Page 33 of Her Orc Protector

I smiled and continued working, feeling strangely comforted by the knowledge that we weren't quite as alone in the Archives as I'd thought.

By the time I returned to Tinderpost House, the drizzle had turned to a steady rain, blurring the lamplight and slicking the cobblestones underfoot. I kept Ellie tucked close under my cloak, her weight heavier than usual against my chest, her breath warm through the linen layers. She hadn't fussed, not really—but she'd gone quiet again, the kind of quiet that set off alarms in the back of my mind.

Gruha barely looked up as I stepped through the door. Just grunted, "You're late," and slid a towel toward me across the small hallway bench.

“Edwin asked for extra sorting,” I said.

Gruha gave me a look—not unkind, just sharp—and nodded toward the back. “Soup’s still warm. You’ve got chamomile upstairs.”

I paused. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” she muttered, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Just eat and get some sleep.”

In our little room upstairs, I laid Ellie down gently on the bed, then crouched beside her, brushing damp curls off her forehead. She stirred, restless, letting out a soft, tired whimper.

I pressed my palm to her skin. Still warm. Warmer than she should’ve been.

Just teething, I told myself. Or too many layers under the cloak.

Still, I lit the candle by the bed, then reached for the chamomile Gruha had mentioned—already steeped, I realized, waiting on the little side table. I poured the tea and took the warmth into my hands, listening to the rain tap against the shutter.

Ellie shifted again, letting out a small cry—thin, unhappy.

I lifted her against my chest, rocking her gently, feeling the heat of her seep through my shirt.

“You’re alright,” I murmured. “Just a long day. A long week.”

But my gut was starting to tighten.

When I looked down, her eyes were closed again. But her breathing was shallower now, her skin too hot against mine.

I stood carefully, holding her close, and went to open the shutters.

Just a crack.

The street below was quiet, puddles shining under the guttering lamps. The rain had eased to mist again. But the city felt… watchful.

I closed the shutters again. This time, I slipped the latch into place.

Chapter 11

The sky was already lightening when I stopped pretending to sleep. It wasn’t morning, not yet—but the kind of pearled gray that blurred the line between night and day. I’d let the candle burn down hours ago and hadn’t bothered relighting it.

Ellie lay against my chest, too warm and too quiet. Her skin was damp with sweat, her little limbs curling and uncurling in slow, restless waves. She hadn't nursed since midnight—just turned her face away, too tired even to cry.

I’d tried everything. Cool cloths. Fresh linen. Chamomile steeped too long in the back kitchen because I couldn’t remember the right ratio and my hands shook too badly to measure. I rocked her gently, humming nothing in particular. It didn’t matter what the song was. Just that she heard me.

Her fever had settled deep. Not raging, not breaking—just pulsing low and constant, like a second heartbeat inside her skin.

I was still humming—low and tuneless—when the door banged open hard enough to rattle the hinges.

I turned, startled, one hand instinctively pulling Ellie tighter.

Uldrek filled the doorway, his shoulders hunched, eyes sweeping the room like there might be a threat he could tear apart with his bare hands. And he wasn’t alone.

Perched on his shoulder like some judgmental gargoyle was the small figure of Hobbie, arms crossed, shawl pinned tight with a crooked bone clasp. She looked unimpressed with everything in sight.

I blinked, sure I was hallucinating.

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