Page 80 of Her Orc Healer

ThewalktotheRunery took us into the older quarters of Everwood, where cobblestones gave way to packed earth and the buildings pressed close together. Twilight had fallen completely now, the last traces of day surrendering to a sky pricked with early stars.

Kazrek walked beside me, his silence heavier than usual. Not angry—just weighted. Like his thoughts had shape, and I could almost feel their edges. His broad shoulders were set in a line that spoke of determination, but there was something guarded in the way he held himself.

"You've been to the Runery before?” I asked.

He nodded once. "A few times. For supplies. Advice."

"What's he like? Sylwen?"

Kazrek considered this, his pace never faltering. "Strange. Not in a dangerous way. More like he's seen things most haven't."

I thought of Selior's cryptic warning—He's already paid the price—and tried to imagine what that might mean.

The deeper we went into this part of town, the more I felt eyes on us—not hostile, just curious. Windows glowed with muted light behind heavy curtains. Doorways stood half-open, voices spilling out in languages I didn't recognize. The air smelled of unfamiliar spices and something sharper—like electricity before a storm.

Finally, we turned down a narrow lane almost hidden between taller buildings, and there it was: the Runery. It seemed to grow from the stone around it, ivy-wrapped and ancient, its heavy wooden door carved with symbols that pulsed with faint blue light. The sign above—if you could call the twisted metal sigil a sign—curled like smoke frozen in place.

I stopped a few paces from the door. “Are you sure about this?”

Kazrek nodded once. “He’s not dangerous.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

His gaze flicked toward me, steady and unreadable in the dim light. “I'm sure.”

My hand found the door handle—cool metal, worn smooth by countless palms before mine. It turned with unexpected ease, and the door swung inward on silent hinges.

The interior struck me first with its scent—warm resin and dry parchment, with an electric undertone that reminded me of lightning-struck wood. Then came the light: blue flames in glass lanterns cast everything in an eerie glow, making shadows move when they shouldn't. The walls held shelves upon shelves of strange objects—rune stones, etched tools, scrolls tied with silver thread, jars of liquid that seemed to shift even when still.

Behind a low counter strewn with strange implements and dusted with something that glittered faintly, a figure straightened.

Sylwen Darkleaf was nothing like I'd expected. Tall and slender, with deep brown skin that contrasted sharply with his long platinum hair, he carried himself with a fluid grace that made even stillness seem like movement. His chest was bare beneath an open robe etched with glowing sigils, and similar marks traced patterns across his skin—not tattoos, exactly, but like something beneath the skin had risen to the surface to be read.

His smile, when it came, was warm but somehow distant, as if part of him were always elsewhere.

"The healer returns," he said, voice like silk over stone. His gaze, luminous and strange, shifted to me. "And you've brought a guardian of secrets."

I stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"The ink maker," he clarified, his smile deepening fractionally. "Your hands speak volumes, even when you don't."

Kazrek stepped forward. "We need your expertise, Sylwen."

"Of course you do," he replied, almost amused. "It's a rare soul who seeks the runemaster for casual conversation." He gestured to the space behind the counter. "Come. Whatever brought you through my door deserves better than threshold talk."

We followed him past the counter into another room—a circular space lined with tapestries that seemed to shift when I wasn't looking directly at them. At the center stood a table of dark wood, its surface etched with concentric circles and strange symbols.

Sylwen gestured for us to sit on the cushions surrounding it. "Wine? Tea? Something stronger?"

"Nothing," Kazrek said.

"Just answers," I added.

Sylwen's smile didn't falter. "Ah. The most expensive request of all." He settled across from us, his movements liquid. "What question brings you to my door after dark?"

I reached into my pocket and withdrew the small cloth-wrapped bundle. Carefully, I unfolded it to reveal the cracked pendant with its strange symbol. Beside me, Kazrek’s hand flexed once against his knee—quiet, controlled.

"We need to know what this is," I said, pushing it across the table toward him.

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