Page 25

" A nd then—" Dora wheezed, barely able to continue through her laughter, "—then the wizard says, 'That's not my familiar, that's my mother-in-law!'"

The table erupted with laughter. Even Gruha's stern face cracked into a reluctant smile as she tore another hunk of bread from the loaf.

I shifted Ellie on my lap, trying to keep her hands away from my bowl while still managing to eat something myself. She was particularly spirited tonight, bouncing and babbling as if determined to join the conversation.

"Here," Uldrek said, reaching over. "Let me take her for a bit."

His fingers brushed mine as he lifted Ellie, and I felt the same flutter in my stomach that had been there since our kiss in the training yard. He settled her against his broad chest with practiced ease, one large hand supporting her back while the other offered her a wooden spoon to investigate.

"Careful," I warned. "She's in a throwing mood."

He raised an eyebrow. "Fought shadow beasts in the western trenches. Pretty sure I can handle one wooden—"

The spoon went sailing across the table, landing with a splash in Leilan's cup. The half-elven girl yelped, then dissolved into giggles.

"You were saying?" I asked innocently.

Uldrek's mouth twitched. "Clearly I underestimated my opponent."

His knee bumped against mine under the table, and I didn't move away.

Instead, I leaned slightly into the contact, enjoying his solid warmth beside me.

Everything felt different since the kiss—brighter, somehow.

The walls of caution I'd built hadn't disappeared, but they'd thinned, become permeable.

Every time he looked at me, I felt it like sunshine breaking through clouds.

Dora took a loud slurp of her drink, then squinted at me over the rim.

"You know," she said, drawing the words out, "I liked you well enough when you first arrived.

Quiet, polite, all mysterious-like. But this new version—sassier, sparring with guards, letting orcs rock your baby? I like her better."

I blinked, caught between a laugh and a blush. "I haven't changed that much."

"Oh no?" Dora grinned. "You used to flinch when someone offered you second helpings. Now look at you. Stealing stew and Uldrek’s heart in the same evening."

I opened my mouth to object— that wasn’t —but stopped myself.

Gruha snorted. "She's not wrong."

Uldrek glanced down at me with that small, steady smile, the one that said he was listening even when he didn’t speak.

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling too, struck by how comfortable this felt—the back-and-forth, the shared stories, the easy laughter. It felt like family or something close.

Ellie squirmed in Uldrek's arms, reaching for his bowl. He deftly moved it out of her reach, replacing it with another wooden spoon she immediately began gumming.

"Teething again?" Leilan asked, noticing Ellie's determined chewing.

I nodded. "The top ones now. Kazrek says they're the worst."

"Orc teeth come in sharp," Uldrek said. "Human babies have it easier."

"Doesn't seem easier," I murmured, watching Ellie gnaw furiously on the spoon.

Hobbie, who'd been perched on a stack of cushions to reach the table properly, snorted. "Nothing about babies is easy. Loud, demanding creatures."

"Were you around many babies, Hobbie?" Leilan asked.

The brownie's wizened face went still for a moment. "More than I can count," she said finally. "Brownies are caretakers, after all."

Something in her voice—a faint whisper of old loss—made me think of the stories I'd heard about brownies during the war. How many had been lost protecting the children in their care? How many had watched families destroyed by shadow magic?

Before I could dwell on it, Ellie dropped her spoon. Hobbie’s hand shot out to catch it mid-air—faster than seemed strictly natural. She didn’t even look away from her bowl.

"The chaos of humans," she muttered, passing the spoon back to Uldrek. "Always dropping things."

Uldrek suppressed a smile. "Thank you, Hobbie."

"Don't thank me. Just stop dropping things."

The front door burst open with a gust of rain-soaked wind, and Fira stomped in, her hair plastered to her forehead and a scowl firmly in place. Her traveling cloak dripped onto the floorboards as she shut the door behind her.

"Delightful weather," she announced to no one in particular.

Gruha merely pointed to an empty seat and slid a bowl toward it. "There's stew. And bread, if these vultures haven't picked it clean."

Fira wrestled out of her sodden cloak, hanging it on a peg by the door before making her way to the table. She carried a bundled parcel under one arm, which she placed on the table with surprising gentleness.

"Someone made too many hand pies," she said, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a stack of golden-brown pastries. "Now they're yours."

"Someone?" Dora repeated with a knowing grin. "Or was it a certain scribe who's terrible at admitting she likes us?"

