Page 59 of Her Orc Healer

"Like a trap," Kazrek murmured, his expression darkening. "Or a vessel."

Mister Edwin tapped his fingers against his desk, looking between us. "Well, I must admit, I do enjoy a good mystery," he said, "but I cannot promise you answers where there are none. If this symbol exists in recorded history, it would likely be in the older, restricted collections—"

"Which I assume you can’t just waltz in and retrieve for me."

"Correct." He sighed. "Much as I enjoy your company, I’d rather not lose my position over it."

Maeve looked up from her sealing work, her small face suddenly serious. "Maybe it's hiding," she said quietly, rolling the seal between her palms. "Some things don't want to be found. Like the shadows under my bed—they run away when you look for them."

A chill ran down my spine at her words. Maybe she was right. Maybe some things were meant to stay buried, meant to remain in shadow. The thought whispered through my mind:maybe it shouldn't be found.

But then I looked at her—really looked at her. She sat there, legs swinging, completely absorbed in the simple joy of pressing patterns into wax. Her whole world was still full of wonder, unshadowed by the darkness that seemed to hover at the edges of our lives. And I remembered my earlier resolve: she deserved more than a life half-lived in fear.

"Thank you for your help, Mister Edwin," I said, gathering our borrowed books. "And for entertaining my little seal-maker here."

He waved off my thanks with a gentle smile. "It's been a pleasure. She has quite the eye for detail, this one."

Kazrek stepped forward, scooping Maeve up in one fluid motion that made her squeal with delight. She immediately settled against his chest, her small hands finding their familiar place on his shoulders. The sight made something warm unfurl in my chest—how natural they looked together, how easily he had become part of our world.

The night air was cool and crisp as we stepped outside, stars beginning to pepper the darkening sky. The streets were quiet, most shops already closed, their windows dark. Our footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, punctuated by Maeve's soft humming.

Without thinking—or perhaps thinking too much—I reached for Kazrek's free hand. His fingers immediately twined with mine, warm and steady, like they belonged there. Like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

It had been not even a day since I had let myself fully give in to him, since his hands had mapped my skin with quiet reverence, since I had laid bare more than just my body but the parts of myself I had long kept guarded. And yet, the strangeness I had expected—the fear, the retreat—hadn’t come.

Instead, there was this.

His warmth beside me. Maeve naturally curling into him, her trust as effortless as breathing. The ease with which his touch no longer startled me, no longer sent me searching for a way to slip free. If anything, I leaned into it now, fitting myself against his side without thinking, without second-guessing the comfort of it.

The old instinct to keep space between myself and others—to lock away my needs for the sake of survival—lingered like a ghost, but it was fainter now, its weight no longer so unbearable. What had once been an ironclad rule of self-reliance had begun to crack, and I wasn’t sure if I should be afraid of that or relieved.

Maeve let out a soft sigh as she burrowed deeper into Kazrek’s hold, her fingers curling around the fabric of his tunic. He made a low sound, something close to a hum, as his thumb swept absently along the curve of her back. I stared at the lull of movement, something tight pressing against my ribs.

“How does she always settle so easily with you?” I murmured, half to myself.

Kazrek glanced down at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light, but there was something warm in it. “Children know when they’re safe.”

His voice was quiet, steady. His meaning unspoken but understood.

So do you.

I swallowed, looking ahead at the winding streets instead. “Maybe,” I murmured.

The streets of Everwood stretched before us in shadowed quiet, the faint glow of lanterns dotting the path as we moved through the market district, past shuttered stalls and empty alleyways.

A distant creak of metal and wood caught my attention—the city gates opening at this late hour, their ancient hinges protesting the movement. Kazrek and I both paused, instinctively drawing closer together as we watched.

"Strange time for arrivals," I murmured, shifting to keep Maeve between us.

Through the widening gap came a procession of wagons, their wheels wrapped in cloth to muffle their passage. They weren't merchant carts—these were larger, more elaborate affairs, crafted from dark wood and adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to shift in the torchlight. Crystal lanterns swayed from their peaks, casting pools of silvery light that didn't quite touch the ground.

The lead wagon bore a symbol I didn't recognize: a tree with roots that spiraled into a perfect circle, branches reaching upward through a crown of stars. The whole thing was done in what looked like moonsilver, catching and throwing back the light in impossible ways.

"Do you recognize that symbol?" I asked quietly.

Kazrek didn’t answer right away. His golden eyes stayed fixed on the wagons, his expression unreadable.

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