Page 20

Chapter 19

“ H old still, dear,” Mrs. Crumble muttered as she gently shifted the halo of daisies on my head. “Yes, perfect! A queen needs her crown for such an occasion.”

I laughed. “A queen of sweat and soot.”

“Has there ever been a ruler more deserving?” Thyri asked, popping the cork on a bottle of wine that she undoubtedly pilfered from the Hargrave manor. I didn't know how she got away with as much as she did, but when I'd told her about my victory with the guild, the reappearance of the missing spoon, and my first official commission, she'd insisted on a proper celebration—and a made-up ceremony she was calling the Lighting of the Forge.

And that was how the four of us, Vorgath included, had ended up sneaking out to my smithy after Elias was in bed, with only a few candles to light our way.

Moonlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the familiar tools and workbenches. The glint of my hammer—Vorgath’s gift—caught the light, a reminder of my journey and the hard work ahead. Despite our irreverence, it really did feel almost sacred, like we were about to perform some ancient rite.

Vorgath stood by the cold forge, his massive frame seeming to fill half the space. He'd been quiet since we arrived, but there was a softness in his eyes as he watched Mrs. Crumble fuss over my flower crown.

“Now, don't tell me I forgot the glasses,” Thyri groaned, digging through her basket.

“It's okay,” Mrs. Crumble said. “I can pop over to the house—”

“Wait,” Vorgath interrupted. “I have something.”

We all turned to watch as he reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out four intricately designed drinking tins. They clinked softly as he set them down on the workbench.

“What are these?” I asked, picking one up and examining it. The engravings on the tins were unmistakably orcish—bold geometric patterns and spirals etched deeply into the metal, each one different but forming a complete set.

“The symbol here,” Vorgath pointed to an orcish symbol at the base, “represents unity in the old tongue. These tins are traditionally used for toasts during celebrations or significant moments. When my people raise their cups, it’s a way of honoring those we trust and commemorating our bonds.” His eyes shifted to me. “I thought it... fitting.”

Thyri let out a low whistle, picking up one of the mugs. “Fitting? Vorgath, they're beautiful!”

I watched Thyri admire the craftsmanship. Seeing the two of them—my best friend and the man I was falling for—actually connect for the first time made me happier than I could have imagined. Thyri had been my rock for so long, and now, having her and Vorgath in the same space, laughing and toasting together, felt like everything was finally falling into place.

“Well,” Thyri said, grinning as she dumped a generous amount of wine into each tin. “Looks like we're doing this orc-style!”

She placed one cup in front of Mrs. Crumble, who had to stand on tiptoe to reach it, the mug towering over her tiny frame. Another tin went to me, and while it felt large in my hands, it was manageable. Vorgath took the last, his fingers wrapping easily around the cup designed for an orc's grip.

“To Soraya,” Thyri announced, lifting her drink. “Who didn’t just fight for her place in the guild but won it with grace, skill, and a good ol' orc at her side to knock heads when needed.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”

“Mistress Wildclaw would disagree!” Mrs. Crumble chuckled. “And let's not forget the little spoon that set it all in motion.”

I grinned, lifting my tin. “Well, I’ll toast to that. And to friends, to family… and to new beginnings.” My voice cracked slightly on the last words as I glanced around the room—at Thyri’s mischievous grin, Mrs. Crumble’s wise eyes, and Vorgath, standing solid, like the anchor that had held me steady through this whole storm.

The tins clinked together with a soft, metallic ring. The wine was tart, but in such fine company, it tasted like the finest vintage in all the realms.

Before I could take another sip, Mrs. Crumble leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “You know, I was just remembering the first time I met Soraya, when she almost set her kitchen on fire with a tea towel. You remember that, dear?”

I groaned as Thyri cackled, nearly spilling her drink, while Vorgath's brow raised in silent inquiry.

“That was ages ago!” I protested.

“Ages? I seem to recall it was right after Elias was born,” Mrs. Crumble continued with a sly grin. “She was so sleep-deprived she didn’t notice the tea towel wrapped around the kettle. I had to pop in before half the kitchen turned to cinders.”

I laughed along with them, but Mrs. Crumble’s story tugged at a memory I hadn’t visited in a long time. I could still picture the scene so clearly, the exhaustion like a weight on my chest. Elias had been barely two months old, and Kald had been so busy with his work that I was left alone with the baby for long stretches of time. Between his endless projects and the war that loomed in the distance, we’d grown accustomed to operating in different worlds.

Elias had been colicky that day, refusing to sleep, his cries relentless. I barely noticed when I wrapped the tea towel around the kettle, just trying to get something, anything, done while Elias fussed in the next room.

