Page 31 of Her Orc Healer

Something in his tone made me look at him. There was no anger, no bitterness—just certainty, as if he had long since accepted a truth I was only beginning to understand.

"You—" I hesitated, piecing it together. "They didn’t help you either."

"Never had the right name. The right training. The right blood." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Didn’t come up through their ranks, didn’t study their way, so they had no use for me. The people who needed me weren’t the ones who could pay Guild fees or sit in waiting rooms. So I found another way.”

I thought of how his clinic wasn’t on the main thoroughfare, of the way he never seemed to expect thanks. Of how he took in the ones no one else would.

And now, he had brought that same quiet defiance here—to Maeve, to me.

Auntie Brindle made a pleased little hum, as if she’d been waiting for me to catch up. She set her mug down with a decisive clink. "Teach implies forcing something. Magic is like a wildflower—needs tending, not taming."

The words resonated with a truth I hadn't dared to acknowledge yet, because maybe I’d been looking at it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t about control. Maybe it wasn’t about stopping it before it slipped loose. Maybe what Maeve needed wasn’t a leash, but room to grow.

“I… I don’t know,” I stammered, the words feeling inadequate. “I don’t have much to offer.” My gaze drifted to the still-visible stain on the wall, a reminder of last night's chaos. “Things are… complicated.”

Auntie Brindle snorted. "Complicated is a Tuesday. Now sit down, dear, before you fall. You're swaying like a willow in a windstorm.” She gestured to a nearby stool. “Kazrek tells me you make a decent cup of tea. Let’s have a chat, shall we?"

I hesitated, the ingrained habit of self-reliance warring with the bone-deep weariness that clung to me like a second skin. I didn’t take charity. I didn't ask for help. I fixed things myself.

But the memory of last night’s breakdown, of the fear that had tightened its grip around my chest, was still too fresh. Too raw.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "The tea is upstairs."

Auntie Brindle’s smile widened, revealing a flash of surprisingly sharp teeth. "Then lead the way, dearie. And tell me what you need."

Three hours.

That was how long it took for Maeve to fall absolutely, irrevocably in love with Auntie Brindle.

Three hours of watching with wide, shining eyes as the tiny woman wove small, harmless enchantments into the air—braiding the golden wisps of her own magic into a string that danced like a living thing before vanishing in a soft pop. Three hours of listening, enraptured, as Auntie Brindle told stories about brownies who had guided great mages and heroes, all while expertly repairing a torn seam in Maeve’s tunic with nothing but a flick of her fingers and a satisfied hum.

And now, Maeve sat on the floor of the shop, utterly captivated, hanging onto Auntie Brindle’s every word as the old brownie guided her through a simple focus exercise—cupping her small hands together and coaxing a tiny, flickering wisp of golden light to bloom between her palms.

It was the calmest I had seen Maeve in weeks.

She wasn’t fighting her magic. She wasn’t afraid of it.

She was playing with it.

I had expected to feel relief. Or maybe wariness. Instead, something deeper settled in my chest. Something that felt uncomfortably close to gratitude.

Edwin chuckled, bringing my attention back to him as he tucked a bundle of freshly wrapped indigo into his satchel. “Well, now,” he mused, watching Maeve with an appraising eye. “She seems to be doing well.”

“She is,” I murmured, the words feeling strange on my tongue. True, but strange.

He gave a satisfied hum, adjusting the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. “Good ground,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s all a young one needs. A place to root and the right hands to guide her.” He glanced at me, eyes crinkling with quiet approval. “Looks like she has both now.”

I swallowed, caught off guard by the warmth behind his words. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I only nodded gratefully as he made his way to the door.

The door chimed again just as Mister Edwin stepped out, and my heart stumbled in my chest. Kazrek filled the doorframe, broad shoulders blocking the late afternoon light. He still wore the same loose tunic from this morning, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms, but his hair was damp, as if he’d just washed up.

And in one hand, he held a basket.

"Kazrek!" Maeve's delighted shriek broke through my stunned silence. The wisp of light she'd been practicing with winked out as she scrambled to her feet.

"Zuzu’rak," he rumbled, a rare smile softening his features. His gaze shifted to me, and something in his eyes made my chest tight. "Rowena."

"I thought you..." The words tangled on my tongue.Had gone. Left. Realized this was too much. "...had patients," I finished lamely.

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