Page 55 of Her Rugged Orcs

"Told you," Murok mutters, though there’s relief in his tone.

Grash grunts, his eyes flicking to Eira. "You should eat. Rest."

Eira shakes her head, her grip on my hand tightening. "Not yet. I’m staying here."

She doesn’t look at him, her focus entirely on me. I want to tell her to listen to Grash, to take care of herself, but I know she won’t. She’s as stubborn as I am, and for the first time, that thought doesn’t frustrate me. It fills me with a quiet pride.

As the minutes blur together, my strength returns slowly. Eira stays by my side and her hand never leaves mine. Shetalks to me in soft tones, her voice a soothing balm against the remnants of pain. She tells me about the settlement, about the gardens she saw, about the children playing in the square. Her words paint a picture of a life I want to give her—a life free of fear, of pain.

Murok lingers nearby, his sharp eyes watching everything. Grash paces the small length of the room, his impatience palpable. But neither of them try to pull her away. They know better. They know she belongs here, with me, with us.

My breaths are coming easier now and my body no longer fights against itself. Eira looks at me, her eyes searching mine. "You’re going to be just fine," she says, her voice firm now, like she’s convincing herself as much as me.

"With you, always," I manage, the words rough but clear.

She smiles, a small, fragile thing that lights up her face. At that moment, I know I’d bleed all over again just to see it. Her love, her presence, her fierceness—they’ve worked miracles. I’ll never let her go. Not now. Not ever.

The door suddenly bursts open, and Kira rushes in, her eyes wild with hope. I watch Eira stiffen beside me and her hand tightens around mine. The sisters stare at each other across the room, time stretching between them like a thread about to snap.

"Eira?" Kira's voice breaks on the name.

Eira trembles, and I fight the urge to pull her closer. But this isn't my moment. This is her healing.

"Kira," Eira whispers, and then they collide in the middle of the room, arms wrapping around each other, tears flowing freely. The scent of their grief and joy mingles in the air, sharp and sweet.

I shift on the cot, ignoring the pull of stitches in my side. My eyes never leave Eira's face, watching for any sign of distress. But there's only wonder there, and a kind of peace I've never seen before.

"I thought—" Kira starts, her words choked with emotion. "When they took you?—"

"I know," Eira says, pressing her forehead against her sister's. "I know."

Grash and Murok move back, giving the sisters space, but I see the pride in their stance. We did this. We brought her home, not just to us, but to the family she lost.

"You found her," Kira says, turning to look at us with gratitude shining in her eyes.

Eira pulls back slightly, her gaze meeting mine before sweeping over Grash and Murok. "No, they just didn’t find me. They saved me and made me whole again," she says, and my chest clenches at the depth of emotion in her voice.

The words settle in my bones. She is ours, as we are hers, and now she has her sister too. My warrior's heart swells with fierce pride. This is what we fought for, bled for, killed for—her happiness, her freedom, her chance to be whole again.

39

EIRA

Steam rises from the bath and curls around me like a warm caress. The water burns my skin in the most delicious way, washing away weeks of grime, blood, and memories. I sink deeper, letting my hair float around me like pale seaweed.

"I had the servants add lavender oil," Kira says from where she sits on a cushioned stool near the copper tub. "You always loved lavender."

My throat tightens. After ten years, she still remembers such a small detail. "Thank you."

The bathroom in her home is larger than any cell I've lived in, with marble floors and gossamer curtains that flutter in the breeze. It feels surreal to be here, to be safe, to be clean.

I scrub my skin until it's pink, watching dirt and dried blood swirl away in the water. Each pass of the cloth reveals another scar, another memory, another story I'm not ready to tell.

"Here," Kira says, holding out a soft towel. "I've laid out some clothes for you."

I step out of the bath and wrap myself in the plush fabric. It's so different from the tattered dress I've worn for weeks. The dress she's chosen is a deep blue, simple but made of fine cottonthat feels like clouds against my skin. The shoes are soft leather, fitting perfectly.

"You look beautiful," Kira says, her eyes shining with tears she won't let fall.

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