Page 27

Chapter 26

T he clang of hammers against wood, the rhythmic swish and pull of mithral wire, and the low murmur of magical incantations filled the air as the new smithy took shape. The sun, dipping toward the horizon, cast warm golden hues across the site, highlighting the fresh timber and newly crafted tools scattered around us.

I twisted another strand of mithral with clumsy fingers.

“Easy now, lass,” Brilda said as she guided my hands. “Don’t force the metal. Let it guide you.”

Taking her advice, I let the shimmering strand slide through my fingers more gently, feeling it respond to the careful pressure. Bit by bit, it wound into the protective latticework we were embedding into the walls.

Walls that had gone up quicker than I ever could have imagined.

Grimble and his clan worked with the efficiency of an army, each dwarf seeming to know exactly what to do and where to be. Wooden beams, stone slabs, and enchanted iron were moved and positioned with precision, making the entire process seem like a well-rehearsed dance. Just a week into our project, and we were already putting the finishing touches on the structure.

Across the forge, Sylwen etched runes into the doorway with his long, slender fingers, the air shimmering faintly with magic as he worked. He glanced over, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” he said, smiling. “Just don’t get too good, or Brilda will try to recruit you.”

Brilda nudged me, grinning. “Aye, there’s always room for a new weaver in the guild.”

I shook my head, smiling despite my weariness. “One trade at a time, thank you.”

Behind us, Vorgath grunted with effort as a heavy wooden beam settled into position with a dull thud. I glanced up, momentarily distracted by the way his arms flexed, muscles rolling beneath his green skin as he worked with Grimble to set the support.

“You know, if you stare any harder, you’ll bore a hole clean through him,” Brilda muttered.

“I wasn’t staring,” I mumbled, cheeks warming as I forced my attention back to the mithral wire.

Brilda chuckled, clearly unconvinced. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of Alderwilde,” she teased, reaching over to adjust the line of my weave. “Now focus, or else you’re going to end up with a tangled mess on your hands.”

Too late for that , I thought wryly, though I kept the comment to myself and tried to focus instead on the positive.

The forge was taking shape beautifully. Sturdy beams of enchanted oak framed the structure, woven with Brilda’s shimmering mithral, while Sylwen’s softly glowing runes protected the entrance. Surrounding the fire pit, the firepetals added warmth and safety, their crimson blooms blending beauty and purpose.

As I twisted another row of mithral wire, I looked around, feeling a quiet gratitude settle in. Each piece of this forge was a reminder of the people who stood by me as I reclaimed my dreams.

Suddenly, a cheerful voice called out from the direction of the path leading to town. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”

I turned to see Thyri approaching, a basket slung over her arm and a broad grin on her face. Beside her, Elias trotted along, his eyes wide with excitement as he took in the bustling scene. Mrs. Crumble followed behind them, her gnarled hands holding a pot of something that smelled delicious.

“Dinner’s on!” Thyri announced, holding up the basket triumphantly.

At the announcement, everyone paused mid-task. Tools were set down, mithral wire was left to shimmer unattended, and even Sylwen allowed himself a contented sigh as he drifted over to the makeshift table.

“Perfect timing,” Grimble bellowed, tugging at his beard. “I was just about to gnaw on this here beam.” He patted the large wooden support with a grin, earning a few tired chuckles from the group.

Thyri approached, already zeroing in on Grimble. “If anyone’s chewing on anything, it’ll be one of my dinner rolls. Sit yourselves down before I start rationing portions.”

Grimble muttered something about dwarves and rations but complied, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

We all gathered around the rough table we had cobbled together days earlier—a mismatched collection of workers, friends, and magic-wielding elves, but somehow, it felt like family. Elias practically jumped into his seat, his small frame bouncing excitedly as he sniffed the air.

Thyri wasted no time dishing out steaming, toasted rolls, roasted vegetables, and savory slabs of ham.

“Eat up, folks,” she said. “Rebuilding forges calls for proper nutrition and maybe... something stronger.” She winked and produced a silver flask, which gleamed in the dwindling sunlight.

Vorgath, seated beside me, devoured the bread in two bites, and I noticed the way his jaw flexed as he chewed. My gaze drifted further south, tracking his powerful neck muscles down to that broad chest... my cheeks immediately heated.

Seven save me, I needed to get a grip.

It had been almost a fortnight since that night in the workshop—since his touch had lit me up from the inside out like a forge at full blaze. Since I’d let the fear win, let the weight of everything that had been torn apart push him away. I’d needed time to get my footing, to rebuild what I’d lost. He'd respected that, but now, I found myself aching for him to cross that gap between us again.

Thyri’s laughter rang out, drawing my attention back to the group. I watched as she offered Mrs. Crumble another helping of stew, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Elias, his mouth stuffed with bread, listened intently to Grimble’s animated retelling of an old battle, his face aglow with awe.