Then, out of nowhere, Mrs. Crumble appeared. I hadn’t known much about brownies then, and for a split second, I wondered if she was some sort of hallucination. But there she was, wrinkled and wise, swooping in to save me from my burning kitchen. It wasn’t just the tea towel—she had saved me from the spiraling feeling of being utterly overwhelmed.

I had thought then that Elias would be the first of many children. Kald and I had planned for it, but as time passed, the war had pulled him away more and more. Then, it had taken him for good.

It was odd, now, standing here in this forge—our forge—and thinking back on that time. I had been so certain that I would never feel whole again after Kald’s death, but as I looked across the room at Vorgath, something shifted. He wasn’t watching Mrs. Crumble or laughing at the stories. He was watching me, his dark eyes soft in a way that caught me completely off guard.

I quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden flush of emotion as I realized where my thoughts had wandered. Babies? Orc babies? Sweet Seven, where had that come from? The thought of children—of a future that felt impossibly distant— made my mind spin. The idea of orc babies seemed absurd and wonderful all at once.

I chuckled, trying to shake off the sudden wave of emotion. “Well, I've come a long way since then. No more flaming tea towels for me.”

“Indeed you have,” Mrs. Crumble said. “From a frazzled new mother to a guild-certified blacksmith. You've always had that spark in you, dear.”

A sharp knock at the door startled us all. I exchanged a puzzled glance with Thyri—who else knew we were here?

“Come in!” I called, curiosity overtaking caution.

The door swung open, revealing a tall, slender figure silhouetted against the night sky. As he stepped into the flickering candlelight, I recognized the smooth ebony skin and flowing platinum hair of Sylwen Darkleaf, the elf from the Runery.

“I hope I'm not intruding,” Sylwen said. He was dressed in robes that seemed to shimmer like stardust, a stark contrast to our more practical attire. Golden earrings glinted in the dim light, and I noticed intricate designs etched into the jewelry he wore—runes, perhaps, or some form of elven script.

“Not at all,” I said, recovering from my surprise. “Please, join us. Though I have to admit, I wasn't expecting...”

“Vorgath mentioned your celebration,” Sylwen explained, his eyes finding the orc in our midst. “I hope it's not presumptuous, but I wanted to offer my congratulations in person. Your work has piqued my interest, Soraya. I believe there may be some fascinating collaborations in our future.”

My eyes widened at the prospect. First, mithral-weaving with Brilda, and now, the possibility of working with Sylwen's enchantments? It felt like my world was expanding in ways I'd never dared to dream.

“That would be incredible,” I managed, still a bit starstruck by his presence.

“Well, don't just stand there,” Thyri said. “Come in and have a drink with us! We're toasting to new beginnings.”

Sylwen's lips curved into a smile as he stepped fully into the forge. “New beginnings indeed. And I come bearing a gift to celebrate just that.”

From within his shimmering robes, he produced an elegant, deep indigo glass bottle. Its surface was etched with delicate runes that spiraled around the neck of the bottle, culminating in a flourish at the base that formed an intricate symbol, suggesting some kind of enchantment.

“Moonwine,” Sylwen explained. “An elven specialty, crafted under the light of a full moon. The process involves infusing the wine with the essence of the sacred Alder trees, drawing upon their restorative magic to enhance its properties.”

I took the bottle, admiring the craftsmanship. “It's beautiful, Sylwen. Thank you.”

Thyri peered at the bottle. “What does it do?” she asked warily, having been cautious about magical potions since a mishap with a less-than-reputable herbalist left her speaking only in rhymes for a week.

Sylwen accepted a drinking tin from Vorgath. “It reveals one's aura, making it visible to all.”

“Our auras?” I asked, both intrigued and slightly nervous.

“Indeed,” Sylwen nodded. “The colors and patterns that surround us, reflecting our emotions and inner selves. Usually only visible to those with the gift, but this wine...” He gestured to the bottle. “It allows everyone to see them, if only for a short time.”

I hesitated for a moment, glancing at Vorgath. The idea of having my innermost feelings on display was a bit unnerving. But his steady gaze met mine, and I felt a surge of courage. If I was going to bare my soul to anyone, it might as well be to this group.

“Why not?” I said, uncorking the bottle. The scent that wafted out was intoxicating—moonflowers and starlight, if such things had a scent.

I poured a measure into each of our tins, the liquid shimmering like molten silver. We raised our drinks, the anticipation palpable.

“To new beginnings,” Sylwen toasted, “and to seeing each other in a new light.”

