Page 9

"Hello again, little one," he rumbled, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "Your mother needs to eat."

Ellie's fingers found the leather cord of his necklace and tugged experimentally. Uldrek made no move to stop her, simply adjusting his hold to keep her secure while allowing her to explore.

I watched them, a strange tightness building in my throat. This massive orc warrior cradling my daughter as naturally as breathing. His scarred hands, capable of such violence, now gentle enough to hold something so precious. So fragile.

And I wasn't afraid. Not even a whisper of fear clouded the moment.

When had that happened? When had Uldrek shifted from necessary ally to... this?

"You've done this before," I observed, picking up my pastry again.

Uldrek nodded. "Told you. Sister has three. Helped with all of them."

"They're in Verdant Pass, you said?"

"Mm. Good community there. Strong. Safe."

Ellie babbled something indistinct and reached for Uldrek's tusk, fascinated by its curve.

"No, little one," he said, gently redirecting her hand. "Not for grabbing."

"She likes you," I said, unable to keep the wonder from my voice.

Uldrek glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "You sound surprised."

"She's usually wary of strangers."

"We're not strangers anymore, are we?" His gaze held mine, and something passed between us—an acknowledgment that whatever had started as pretense had grown roots, taken shape, become something neither of us had planned.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks and looked away first. "No, I suppose we're not."

The silence that settled between us was comfortable, broken only by Ellie's occasional sounds of exploration and the distant bustle of the Heart District beyond the courtyard. I finished the pastry and reached for a second, realizing just how hungry I'd been.

"Edwin seems nice," Uldrek commented after a while. "Didn't ask questions."

"He never does," I replied. "Just watches. Listens."

"Dangerous quality in the wrong person."

"But not in him?"

Uldrek shrugged. "Seems to be on your side. That's enough for now."

I thought of how Edwin had gradually shifted my duties from cleaning to more scholarly work, how he'd trusted me with increasingly valuable texts, how he never commented on the false name in my paperwork. The quiet ways he'd made space for me, for Ellie.

"He doesn't know about..." I gestured vaguely, encompassing everything I couldn't quite name. Gavriel, the flight, the fear.

"Doesn't need to," Uldrek said simply. "Some stories aren't for sharing."

Once, that sentiment would have felt like another wall to hide behind. Now, it felt like understanding. Like respect for what I'd chosen to keep private.

"Fira suspects something," I admitted. "She keeps leaving food. Making sure I take breaks. She pretends it's for Ellie's sake, but..."

Uldrek's mouth quirked. "The grumpy ones are always soft underneath."

I laughed—a small sound, but genuine. "Is that your expert assessment?"

"Mmm. Takes one to know one."

The implication that he considered himself "soft underneath" made me smile.

At first glance, there was nothing soft about Uldrek Wolfsbane—all muscle and scar tissue, battle-worn and sharp-eyed.

But I'd seen the way he held Ellie. The careful way he'd taught me to break a hold without bruising me in the process.

The fact that he'd thought to bring lunch when he noticed I wasn't eating enough.

Perhaps we all wore our hardness differently. Mine in silence, his in scars. Both armor against a world that had taught us caution.

"Fira's handwriting is terrible," I said, changing the subject. "I can barely decipher her notations in the ledgers."

Uldrek chuckled. "Should see orc script sometime. Makes dwarf runes look delicate."

"Can you write it?"

"Enough to get by. Never much for books." He shifted Ellie more securely against his chest when she yawned widely. "Better with spoken words."

"I've noticed," I said dryly.

He glanced at me, surprise flickering across his features, followed quickly by that almost-smile. "Was that a joke, Miss Fairbairn?"

"An observation," I corrected, but I was smiling too, unable to help myself.

This—the easy conversation, the shared humor, the simple pleasure of sitting in the autumn sunlight with someone who asked nothing of me but honesty—it was rare. Strange. Maybe even dangerous, in its own way.

And it was interrupted—of course—with almost ritual precision, as the moment found its shape and then slipped through my fingers.

