Page 2 of Her Orc Healer

She scrunched her nose. "Why?"

"Because magic is like ink. If you spill too much, it stains."

That got through to her. Maeve’s eyes widened, and she shoved her hands deep into the folds of her skirts. I didn’t know if it would actually help, but it made both of us feel better.

Edwin finished counting out his payment, stacking the coins neatly on the counter. “You ought to take her to the Guild,” he mused. “They know a thing or two about guiding young magic.”

“Thanks.” I forced a smile, collecting the coins. “But we manage.”

It was true. We managed—just barely.

I stacked the coins absently, my fingers smudged with ink and indigo dust, and glanced at Maeve, who had begun humming to herself, rocking on her heels. Her hands stayed shoved deep in her skirts, but faint golden wisps still curled around her collar like morning mist. Not something I could scrub out.

The Guild of Arcane Practitioners. They claimed to guide magic users, to keep things safe and controlled. But Maeve’s magic wasn’t something learned—it was something felt, something born into her. Wild and untamed, shifting and rippling like the surface of a pond. Magic wasn’t rare. But Maeve’s? That was something else.

Something that reminded me far too much of Finola.

My sister had always been drawn to magic—not the careful, measured kind the Guild approved of, but the kind whispered about in dark corners. She had loved the thrill of things she didn’t fully understand, collecting trinkets and charms, chasing secrets she had no business chasing.

Then, one day, she had chased something too far, and left me with Maeve.

I glanced at my niece, at the way her red curls bounced as she twirled in a slow circle, as if she could still feel the magic swirling around her.

"She’s young," I said finally, sliding the last coin into my till. "It’ll settle in time."

Edwin made a polite noise that didn’t quite agree, but he didn’t push, either.

The shop door swung open with a creak, letting in a gust of cool air before it was filled by the whirlwind that was my best friend.

"By the Seven, Rowena, you look like you've been wrung out and left to dry." Iris Vayne swept inside, skirts shushing over the wooden floor, a steaming clay mug cradled in her hands. “Which, knowing you, isn't even an exaggeration.”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

Iris snorted. “Liar." She thrust the mug toward me. "Here. Don’t ask what’s in it—just drink. And before you whine, no, it won’t put you to sleep. Not that you’d allow yourself that luxury.”

I took the mug warily. The scent was sharp and earthy, with an underlying note of something citrusy—probably nettle and ginger. I took a careful sip, the warmth curling through my chest.

"See?" Iris watched me, far too pleased with herself. "Not poison."

"Debatable," I muttered.

She smirked but didn’t say anything more. She didn’t need to. She’d known me long enough to recognize when I was barely holding myself together.

It had been three years since my father had died, leaving the shop in my hands. And nearly that long since Finola left Maeve on my doorstep, vanishing into whatever reckless mess she’d tangled herself in.

Since then, it had been me, Maeve, and this shop. A life of ink stains and balancing ledgers, scraped knees and bedtime stories, of chasing spilled ink pots and tamping down unexpected sparks of magic. Of working past midnight just to keep us afloat.

Maeve bounded to Iris’s side, tipping her head back dramatically. “Auntie Iris, I glowed again.”

“I know.” Iris bent down to tweak Maeve’s nose. “I felt it all the way down the street.”

Maeve beamed, utterly delighted, but I could see Edwin shift uncomfortably beside the counter. Too much attention on Maeve’s magic meant more eyes watching her—and watching us. That was the last thing I needed.

I cleared my throat, setting the herbal brew aside. “You’re running late today.”

“I was gathering herbs.” Iris opened the basket slung over her shoulder and plucked a white bloom from its depths. "And, as it happens, I have the perfect little task for you, Miss May."

Maeve perked up instantly, hands shooting out of her pockets before she remembered herself. She clasped them together quickly, rocking on the balls of her feet. “What is it?”

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