This—this was what Elias had wished for. Maybe not in so many words, but a life like the one we’d had before: filled with warmth, laughter, people who cared.

As for me? I was starting to realize that I wanted Vorgath woven into the fabric of that wish, as much a part of it as anyone else.

So then, why was I still holding him at arm’s length?

He had chosen me. He’d stood by me when I’d tried to push him away, when I’d buried myself in doubt. And if he could risk everything to stay, the least I could do was let go of the fear that kept me from fully choosing him.

I drew a breath, the realization settling into something firm and certain. I didn’t want to live my life guarded, waiting for things to fall apart. He was here, in the warmth of this gathering, in the laughter that lifted Elias’s face, and it was time I let myself believe in this, in him.

If I’d learned anything from the fire, from loss, fear, and heartbreak, it was that some things were worth fighting for.

And this—we—were worth it.

I turned to him, catching his gaze. His eyes, dark and steady, held mine, a silent question lingering there.

This time, I didn’t look away.

Suddenly, Grimble let loose one of his booming laughs, jostling me out of my thoughts. “You staying quiet over there, Vorgath! Worn out, are ye? I betcha I could lift that beam faster than you, even with half a pint in me belly!”

Vorgath didn’t even bother turning. “Not a chance, dwarf. We both know you’d fall into the ale barrel midway through.”

Grimble let out an exaggerated scoff. “You wound me, friend! Just you wait; after dinner, we’ll see who’s top!” He whistled, leaning forward to nudge Elias. “Bet your money on me, lad! We don’t let orcs win that easy.”

Elias looked up at Grimble, wide-eyed. “Mama says we don’t bet, Mister Grimble,” he said, his face scrunching in confusion before turning to me for confirmation.

I bit back a laugh and nodded solemnly. “That’s right.”

Vorgath glanced down at Elias, a glint of mischief sparking in his usually stoic gaze. “Good rule to follow, Elias,” Vorgath said. “But if you were to bet... always bet on the orc.”

The rest of the meal passed in a comfortable rhythm. Thyri regaled the group with stories of kitchen mishaps and strange ingredients brought in from far-flung territories, each tale more exaggerated than the last. Sylwen occasionally chimed in to correct her more fantastical claims, much to Thyri’s playful annoyance. Elias couldn't stop laughing, especially when Thyri described a particular incident involving troll sausage that she claimed tried its best to escape the pot.

Grimble listened with rapt attention before raising his cup to interrupt. “Say what you will about troll sausage, lass,” he bellowed, “but that’s still better than the time we used molten cheese to patch a hole in a blast furnace.” He slapped the table, sending a nearly full cup of ale skittering dangerously toward Sylwen's lap.

The elf didn’t even bat an eye as he flicked his wrist, the cup stopping mid-ski and floating back to its proper place.

“Cheers to exceptionally poor choices,” Sylwen muttered dryly.

Before the laughter could fully taper off, a soft voice broke the chatter.

“E-excuse me...?”

The sound was barely a whisper under the fading chuckles, but it was enough to silence the group. All eyes slowly shifted toward the edge of the clearing, where a figure stood, half-concealed in the deepening twilight.

A girl—or rather, a young woman—stepped forward cautiously from the shadows, clutching a burlap sack that looked far too heavy for her slight frame. Her eyes darted between all of us—Brilda, Sylwen, Vorgath—and then quickly landed back on me. She seemed on the verge of making a run for it, like a startled hare standing too close to a hunter.

Vorgath straightened at once, his expression unreadable, while Grimble froze mid-toast, his cup still raised halfway to his lips. The mood of easy camaraderie dissolved in an instant.

“Are you Mistress Soraya?”

I stood, wiping my hands on a rag, and gave her a gentle nod. “I’m Soraya. What can I do for you?”

Her gaze flitted around nervously before settling on me again. “My name is Lira,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes never stopped darting around, like she expected someone to leap out and chase her away any second.

“You're not in trouble, you know,” I said. “You can relax.”

She nodded and inhaled sharply, her cheeks turning a bit pink. “Thank you. It's just... I'm not supposed to be here.”

I tilted my head. “Not supposed to? Who says?”

“My father,” she muttered, her hands sailing over each other nervously, clutching the burlap sack tighter. “Thorne Ironsmith.”

“Thorne Ironsmith is your father?” The words sounded flat even to my own ears, and for a moment, I wondered if the girl would flee right then and there.

Lira nodded, her eyes darting away, as if wishing she could disappear into the trees. “Yes. But... he doesn't know I'm here.”

“Why exactly are you here then?” I asked carefully, studying the girl.

