Page 32 of Her Orc Protector

At the sound of my approach, she froze mid-motion, a scroll half-balanced in her arms. She didn't run. She just stared at me with sharp, assessing eyes, waiting.

I stayed where I was, not wanting to startle her further. "It's alright," I said gently. "You're the one who's been helping us." Not a question.

She shrugged, a quick, dismissive motion. “Archives need tending. Babies do, too. That’s all.”

"I'm Issy," I offered. "And my daughter is Ellie."

"I know who you are," she replied, her tone making it clear she found the introduction unnecessary. She hesitated, then added begrudgingly, "Hobbinia. Most just say Hobbie."

"Thank you, Hobbie. For the blanket. And the stone."

She dropped the scroll on a lower shelf. "Draughty in that corner." She straightened her shawl. "Keep the blanket clean. Wool that fine doesn't grow on trees."

Before I could respond, she slipped behind another row of stacks—not exactly fleeing, just... finished with the conversation. I heard no footsteps, no rustling of fabric. She simply vanished into the maze of shelves as if she'd never been there at all.

The afternoon sun broke through the clouds, sending shafts of golden light through the high windows of the Archives' main hall. I'd moved to one of the larger tables to work on the Lindell translation, spreading reference materials and comparative texts to help with the more difficult passages.

Ellie was awake but quieter than usual, watching the dust motes dance in the sunlight from her basket beside me. Occasionally, she’d wave her tiny hands at nothing in particular, a serious expression on her face as if conducting some invisible orchestra. Her cheeks were a little flushed, and I made a mental note to check her temperature later—but for the moment, she seemed content.

I was halfway through a particularly challenging paragraph when I felt the weight of eyes on me. Glancing up, I caught myself looking toward a shadowed corner between two tall shelves. Nothing was there—at least, nothing I could see. But I couldn't shake the feeling.

"Hobbie?" I whispered into the darkness.

"Oh, good. Talking to shadows now. Excellent sign."

I turned to find Fira standing nearby, a stack of leather-bound volumes in her arms and her usual sardonic expression firmly in place. The dwarf's braids were unusually tidy today, woven with silver beads that caught the light when she moved.

"Should I warn Edwin you’ve finally lost it," she continued, "or are we still pretending you're normal?"

I felt my cheeks warm. "I was just... thinking."

"While staring into empty corners? Fascinating thought process." Fira set her stack of books on the table with a solid thunk. "Your neck looks like you lost a fight with a bear, by the way. Subtle."

My hand went instinctively to the claiming mark. It was still tender, the bruising around Uldrek's bite darkening rather than fading. I hadn't attempted to hide it—partly because of what it represented and partly because, in the privacy of my thoughts, I found I rather liked the visual reminder of that night at the Broken Spoke.

"It's meant to be seen," I said simply.

Fira snorted. "Clearly." She began sorting through her books, separating them into neat piles. "Edwin wants these cataloged by region, then subject. Think you can manage that without getting distracted by the fascinating emptiness of the archives?"

I nodded, grateful for the change of subject. We worked in companionable silence for a while, the scratch of quills and the gentle rustle of turning pages the only sounds beyond Ellie's occasional soft noises. I caught Fira glancing at my daughtermore than once, her expression softening before she caught herself and resumed her usual scowl.

After an hour or so, Fira reached into her pocket and produced a small cloth bundle. Unwrapping it revealed a honey biscuit, golden-brown and still faintly warm.

"Brought this for later," she said, eyeing it with apparent indecision. She glanced toward the shadowed corner I'd been watching earlier, then very deliberately placed the biscuit on the edge of the table.

"For the record," she added in a low grumble, "I'm not feeding imaginary creatures. But if someone eats that, they'd better not touch my tea cakes. Those are sacred."

I bit back a smile. "Of course."

Fira narrowed her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I have a reputation to maintain."

"Which is?"

"Terrifying, obviously." She gathered up her completed work. "I'm going to deliver these to Edwin. Try not to hallucinate any more invisible friends while I'm gone."

As she walked away, I noticed she took a deliberately circuitous route, giving the corner with the biscuit a wide berth. I pretended to focus on my work but kept the edge of the table in my peripheral vision.

Sure enough, a few minutes after Fira left, a small hand darted out from behind the shelf and snatched the biscuit. No sound. No figure. Just that quick motion and then nothing.

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