Page 48 of Her Orc Blacksmith

Vorgath stood by the cold forge, his massive frame seeming to fill half the space. He'd been quiet since we arrived, but there was a softness in his eyes as he watched Mrs. Crumble fuss over my flower crown.

“Now, don't tell me I forgot the glasses,” Thyri groaned, digging through her basket.

“It's okay,” Mrs. Crumble said. “I can pop over to the house—”

“Wait,” Vorgath interrupted. “I have something.”

We all turned to watch as he reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out four intricately designed drinking tins. They clinked softly as he set them down on the workbench.

“What are these?” I asked, picking one up and examining it. The engravings on the tins were unmistakably orcish—bold geometric patterns and spirals etched deeply into the metal, each one different but forming a complete set.

“The symbol here,” Vorgath pointed to an orcish symbol at the base, “represents unity in the old tongue. These tins are traditionally used for toasts during celebrations or significant moments. When my people raise their cups, it’s a way of honoring those we trust and commemorating our bonds.” His eyes shifted to me. “I thought it... fitting.”

Thyri let out a low whistle, picking up one of the mugs. “Fitting? Vorgath, they're beautiful!”

I watched Thyri admire the craftsmanship. Seeing the two of them—my best friend and the man I was falling for—actually connect for the first time made me happier than I could have imagined. Thyri had been my rock for so long, and now, having her and Vorgath in the same space, laughing and toasting together, felt like everything was finally falling into place.

“Well,” Thyri said, grinning as she dumped a generous amount of wine into each tin. “Looks like we're doing this orc-style!”

She placed one cup in front of Mrs. Crumble, who had to stand on tiptoe to reach it, the mug towering over her tiny frame. Another tin went to me, and while it felt large in my hands, it was manageable. Vorgath took the last, his fingers wrapping easily around the cup designed for an orc's grip.

“To Soraya,” Thyri announced, lifting her drink. “Who didn’t just fight for her place in the guild but won it with grace, skill, and a good ol' orc at her side to knock heads when needed.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”

“Mistress Wildclaw would disagree!” Mrs. Crumble chuckled. “And let's not forget the little spoon that set it all in motion.”

I grinned, lifting my tin. “Well, I’ll toast to that. And to friends, to family… and to new beginnings.” My voice cracked slightly on the last words as I glanced around the room—at Thyri’s mischievous grin, Mrs. Crumble’s wise eyes, and Vorgath, standing solid, like the anchor that had held me steady through this whole storm.

The tins clinked together with a soft, metallic ring. The wine was tart, but in such fine company, it tasted like the finest vintage in all the realms.

Before I could take another sip, Mrs. Crumble leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “You know, I was just remembering the first time I met Soraya, when she almost set her kitchen on fire with a tea towel. You remember that, dear?”

I groaned as Thyri cackled, nearly spilling her drink, while Vorgath's brow raised in silent inquiry.

“That was ages ago!” I protested.

“Ages? I seem to recall it was right after Elias was born,” Mrs. Crumble continued with a sly grin. “She was so sleep-deprived she didn’t notice the tea towel wrapped around the kettle. I had to pop in before half the kitchen turned to cinders.”

I laughed along with them, but Mrs. Crumble’s story tugged at a memory I hadn’t visited in a long time. I could still picture the scene so clearly, the exhaustion like a weight on my chest. Elias had been barely two months old, and Kald had been so busy with his work that I was left alone with the baby for long stretches of time. Between his endless projects and the war that loomed in the distance, we’d grown accustomed to operating in different worlds.

Elias had been colicky that day, refusing to sleep, his cries relentless. I barely noticed when I wrapped the tea towel around the kettle, just trying to get something, anything, done while Elias fussed in the next room.

Then, out of nowhere, Mrs. Crumble appeared. I hadn’t known much about brownies then, and for a split second, I wondered if she was some sort of hallucination. But there she was, wrinkled and wise, swooping in to save me from my burning kitchen. It wasn’t just the tea towel—she had saved me from the spiraling feeling of being utterly overwhelmed.

I had thought then that Elias would be the first of many children. Kald and I had planned for it, but as time passed, the war had pulled him away more and more. Then, it had taken him for good.

It was odd, now, standing here in this forge—our forge—and thinking back on that time. I had been so certain that I would never feel whole again after Kald’s death, but as I looked across the room at Vorgath, something shifted. He wasn’t watching Mrs. Crumble or laughing at the stories. He was watching me, his dark eyes soft in a way that caught me completely off guard.

I quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden flush of emotion as I realized where my thoughts had wandered. Babies? Orc babies? Sweet Seven, where had that come from? The thought of children—of a future that felt impossibly distant—made my mind spin. The idea of orc babies seemed absurd and wonderful all at once.

I chuckled, trying to shake off the sudden wave of emotion. “Well, I've come a long way since then. No more flaming tea towels for me.”

“Indeed you have,” Mrs. Crumble said. “From a frazzled new mother to a guild-certified blacksmith. You've always had that spark in you, dear.”

A sharp knock at the door startled us all. I exchanged a puzzled glance with Thyri—who else knew we were here?

“Come in!” I called, curiosity overtaking caution.

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