She was maybe seventeen or eighteen, slight and slender, with a curtain of golden hair draped over her shoulders. The way she clutched the burlap sack against her chest made her look even smaller, as if she were trying to shield herself from the world. There was a vulnerability about her, a raw edge of fear that pulled at my heart.

As I took in the sight of her, I realized that I had never once thought of Thorne as having a family.

She bit her lip, her teeth worrying the skin. When she spoke, her voice was firm despite the nerves still flickering across her face. “I’ve heard him talk about you. You’re... different. You’re doing what he says a woman can’t. What he says I can’t.”

There was a sharp edge in her voice now, something raw and desperate. I felt a pang of familiarity.

“I want to learn,” she said firmly, her knuckles white around the sack in her hands. “Please… I want to apprentice under you.”

I blinked, taken aback. Of all the things I thought she might say, that hadn’t once crossed my mind. “Lira, I—”

She cut me off, words spilling out like she’d been holding them back for years. “I've been practicing. In secret. When he's gone to market or having meetings at the guild.”

Her voice shook slightly, but her grip on the burlap sack tightened. Then, with a determined look, she thrust the bag toward me. I took it, surprised by the weight, and handed it over to Grimble, who accepted it with a raised brow before reaching inside.

One by one, he and the others pulled out her work: a bracer crafted from thin, overlapping plates, a belt buckle with an intricate knot design, and a small section of chain links, each surprisingly delicate. They passed each piece around, murmuring as they examined her efforts, occasionally glancing her way with newfound interest.

“I’ve tried everything to convince him. But he just keeps saying it’s not a woman’s place.” She clenched her jaw, her voice firm against the thick wall of frustration I could sense rising in her throat. “But I see what you’re doing here… and I know it can be different. I could be different, too.”

Brilda squinted at the bracer’s edges and gave an approving nod. “Thin and light but sturdy,” she said, testing the give of the plates.

“Hmm, chainwork’s a bit loose,” Grimble added as turned over the link in his hands, “but you’ve got a good eye for detail, lass. It’s clear where you’re headed with this.”

“I know it’s rough,” Lira admitted, “but I want to learn. I’ll work as hard as it takes. I just need the chance.”

I looked down at the pieces in Brilda’s hands, then back at Lira, feeling the weight of her request settle. She was Thorne’s daughter, and taking her on would be like throwing a match into dry tinder. But as I watched her, I saw that familiar drive—the relentless pursuit of something everyone else had said wasn’t hers to claim.

“I don’t know, Lira,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I’m barely recognized by the guild myself.”

“I’ll sponsor her,” Vorgath’s low, steady voice cut through the air.

I blinked, turning to face him. Of course he would. Vorgath was the first to believe in people, especially those trying to rise above the limits the world placed on them. He’d done it for me when no one else thought I could swing a hammer. He’d seen something in me that day, even before I’d seen it myself.

Lira flinched slightly, peeking up at Vorgath.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Vorgath added. “No harm will come to you. I’ll make sure of it.”

Lira swallowed, but her posture eased a little. “Thank you,” she managed. “I… thank you.”

Brilda piped up, not missing a beat. “Aye, I say let her learn—ol’ Ironsmith’s feelings be damned.”

“Besides,” Sylwen added with a dry smile, “it could make for quite the stir.”

I shot the elf a look, but he had a point. Taking on Lira would set Thorne ablaze faster than pouring oil on an open flame. And though I didn’t mind ruffling his feathers—at this point, it almost felt like destiny—I didn’t want Lira caught in the crossfire of our feud.

“Lira,” I began carefully, “I understand how much this means to you. Believe me, I do. But there's a lot to consider here. Your father—”

“I don't care what he thinks!” she interrupted, her voice rising, a flush of surprise on her face. She composed herself but kept her chin up. “I'm sorry, but... I can't let him dictate my life. Not anymore.”

I studied her. That fierce determination was familiar, a mirror of what I’d felt not too long ago—the weight of being told “no” because of who you were, the frustration of being held back.

I sighed, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. This wasn’t a decision to take lightly. But as I looked at Lira, I knew I couldn’t turn her away.

“Alright,” I said finally.

Lira's face lit up. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yes, but,” I held up a hand to temper her excitement, “we need to do this properly. I’ll speak to your father—”

Her expression fell. “But he’ll never agree—”

“Let me finish. I’ll speak with him, but whatever he says, you have a place here if you want it. We’ll make it work, even if it means going over his head to the guild.”

Vorgath nodded beside me. “We’ll stand by you. Both of you,” he added, giving me a quiet, steady look.

Lira blinked, her chin lifting as her composure settled back in place. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” I said, already feeling a strange pride for this girl I barely knew. “Now, come join us. There’s plenty of food left, and I’m sure you have questions.”