We drank, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the world around us began to change. It started as a faint shimmer in the air, like heat rising from the forge. But as I blinked, trying to focus, I realized it wasn't just the air—it was us .

Colors bloomed around each person in the room. Thyri was surrounded by a vibrant orange, warm and exuberant. Mrs. Crumble's aura was a soft, comforting green, like moss in a sun-dappled forest. Sylwen's aura was shifting hues of pink and purple. Watching the colors swirling and dancing around him like a living aurora was mesmerizing.

But it was Vorgath's aura that truly caught my breath. Deep, rich reds and golds pulsed around him, like the heart of a forge. There was strength there, and passion, but also flickers of softer hues, hints of blue. As I watched, transfixed, I saw tendrils of his aura reaching out toward me.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Crumble whispered, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked around at us all.

Thyri let out a delighted laugh, twirling in place to watch her orange aura swirl around her. “This is amazing! Soraya, look at you!”

I looked down at myself, finally noticing my own aura. It was a swirl of deep purple and silver, with occasional flashes of fiery red. As I watched, fascinated, I saw the colors shift and change, responding to my emotions.

“The purple represents creativity and intuition,” Sylwen explained. “And that silver... it's rare. It speaks of potential, of great change on the horizon.”

I felt exposed, but as I glanced around at my friends, their warm gazes and the beauty of their auras filled me with gratitude. “This is incredible,” I breathed, watching as my aura brightened with joy.

Vorgath stepped closer, and our auras intertwined, forming a tapestry of red, gold, and purple. “It suits you,” he said.

Thyri cleared her throat, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Well, well, looks like some auras are getting cozy.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, but before I could respond, Sylwen spoke up. “You know, aura reading is an important part of many rituals,” he said, gracefully drawing attention away from Thyri's teasing comment. “There's a coming-of-age ceremony where young elves first learn to see auras. It's considered a vital skill for understanding oneself and others.”

“Fascinating,” Mrs. Crumble said, her eyes twinkling. “We brownies don't need magic to sense emotions, you know. It's part of what makes us such good caretakers.”

I latched onto the change of subject gratefully. “Really? I never knew that.”

Mrs. Crumble nodded, her green aura pulsing softly. “Oh yes, dear. It's how we know when a baby needs comforting before they even cry.”

“And orcs?” I asked, turning to Vorgath. “Do you have any traditions around... well, souls or emotions?”

“We believe the strength of one's soul is reflected in their actions. Our leaders are chosen not just for their physical prowess but for the strength of their inner fire.”

As he spoke, I noticed his aura flaring brighter, the gold becoming more prominent. It was mesmerizing to watch, like seeing a glimpse of the passionate warrior beneath his usual stoic exterior.

Thyri twirled around again, her orange glow swirling magnificently. “Look at this, Soraya!”

I grinned, watching her aura flare brighter with every laugh. “Orange suits you. Loud, vibrant—completely impossible to ignore.”

“Impossible to ignore?” Thyri placed a dramatic hand over her heart, the orange and gold swirling around her like fire. “I think you'd look amazing in orange, too. Here, take some of mine!”

She twirled close to me, and as if by magic—or fae wine—her aura began to flicker at the edges of mine, mixing playful dabs of orange into my purple.

“Is that allowed?” I joked, taking a step back to test the limits. The orange faded slightly but lingered.

Thyri shot me an exaggerated wink. “You could stand to be a little more festive.”

“Well, in that case,” I said, slanting my eyes over at Mrs. Crumble, “I think this room could use some of your serenity.” I nudged closer to Mrs. Crumble until her sage-green aura started drifting toward me, brushing around my edges in soft curls of calm.

Mrs. Crumble chuckled, and her aura responded, thickening and twining around mine like vines. “Be careful. You might find yourself wanting to take up knitting and sitting by the hearth all day.”

“I could use some of that,” I admitted. “And wouldn’t Elias love all the sweaters?”

Vorgath, standing slightly to the side, had been watching the playful exchange with quiet amusement. His fiery red and gold aura pulsated in time with his low chuckle. It was mesmerizing, actually, how the intensity burned around him yet softened when his gaze fell my way. My skin heated under his attention, and more of his warmth—quite literally—started to bleed into my own space, mixing gently into my purples and silvers.

“Vorgath,” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “Am I just that irresistible?”

His eyes locked with mine. “More than you know.”

Thyri cleared her throat loudly. “Well, as fascinating as watching you two make eyes at each other is, I believe we have a forge to light!”

I blinked, suddenly remembering why we were all here in the first place. “Right, yes. The forge.”