Page 16

T he sky was already lightening when I stopped pretending to sleep. It wasn’t morning, not yet—but the kind of pearled gray that blurred the line between night and day. I’d let the candle burn down hours ago and hadn’t bothered relighting it.

Ellie lay against my chest, too warm and too quiet. Her skin was damp with sweat, her little limbs curling and uncurling in slow, restless waves. She hadn't nursed since midnight—just turned her face away, too tired even to cry.

I’d tried everything. Cool cloths. Fresh linen. Chamomile steeped too long in the back kitchen because I couldn’t remember the right ratio and my hands shook too badly to measure. I rocked her gently, humming nothing in particular. It didn’t matter what the song was. Just that she heard me.

Her fever had settled deep. Not raging, not breaking—just pulsing low and constant, like a second heartbeat inside her skin.

I was still humming—low and tuneless—when the door banged open hard enough to rattle the hinges.

I turned, startled, one hand instinctively pulling Ellie tighter.

Uldrek filled the doorway, his shoulders hunched, eyes sweeping the room like there might be a threat he could tear apart with his bare hands. And he wasn’t alone.

Perched on his shoulder like some judgmental gargoyle was the small figure of Hobbie, arms crossed, shawl pinned tight with a crooked bone clasp. She looked unimpressed with everything in sight.

I blinked, sure I was hallucinating.

"How..." My voice cracked from disuse. I swallowed and tried again. "How do you two know each other?"

Uldrek stepped into the room, ducking slightly under the low doorframe. Rain still clung to his hair and shoulders, the scent of wet wool and smoke trailing in with him. Something in me tightened at the sight—not relief yet, but recognition. A tether pulling taut.

"We don't," he said, his eyes on Ellie. "She said to come. I came."

Hobbie made a dismissive noise and hopped down from his shoulder with surprising agility, landing lightly on the bed beside me. Without ceremony, she pressed the back of her hand to Ellie's forehead, then her neck, her expression unreadable.

"Too hot," she announced. "Been burning all night, hasn't she?"

I nodded mutely.

Uldrek moved closer, crouching down beside the bed so that our eyes were level. The claiming mark on my shoulder seemed to pulse in his presence, a dull throb beneath my skin.

"You slept?" he asked, his voice low.

I didn't answer. Just shook my head once, a tiny movement that sent the room wobbling slightly around me.

He didn't scold me for it. Didn't push or demand or suggest. He just stayed there, solid and present, while Hobbie rummaged through a small satchel. The brownie pulled out packets of herbs, a small stone mortar, and what looked like strips of clean linen.

"Hold her still," Hobbie instructed, already grinding something in the mortar. The scent was sharp and medicinal—moonleaf, I thought, and something cooler, like feverroot.

Within minutes, she had created a paste and was spreading it on a strip of linen.

"This goes on her chest," she said, setting the poultice aside. "And this," she added, producing a small vial of amber liquid from her satchel, "is for her gums. It will help, but she needs a proper healer. One that can tell if this fever's a warning or just a storm blowing through."

I shifted Ellie in my arms, suddenly aware of how stiff my muscles had grown. "I don't know where—"

"I do," Uldrek cut in. "Kazrek's still seeing patients. He'll help."

I hesitated. Taking Ellie out in the damp morning air seemed risky, but keeping her here with nothing but exhausted instinct and brownie remedies seemed worse.

"Let me just..." I gestured vaguely toward my traveling satchel, still packed and ready in the corner of the room from force of habit.

"Go ahead." Uldrek stepped back, giving me space.

I eased Ellie onto the bed, and Hobbie immediately took over, applying the poultice to my daughter's chest with gentle firmness. I watched for a moment, oddly disconnected, before turning to gather my meager belongings.

My hands weren't quite steady as I collected a clean shirt for Ellie, an extra blanket, the small wooden rattle she'd grown attached to. Behind me, I could hear Hobbie muttering as she tidied the room, snatching up soiled linens and discarded clothes with brisk efficiency.

When I'd finished, I turned to find the brownie had already secured Ellie in a fresh wrap. She looked smaller than usual, her face flushed, eyes closed but moving beneath the lids as if she were dreaming.

A thought struck me. "I can't..." I paused, embarrassed, but I needed to be honest. "I don't have much coin. To pay for your help."

