Page 75 of Her Orc Healer

I slipped into the seat Kazrek had already pulled out for me.

The table was heavy with food. A bowl of roasted root vegetables sat between a plate of split rolls and a slab of spiced oatcake. There was a pot of something dark and savory steaming near the center—maybe stew or porridge—and beside my plate, already waiting, a cup of tea still piping hot. Kazrek poured a splash of honey into it.

“Good morning,” I murmured, smoothing the napkin over my lap.

Vorgrim smirked over his mug. “Morning, indeed.”

I ignored him, reaching for the small dish of butter. But before I could spread it over the torn bit of bread in my hands, Kazrek caught my wrist, gently but firmly. He took the piece from me and set it aside, then ladled a hearty portion of the stew into the bowl in front of me.

“You need to eat properly,” he said.

I exhaled through my nose, but the warmth in my chest unraveled something tight nonetheless. I picked up the spoon and took a bite. It was good—rich, spiced, the kind of food that settled deep in the stomach and stayed there.

Vorgrim chuckled, setting down his mug. “Orcs like feeding their women,” he mused, tapping one thick finger against the table. “Something instinctual in our blood. Strength calls to strength, but we’re practical about it. Can’t have you wasting away.”

I shot him a dry look over the rim of my spoon. “I've never been at risk of that."

Selior, who had been quietly sipping his tea, finally spoke, his voice lighter than I'd expected. “I had an orc lover once who fed me like that.”

The spoon paused halfway to my mouth. Vorgrim blinked, clearly not expecting that.

Selior’s expression didn’t shift. “He was a warrior with a laugh like broken bells and hands like stone. Kept wild dogs and honey wine. Called me delicate even when I broke his ribs in a sparring ring.”

Kazrek raised a brow, not quite a smile, but something close.

“He’s dead now,” Selior added without ceremony. “Tried to outrun a firestorm in the Dagger Plains.” He picked up his tea, sipped once, and nodded slightly, as if confirming the taste. “Didn’t work.”

A quiet settled over the table—not solemn, exactly, but respectful. I glanced at Kazrek, but his gaze was fixed on Selior. Curious, not wary. Maybe a little surprised.

Vorgrim cleared his throat. “Stars, Selior. You always open with stories like that?”

Selior tilted his head, unbothered. “Only when I’m trying to decide who’s worth talking to.”

“Have we passed, then?” I asked.

Selior looked at me fully for the first time. And when he did, I felt it—not a jolt, not a chill, but a sort of internal hush. Like my thoughts had stilled to hear something I couldn’t quite make out.

“You passed the moment you saw the shadows and didn’t turn away.”

I paused, my spoon hovering just above the bowl, the weight of Selior’s words settling over me. Kazrek shifted beside me; I could feel him measuring the elf, the quiet way his presence sharpened in subtle increments. Not fear, not even real suspicion. Just… awareness. Like he, too, was trying to decide how much trust Selior had earned with just a handful of words.

I set the spoon down carefully, the soft clink against the ceramic unnaturally loud in the tense quiet.

“How do you know about the shadows?” I asked at last.

Selior sipped his tea, utterly unbothered, his silver-marked skin catching the firelight in strange ways—as if the glow clung to him longer than it should before releasing. He studied me for a beat, and then the smallest smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

“I see things,” he said simply.

It wasn’t an answer. Or, at least, not one I knew what to do with.

I’d dealt with plenty of cryptic, self-important scholars in the past—scribes who liked to talk in circles, pretending it made them wise. But something about Selior’s certainty held weight, like he wasn’t trying to confuse me, only deciding how much I was ready to hear.

No games. Not yet.

I reached into the folds of my shawl and withdrew the small scrap of parchment. Flattening it carefully against the table, I turned it so Selior could see the rune I’d copied from the cracked pendant.

“This is what I saw,” I said, keeping my voice neutral, almost casual. As if this weren’t the very thing that had kept me awake last night.

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