Page 17

"Wolfsbane," he greeted Uldrek, clasping his arm briefly. "Didn't expect to see you before the full moon." His eyes shifted to me, then to Ellie. "And who's this?"

"Issy," Uldrek said. "And her daughter, Ellie. She's fevered."

Kazrek's demeanor shifted immediately, healer's focus replacing casual greeting. "Bring her over," he said, gesturing to the screen. "Mistress Twigg is just leaving."

Indeed, the gnome woman was already gathering her things, muttering under her breath as she slid off the table. She gave Kazrek a sideways look as she passed. “Mind you, I’m not some brittle stick you can boss into idleness.”

“Twice daily, Twigg,” Kazrek replied, unbothered. “And no more whittling in the cold.”

She huffed. “Tch. I’ve outlasted three husbands and a lightning strike—I’ll survive a bit of frost.”

Then she spotted me, gave Ellie a once-over, and added a little grudgingly, “But looks like you’ve got more pressing cases. Go on, then.” With a nod to Uldrek and a grumble about “Orcs and their timing,” she hobbled toward the front of the shop.

As soon as she'd gone, Kazrek turned his full attention to us. "Let's have a look then."

I moved to the padded table, reluctant to let go of Ellie even for an examination. Kazrek seemed to understand because he didn't ask me to set her down; he just indicated that I should loosen her wrappings.

"How long has she been fevered?" he asked, his voice professional but gentle.

"Since yesterday afternoon," I said. "It started mild, but by nightfall..."

"She didn't sleep," Uldrek added from where he stood nearby. "Neither of them did."

Kazrek nodded, his expression revealing nothing as he carefully examined Ellie. His hands were surprisingly gentle for their size, checking her glands, ears, and gums.

"Ah," he said, finding what he was looking for. "Here's our culprit. Bottom teeth coming in. Strong ones, too."

Relief made my knees weak. "So it's just teething?"

"Teething, yes, but there's nothing 'just' about it. Fevers with teething can be serious, especially with the weather turning damp." He looked up at me. "You've been giving her cool liquids? Keeping her comfortable?"

I nodded, suddenly feeling inadequate. "I tried. She wouldn't take much."

Kazrek's expression softened slightly. "You did well to bring her in. The fever's high but not dangerously so. I'm more concerned about you, honestly. Mothers need rest as much as their little ones."

Before I could respond, a small face peeked around the edge of another curtain I hadn't noticed before—a little girl, maybe five or six years old, with Rowena's copper hair and wide, curious eyes. She clutched a stuffed owl, watching us with undisguised interest.

" Zuzu’rak ," Kazrek said, a smile warming his voice. "I thought you were helping Ro with the ink samples."

"I was," the girl said softly. "But I felt something." Her gaze fixed on Ellie, and for a moment, they seemed to stare at each other with strange intensity—two small beings somehow communicating without words.

Then the little girl ducked back behind the curtain, disappearing as suddenly as she'd appeared.

Kazrek shook his head, his expression fond as he turned back to us. "Now, let's get this little one more comfortable, shall we?"

He moved to a cabinet and began gathering supplies: a small stone bowl like the one Hobbie had used, dried herbs, and a vial of clear liquid.

"The brownie's poultice was a good start," he said, nodding at the paste still visible on Ellie's chest. "But we'll add a few things.

Willow bark for the fever, chamomile to soothe, a touch of lavender for sleep. "

As he worked, mixing herbs with practiced hands, I felt the tension I'd been carrying all night begin to ease slightly. Not disappear—never that—but lessen enough that I could think beyond the next moment, the next breath.

"You let her sleep through," Kazrek instructed as he applied a fresh poultice. "Both of you need it. Cool cloths when she wakes, and this tincture on her gums—just a drop, mind you. It will numb the pain and help with the inflammation."

I nodded, committing each instruction to memory despite my exhaustion.

Kazrek stepped back, his task complete. "She's strong," he said, a hint of approval in his voice. "Good lungs, clear breathing, and already working on her second tooth. She’s just caught between growth and the weather.”

I exhaled slowly. It felt longer than a regular breath—like I’d been holding it since the fever started.

“She’ll be alright, then?”

“She’ll be alright,” Kazrek affirmed. “Especially with a mother stubborn enough to wear holes in the floor rather than sleep.” He looked at me then—not sharply, but with the tired kindness of someone who's sat beside too many tired mothers.