Fira's scowl deepened. "They're just pies. Eat them or don't."

She dropped into the empty chair, ignoring Dora's widening smile as she filled her bowl with stew.

Despite her gruff demeanor, I noticed how her eyes swept around the table, taking in everyone with quiet attention.

She lingered on Ellie, who was now contentedly nestled against Uldrek's chest, gnawing on her fist.

"The little one's getting bigger," she observed.

I nodded. "Growing too fast."

"She'll be into everything soon," Fira said, tearing a chunk of bread. "Better start securing your valuables now. They're like magpies at that age—anything shiny disappears."

"Speaking from experience?" Uldrek asked.

Fira shrugged. "My sister has five. Each one worse than the last."

"Five?" Leilan's eyes widened. "All at once?"

"Gods, no," Fira snorted. "One after another, like she didn't learn her lesson the first time."

Dora clapped her hands in delight. "Fira has nieces and nephews! I knew it! Is that why you don't come to dinner more often? Secret family obligations?"

"I don't come to dinner more often because you talk too much," Fira retorted, but her words had no real heat.

"You missed my joke earlier," Dora said, undeterred. "About the wizard and his mother-in-law."

"Thank the Seven for small mercies."

"I'll tell it again!"

The banter continued as the rain drummed steadily against the windows, turning the common room into a warm island of light and laughter.

I found myself relaxing into it, absorbing the easy rhythm of their voices, the casual way they moved around each other—passing bowls, refilling cups, stealing bits of bread from each other's plates.

Beside me, Uldrek shifted, adjusting Ellie as she began to fuss. His movements were gentle but sure, as if he'd been holding babies all his life instead of wielding weapons. As I watched him, something warm unfurled in my chest—a fragile tendril of hope I hadn't dared examine too closely.

Ellie, apparently dissatisfied with her current entertainment options, reached out and grabbed Fira's long braid. The dwarf froze, looking down at the tiny fingers tangled in her hair as if she'd discovered a snake in her lap.

"Um," Fira said, uncharacteristically lost for words.

I reached to disentangle Ellie's grip. "I'm so sorry—"

"Leave it," Fira said, her voice oddly soft. She looked at Ellie thoughtfully, then sighed. "Let her hold on. It's fine."

The table fell silent for a moment, all of us watching this unexpected moment of surrender. Then Dora broke the spell with a dramatic gasp.

"The fearsome Fira, felled by a baby," she declared. "Wait until I tell everyone."

"Tell anyone, and I'll hide rotten fish in your bed," Fira threatened, but her eyes never left Ellie, who was now contentedly patting her braid with her free hand.

The evening continued, warm and unhurried, as the storm outside began to soften into a steady drizzle.

We ate hand pies that were, despite Fira's protests, perfectly made.

Dora told more outrageous stories. Leilan shared news of a magical plant shop opening near the east gate.

Gruha mostly listened, offering occasional dry commentary that somehow always landed perfectly.

Through it all, Uldrek's solid presence beside me felt like an anchor—steady, reliable, but not confining.

Every so often, his eyes would meet mine across the rim of his cup, and the warmth in them would make my breath catch.

Once, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with casual tenderness, his fingers lingering against my skin for a moment.

The touch was fleeting, but it left a trail of warmth in its wake.

"More wine?" Gruha asked, breaking my reverie.

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I should probably get Ellie to bed soon."

As if on cue, Ellie yawned hugely, her little face scrunching up before settling back against Uldrek's chest. Her eyes were already drooping, the excitement of the evening finally catching up with her.

"I'll take her," Hobbie announced, sliding from her stack of cushions. "You two finish your food."

Uldrek looked uncertain. "She's almost asleep. Moving her might—"

"Please. I've been settling babies since before you had teeth." Hobbie reached up, and after a moment's hesitation, Uldrek carefully transferred Ellie to her waiting arms.

Despite her diminutive size, Hobbie handled Ellie with practiced confidence. The brownie whispered something in a language I didn't recognize—soft, melodic syllables that seemed to make the air shimmer slightly. Ellie's eyes closed completely, her breathing deepening.

"Magic?" I asked quietly.

Hobbie shook her head. "Old words. Comfort, not spells. I'll be in your room."

With that, she carried Ellie toward the stairs, her movements surprisingly graceful for someone navigating steps nearly half her height.