We all squeezed even closer around the makeshift table, making room for Lira as she hesitantly took a seat at the far end, visibly overwhelmed by the friendly chaos surrounding her. Grimble was quick to thrust a plate piled high with food in front of her, and Thyri offered a warm, welcoming smile, sliding a roll onto her plate.

“Eat up, lass,” Grimble said. “You’re gonna need your strength if you’re planning to keep up with this lot.”

The conversation flowed easily around the table. Lira slowly relaxed, joining in the conversation in small bursts, her eyes widening with awe as she listened to the stories being shared. She laughed shyly when Grimble teased Sylwen about his jewelry and even asked Thyri for the stew recipe when the topic shifted to food.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the trees, the table gradually quieted, the lively chatter fading into a contented hum. Plates were cleared, and the remnants of the meal were gathered with little effort from everyone. Lira’s face was flushed from the warmth of the fire and the good-natured teasing that had slowly drawn her out of her shell.

“Well, I’d say that’s a fine evening of food and company,” Grimble said, pushing back his chair with a satisfied grunt. “But this old dwarf needs his sleep.” He stretched, letting out a dramatic yawn. “Big day ahead tomorrow and all that.”

I glanced around the table, watching everyone stand, stretching tired muscles and gathering their things.

Thyri offered to walk Lira back into town, gently resting her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine, love. We’ll chat on the way, give you a bit of advice on dealing with stubborn fathers.”

Lira gave me a hesitant smile before following Thyri's lead, her nervous energy still palpable but tempered by the camaraderie she’d experienced tonight. Mrs. Crumble had already waved goodnight to Elias and disappeared into the cool evening air with Sylwen, their voices carrying softly as they debated a finer point of spellcraft.

“See you at the crack of dawn, eh?” Grimble gathered his tools and gave a firm pat to the newly assembled beams overhead as the dwarves drifted off toward their encampment.

Elias, eyelids drooping, wandered over with a yawn. “Mama, is it bedtime?”

I smiled at his heavy-lidded expression, brushing a hand through his messy curls. “Yes, sweetheart. Go on inside. I’ll be right behind you.”

As Elias trudged sleepily toward the cottage, I turned to gather the last of the plates and utensils. The night had settled around us, a cool breeze brushing against my skin. Vorgath remained where he was, leaning against the edge of the table, his eyes following my movements.

“Let me,” Vorgath rumbled, pushing off the table. His large hands brushed against mine as he took the plates from me, sending a jolt of awareness up my arm.

“I can manage,” I said, though it sounded half-hearted even to my own ears.

Vorgath just gave me one of those unreadable looks as he turned toward the water bucket by the forge. The muscles in his back rippled beneath his tunic as he crouched down to start the rinsing.

When I didn’t move, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Go check on Elias,” he murmured. “I’ll finish up.”

I hesitated, torn between the maternal instinct to fuss over my sleepy son and the pull to just stay and… what? Gawk at my orc? Yes, that was exactly what I wanted to do, and it was far less productive.

With a reluctant sigh, I turned on my heel and made my way toward the cottage door, slipping inside quietly. Elias was already curled up on his bed, his eyes drooping as he watched me from under heavy lids. I knelt beside him, smoothing the blankets around his small frame, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight, my little prince,” I whispered.

“Mama…” His voice was thick with sleep, his hand reaching out to grasp mine. “Is Vorgath staying?”

I hesitated, my heart fluttering at the simple question. “Yes,” I said softly. “He’s going to help me finish cleaning up.”

Elias’s eyes fluttered closed. “Good,” he murmured. “I missed him.”

A warmth spread through my chest, unexpected but not unpleasant. “I missed him too,” I whispered to the slumbering boy, his breaths already evening as sleep claimed him.

Closing the door quietly behind me, I stood for a moment in the dim light of the cottage, letting the silence settle around me.

I missed him, too.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed away from the door and moved toward the main room, where I found Vorgath rinsing the last of the dishes in the basin. The entire scene had shifted. The glow of the firelight seemed warmer now, more intimate in the quiet stillness. He stood tall, the fire from the hearth casting shadows across his scarred, muscular frame. His movements were slow, methodical, the strong, capable hands that had wielded swords and hammers now washing plates and cups.

I paused in the doorway for far longer than I cared to admit, just watching him. There was something utterly captivating about seeing such a powerful man doing something so mundane.

He placed the last dish on the drying rack, his broad shoulders rolling slightly as he stood up straight. “Elias asleep?” he asked.

“Out like a candle.”

Vorgath nodded, turning to face me, his gaze flickering to mine before dropping to the table. He hesitated, wiping his hands on a rag. “Good.”

I took a hesitant step forward. “Vorgath...” My voice faltered. There was so much I wanted to say. But I didn’t know where to start.

So, I did what any reasonable woman would do.

I stepped closer, closed the gap between us, and kissed him.