A longer shadow passed across the stone steps. Then another. I registered them distantly at first, half-listening to Uldrek murmuring to Ellie about the ridiculous way she’d tried to eat her rattle the day before.

Then came the voice: clipped, formal—a tone I recognized all too well.

“Miss Fairbairn.”

I turned toward the source with a sinking heart. A man and a woman stood at the foot of the steps. Council liaisons, by the look of their robes—gray trimmed with deep green, the badge of the Civic Harmony office pinned to one breast.

“The Council requests your immediate presence,” the woman said.

Uldrek tensed beside me. Not visibly—not to most. But I felt it in how his breath quieted and his posture shifted just slightly. Protective. Ready.

“What is this about?” I asked, and to my credit, my voice didn’t waver.

The woman’s eyes flicked to the man beside her—tall, elven, with a narrow face and the kind of expression that said he’d dealt with too many civilians and liked almost none of them.

“Verification,” he said. “Concerning your bond status.”

I looked down at Ellie. She was falling back asleep against Uldrek’s shoulder, her head nestled close to his collarbone. One small fist clutched the edge of his tunic. She’d stopped fussing.

Behind Uldrek, movement drew my attention. Edwin stood in the great arched doorway, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He gave me the smallest of nods. He wouldn’t interfere, but he’d seen. He was watching. A steady point of stillness I hadn't realized I needed.

Uldrek said nothing, but he gently passed Ellie back into my arms, his touch careful and practiced. I shifted her back into the sling, hands moving automatically—even as anxiety slithered its way up my spine.

Then he stood.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said. Not a question.

I looked up at him and nodded, grateful without knowing how to say it.

The Council liaisons didn’t object. They turned as one, leading the way up the narrow boulevard that curved east, past Sunrise Plaza and into the Civic Row. We followed a few paces behind.

I fell into step beside Uldrek, pulling Ellie’s sling tighter across my chest, though she didn’t stir. The streets of Everwood felt different with those two figures ahead of us. Like I no longer belonged to the anonymity of the crowd. Like eyes were turning.

I kept my gaze on the cobbled path, narrowing where the roots of an alder tree had lifted a stone. There was a chill in the air, even with the sun out, and I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through me.

“What are they going to ask?” I murmured, barely audible.

“Don’t know exactly,” Uldrek said. “Could be routine. Could be someone pushed for it.”

“Gavriel?” I asked, throat tightening.

“Could be the Order,” he said. “They don’t like when people slip the leash. Especially ones who know what they’re capable of.”

I swallowed. “They weren’t supposed to be able to reach me here.”

“They can’t. Not directly. Not unless the council lets them in through a side door.”

I looked straight ahead, my voice tight. “If they say it’s false—what happens?”

“They could revoke your protection,” he said, steady. “Say you forged a natural bond to get around the rules.”

I bit down on the panic rising in my chest. “And if they revoke it... what happens then?”

Uldrek nodded once. “Then the filing unravels. The protection falls.”

“And Gavriel doesn’t have to look for me anymore. He just has to walk through the door.”

His jaw clenched. “Exactly.”

“So what do I give them?” I asked. “What makes this enough?”

He looked at me, steady and fierce. “We show them what’s true. That you claimed me because you needed safety—and I stayed because I chose to.”

“And if that doesn’t matter?”

“Then we make it matter.”

Something in me clenched at that—at the we. At the quiet certainty in his voice. Not because I didn’t believe him. Just because I wasn’t used to anyone standing beside me when the ground gave way.

The Council Hall loomed ahead, curved stone columns and woven ivy partially obscuring the council’s seal above the door. A pair of guards stood at the entrance, but they didn’t raise a hand when the liaisons approached.

The woman turned halfway, glancing at me with practiced neutrality. “Right this way, Miss Fairbairn. The council chamber is prepared.”

I adjusted Ellie in her sling, tightening the wrap instinctively. Uldrek reached for the door before they could and pushed it open, gesturing for me to go ahead.

I didn’t look back as I stepped inside. I didn’t need to. I could feel him behind me—the quiet weight of his presence as familiar now as my own breath.