Page 86 of Her Orc Healer

The door closed behind him with a soft chime. I stood still, the coins warm in my palm, the shop suddenly too quiet.

After he left, I stood motionless behind the counter, the coins still warm in my palm. The shop felt suddenly too quiet, too empty, as if all the air had been sucked out with his departure.

Of course Kazrek was leaving.

Maybe he thought stepping away was the kindest thing he could do. Maybe he thought I needed space. Or maybe he just didn’t want to watch it happen.

I wasn’t angry. Just… tired.

Tired of trying to hold on to people already walking toward the door. Tired of pretending it didn’t hollow me out when they didn’t fight to stay.

“Rowena?” Maeve’s voice was small. “Are you sad?”

I blinked. Looked at her. “No, sweetheart,” I said gently. “Just thinking.”

“About Kazrek?”

I hesitated. “About work,” I lied, moving toward her. “How’s your tea? Need more?”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of mundane tasks and repetitive motions. I reorganized the supply shelves twice, polished the counter until it gleamed, and relabeled a dozen jars that didn't need relabeling. Customers came and went. I smiled and wrapped purchases and made change, all while feeling like I was watching myself from a distance.

Auntie Brindle arrived in the afternoon, bringing a poultice for Maeve's chest and a sharp look for me.

"You're wound tighter than Faerwillow's corset strings," she observed after sending Maeve upstairs to rest. "What happened?"

"Nothing." I continued wiping down the already-clean counter.

"Nothing doesn't make your aura look like a storm cloud, girl." She planted herself in front of me, arms crossed. "Did Selwyn have bad news?"

"We know what it is now," I said, the words clipped. "He gave us something to slow it down."

Brindle sighed, suddenly looking every one of her many years. "And the healer? Where is he?"

"With his people," I said, turning away. "Where he belongs."

"Hmm. And is that what he said, or what you've decided?"

I slammed the cloth down. "Does it matter? They're leaving in a week. He'll go with them."

"Will he, now?" Brindle's voice was mild. "Interesting. When did he tell you that?"

"He didn't need to." My voice was brittle. "His friend did."

"I see." Brindle moved to the kettle, heating it with a casual flick of her fingers. "And of course, a friend would know his heart better than the woman in it."

"I'm not in his heart," I snapped. "I'm just—" What? A distraction? A responsibility? A burden he'd taken on because that's what he did—heal, protect, save? "—a complication."

"Oh, girl." Brindle shook her head. "For someone so smart, you can be remarkably dense."

I turned away, unable to bear the knowing look in her eyes. "I have work to do."

"Yes, you certainly do," she agreed cryptically, but didn't press further.

By evening, I was exhausted from the effort of pretending everything was fine. I made a simple dinner that neither Maeve nor I had much appetite for, then read her a story before bed. The words blurred on the page, my mind elsewhere as I recited the familiar tale of stars and wishes.

"You're reading it wrong," Maeve complained, pointing to the page. "That's not what the dragon says."

"Sorry." I blinked, forcing myself to focus. "Let me try again."

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