting between stalls, the clatter of carts rolling over cobblestone. As we wove through the crowd, I noticed how people parted for Vorgath, their glances quick and uncertain. Children stared with wide eyes, their faces torn between fascination and fear, while adults exchanged furtive glances. The war had changed so much, forcing us to see beyond our differences and fight side by side.

But peace, it seemed, was a different kind of battlefield.

I felt a pang of protectiveness, my mind flashing to the orc who had offered me a glimpse of his own vulnerability the night before. It wasn’t long ago that I, too, might have hesitated at the sight of an orc walking down the street. But Vorgath wasn’t just a symbol of the past or of his people; he was a man with his own scars, someone I was beginning to see more clearly with each passing day.

“Mama,” a young elven boy called, tugging on his mother’s sleeve as we passed. “Is he a hero from the war?”

His mother’s eyes widened, and she shushed him quickly, her gaze darting nervously between me and Vorgath. I caught the briefest flicker of discomfort on Vorgath’s face, his jaw tightening at the question. The urge to reach out and take his hand was almost overwhelming, but I held back, unsure if such a gesture would be welcome.

Instead, I squared my shoulders and walked closer to him, my arm brushing his. “What's first on the list?” I asked.

Vorgath glanced down at a small parchment he'd pulled from his pocket. “Bronze tongs from Ruk’s stall,” he said, pointing to a weathered tent on the far side of the square, where large wooden totems and carvings were displayed. “After that, more iron ingots from Olan. And then...”

He trailed off, looking a bit too long at the pastry stand that sat just at the edge of our path. I stifled a grin.

“And maybe a pastry after we’re done,” I suggested, feigning nonchalance.

“Maybe,” he said gruffly. “If there's time.”

We made our way through the market, Vorgath handling each vendor with quiet, straightforward efficiency. He kept it simple—a few words, a nod, an exchange of coins, and the parcel in his hand. The vendors, seemingly accustomed to his presence, responded with ease.

After making a few more purchases, we found ourselves back beside the pastry stand. The smell of sugar and cinnamon was like a siren call, and I noticed Vorgath eyeing the display again, making me wonder about his sweet tooth.

“Try one,” I suggested, nudging him lightly with my elbow.

“Not necessary,” he said, but his gaze lingered on a particular roll that seemed to be dipped in a glowing, golden syrup.

“Oh, come on,” I urged, leaning in a little closer. “Treat yourself. And maybe your apprentice has earned one, too.”

With a resigned sigh, clearer to me as amusement than annoyance, he relented and purchased not one but two of the glowing sweet rolls. The vendor, an elderly woman with deep laugh lines and a scarf knotted at her neck, eyed Vorgath with open curiosity but didn’t hesitate to pocket the coins.

I tore off a piece from my roll and popped it into my mouth, the flavors bursting across my tongue. “Wow,” I exclaimed around a mouthful. “I haven’t had one of these since I was a girl. It's an Elandor roll.”

“Elandor?” Vorgath asked, his brow furrowing as he took a cautious bite.

He chewed slowly, the muscles of his jaw working as he processed the flavors. I watched him, waiting for his reaction, pleased when his eyes widened with appreciation.

“There’s warmth,” he murmured, more to himself. “Like holding a hearth in your hands.”

“That’s Elandor’s magic,” I explained. “Simple, comforting—meant to remind us of home, no matter how far we are. The sap is harvested from seedlings of the Hearthkeeper's Tree.”

Vorgath fell silent, taking another bite. He didn’t say anything more, but he didn’t have to. There was a shift in his expression—a softening, a flicker of understanding—a moment where he, too, seemed to find comfort in something as simple as the taste of home. And in that moment, I wondered—what was home to him? Was it still the mountains, with his clan? Or had he found it in the quiet solitude of his cabin in the Moonshadow Forest? Or maybe...

Could it be... me? My cottage, my dinner table, the laughter of a child who had so easily accepted him?

I swallowed the thought quickly, shaking it off before it could take root. Yet it lingered beneath the surface as we finished the last bites of our sweet rolls in silence.

I dabbed my fingers against a cloth, clearing away the sticky remnants of syrup, and gave a light-hearted smile.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat gently, “what’s next?”

Vorgath took a moment before responding, still savoring the taste of the Elandor roll on his tongue. “There’s one more thing we need to get.”

Without further explanation, he steered us off the main market path, heading into narrower, shadowed lanes. The vibrant energy of the market faded away, replaced by a quieter, almost mystical ambiance.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“The Runery,” Vorgath replied. “It’s on the edge of the Shadows.”

The Shadows . Just hearing the name of that part of town made me tense. The district had a reputation—half of it deserved, the other half embroidered by the village gossip mill. Either way, it wasn’t exactly known for its welcoming atmosphere. Thieves, smugglers, and underground dealings had earned it a place in whispered warnings, and I’d heard more than one rumor about illegal fighting rings. If someone wanted to disappear—or make trouble—the Shadows was the place for it.

I tried to mask my unease with a side-eye of mock sternness. “Sounds like the exact kind of place you shouldn’t take your apprentice if you plan to keep her around.”

A low rumble of amusement escaped from Vorgath. “It will be worth it.” His gaze softened as he added, “Trust me.”

Well, damn. How was I supposed to argue with that? With a reluctant nod, I fell into step beside him.