“I didn’t know who else to go to,” I said quietly. The words came before I meant them to.

Uldrek made a low sound behind me, something like agreement or maybe just acknowledgment.

Kazrek gave a dry smile. “Well, next time you’re up all night worrying, you send someone for me sooner.

Or better yet,” he added, gesturing toward Uldrek with a lazy flick of his wrist, “use your orc properly. He’s got two legs and at least half a brain.

Let him fetch the healer instead of hovering like a mother bear. ”

I startled a breath of laughter—quiet and hoarse—and glanced at Uldrek.

He raised his brows. “Just half a brain?”

“Generous estimate,” Kazrek shot back, already cleaning his tools.

Rowena returned just then, carrying a wrapped cloth bundle and a small vial.

“Salve,” she said, pressing the vial into my hands.

“For her chest. It’s gentle enough for infants, and the scent will help keep her calm.

” Her fingers lingered on mine for an extra beat.

“Maeve had a spell just like this her second winter. She’s all magic and bones now. You’ll be alright.”

The words almost undid me. Not because they were grand or poetic—but because they were so practical, so simple, spoken with a quiet certainty that left no room for shame.

I bit down on the feeling rising up and just nodded. “Thank you.”

Rowena offered me a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, then reached out to gently brush Ellie’s cheek.

Uldrek nodded to Rowena, then Kazrek. “Thank you,” he said, and I heard a familiarity in his voice again. Not just respect—something older. Earned.

Kazrek gave him a half-grin. “If she starts screaming like a direcat in heat, that’s the tincture wearing off. Try honeywater or frozen cloth after that.”

“Direcats don’t scream,” Rowena noted as she straightened a cloth on the table.

“You’ve clearly never met one in the mating season,” Kazrek shot back, wiping his hands on a rag.

I gathered Ellie into my arms again, kissing her temple. She felt slack with sleep, the fever only a suggestion now instead of an overwhelming presence. Her breath was warmer than I’d like, but slower. Deeper.

We said our quiet goodbyes, then stepped back through the blue curtain.

Outside, the mist had lightened to a cool haze that softened the edges of the buildings and muffled street sounds to a hush. Something about it felt gentle, like even the city was holding its breath a little for us.

I pulled my cloak tighter and started walking.

Uldrek let a few steps pass in silence before he spoke, his voice quiet beside me. “You did well.”

Ellie was firmly asleep now, her weight a familiar ache against my chest, her breath slow, almost synchronized with mine. I checked her every few steps anyway, unable to stop the instinct to monitor—was she cooler now, still flushed, moving too little?

It felt impossible to just… trust it.

"I didn’t do anything," I said finally. The words came quiet, almost detached. "Hobbie brewed a poultice. Kazrek made salves. You walked me here. All I did was hold her."

Uldrek didn’t respond right away. Just kept walking beside me, the thick mist curling around his boots like smoke. A cart creaked in the distance; a dog barked and then quieted. Everwood’s early hush spread around us like a cloak.

"But you stayed up," he said at last. "You didn’t sleep. You watched her breathing and tried everything you knew and didn’t flinch when you had to ask for more. That’s not ‘nothing.’ That’s battlework, too."

I looked down, the sting of tears pressing at the corners of my eyes again. This time, I didn’t fight them. Not really. I just blinked through the ache and nodded once, the motion small but whole.

“I don’t know how to stop bracing,” I admitted. “For the next thing. The next slip. The moment it all goes wrong again.”

Uldrek made a thoughtful sound. "You don’t stop,” he said softly. “You just... learn how to walk anyway. One foot. Then the other."

The mist thinned as we reached the edge of the market square. The first stalls were being uncovered, vendors pulling canvas tarps back from carts of bread, twine-bound root bundles, charms pressed into tiny jars of salt. Familiar. Alive.

I adjusted Ellie’s wrap and looked up at him. “Do you ever get tired of being so reasonable?”

Uldrek’s mouth twisted, just barely, into the ghost of a smirk. “I’ve been told it’s infuriating.”

As we turned down the smaller lane that led toward Tinderpost House, I felt his gaze shift—not probing, just there. Like he was waiting for something. Or offering something. I wasn’t sure.

I shifted Ellie in her wrap and walked close enough that our shoulders brushed—just barely. Warm fabric to warm fabric. His arm was solid beside mine, his gait steady. I didn’t lean. Not exactly.

But I didn’t pull away, either.