Hobbie didn't even look up from where she was repacking her satchel. "Coin's for the greedy." She shot a sly glance toward me, something almost like amusement glinting in her eyes. "Just make sure the grumpy dwarf bakes more of those honey biscuits. Fair trade."

It startled a laugh out of me—small and tired but real. "I'll see what I can do."

Uldrek shook his head slightly and moved to open the door. "Ready?"

I nodded, taking Ellie back into my arms. Her weight was so familiar, so essential, that some of the fog in my mind cleared just from holding her. I followed Uldrek out of the room, down the narrow stairs, and into the quiet common area of Tinderpost House.

Gruha stood by the hearth, stoking the morning fire. She looked up as we passed, eyes lingering on Ellie, then Hobbie, then Uldrek in turn.

"Kazrek's good," she said. "Saved my cousin's leg last winter. He'll take care of her."

"Thank you," I managed.

She nodded once, then turned back to the fire. "Tea when you return."

The morning air outside was cool and damp, mist clinging to the cobblestones and softening the edges of buildings.

Uldrek set a measured pace beside me, his long stride shortened to match mine.

Hobbie had disappeared somewhere between our room and the front door—brownies rarely ventured out in public daylight, preferring to move through the hidden spaces of the world.

Ellie stirred against me, making a small sound of discomfort. I adjusted her wrap, making sure the poultice stayed in place, and pressed my cheek to her forehead. Still too warm.

"Not far," Uldrek said, his voice a low rumble beside me. "The ink shop is just past the market square."

"Ink shop?"

"Rowena's place. Kazrek's mate. He keeps a small healing space in the back."

We turned onto a wider street, the cobblestones giving way to smooth flagstones.

A few early risers were already about—a baker's boy with a basket of fresh loaves, an elderly elf sweeping her doorstep, a pair of guardsmen making their morning rounds.

They nodded respectfully to Uldrek as we passed, and I wondered anew at his place in this town.

Not quite settled, he'd said, yet familiar enough to warrant such easy acknowledgment.

"How long have you known Kazrek?" I asked, as much to distract myself from worry as genuine curiosity.

Uldrek glanced down at me. "Since before the war. Fought together for a time."

We rounded a corner and found a small, tidy shop between a weaver's stall and a stonecutter's storefront. Its painted sign swung gently overhead: a dark quill and a silver leaf crossed above an inkwell. The windows were narrow but clean, their panes fogged slightly from the warmth within.

"Here," Uldrek said, moving ahead to open the door.

I followed him into a space that smelled of ink and lavender, warm wood and old paper. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with parchment rolls, pigment jars, and carefully labeled vials. The light was soft—lamplight filtered through amber glass—casting the whole room in a quiet, golden glow.

A woman looked up from where she was arranging a display of wax seals. She had coppery hair in a loose braid and freckles scattered across her pale skin. Her eyes brightened with recognition when she saw Uldrek.

"Well, look at this! The wanderer returns." Her smile was warm as she came around the counter. "And with company, I see."

"Rowena," Uldrek said, fondness in his voice. "Is Kazrek in?"

Her expression shifted when she noticed Ellie in my arms, concern immediately replacing her easy welcome. "He is. Just finishing with Mistress Twigg's joints." She gestured toward the back of the shop. "Come through. I'll let him know you're here."

We followed her past the counter and through a doorway hung with a deep blue curtain.

The back room was larger than I'd expected, divided into several areas.

One corner clearly served as a workshop, with a large table covered in bowls, pestles, and staining cloths.

Another held simple bookshelves filled with ledgers and samples.

And at the far end, partially screened by another curtain, was what appeared to be a small clinic—a padded table, cabinets of supplies, and a basin of clear water.

A gnome woman was sitting on the edge of the padded table, her legs dangling above the floor. She was elderly, her white hair tucked into a neat cap, and she rubbed what looked like a greenish salve into her knobby fingers while an orc—Kazrek, I presumed—gave her quiet instructions.

Rowena approached them, speaking too softly for me to hear. The orc healer looked up, his gaze finding Uldrek first, then Ellie and me. He nodded once, said something final to his patient, and stepped around the screen toward us.

Kazrek was shorter than Uldrek but broader, with the solid build of someone who relied on strength as much as skill.

His green skin was a shade darker, and scars traced the left side of his face from temple to jaw.

He wore a loose tunic and undyed linen trousers.

His apron bore the permanent stains of a hundred salves and tinctures—work, not decoration.