Page 37 of Her Orc Protector

Uldrek nodded to Rowena, then Kazrek. “Thank you,” he said, and I heard a familiarity in his voice again. Not just respect—something older. Earned.

Kazrek gave him a half-grin. “If she starts screaming like a direcat in heat, that’s the tincture wearing off. Try honeywater or frozen cloth after that.”

“Direcats don’t scream,” Rowena noted as she straightened a cloth on the table.

“You’ve clearly never met one in the mating season,” Kazrek shot back, wiping his hands on a rag.

I gathered Ellie into my arms again, kissing her temple. She felt slack with sleep, the fever only a suggestion now instead ofan overwhelming presence. Her breath was warmer than I’d like, but slower. Deeper.

We said our quiet goodbyes, then stepped back through the blue curtain.

Outside, the mist had lightened to a cool haze that softened the edges of the buildings and muffled street sounds to a hush. Something about it felt gentle, like even the city was holding its breath a little for us.

I pulled my cloak tighter and started walking.

Uldrek let a few steps pass in silence before he spoke, his voice quiet beside me. “You did well.”

Ellie was firmly asleep now, her weight a familiar ache against my chest, her breath slow, almost synchronized with mine. I checked her every few steps anyway, unable to stop the instinct to monitor—was she cooler now, still flushed, moving too little?

It felt impossible to just… trust it.

"I didn’t do anything," I said finally. The words came quiet, almost detached. "Hobbie brewed a poultice. Kazrek made salves. You walked me here. All I did was hold her."

Uldrek didn’t respond right away. Just kept walking beside me, the thick mist curling around his boots like smoke. A cart creaked in the distance; a dog barked and then quieted. Everwood’s early hush spread around us like a cloak.

"But you stayed up," he said at last. "You didn’t sleep. You watched her breathing and tried everything you knew and didn’t flinch when you had to ask for more. That’s not ‘nothing.’ That’s battlework, too."

I looked down, the sting of tears pressing at the corners of my eyes again. This time, I didn’t fight them. Not really. I just blinked through the ache and nodded once, the motion small but whole.

“I don’t know how to stop bracing,” I admitted. “For the next thing. The next slip. The moment it all goes wrong again.”

Uldrek made a thoughtful sound. "You don’t stop,” he said softly. “You just... learn how to walk anyway. One foot. Then the other."

The mist thinned as we reached the edge of the market square. The first stalls were being uncovered, vendors pulling canvas tarps back from carts of bread, twine-bound root bundles, charms pressed into tiny jars of salt. Familiar. Alive.

I adjusted Ellie’s wrap and looked up at him. “Do you ever get tired of being so reasonable?”

Uldrek’s mouth twisted, just barely, into the ghost of a smirk. “I’ve been told it’s infuriating.”

As we turned down the smaller lane that led toward Tinderpost House, I felt his gaze shift—not probing, just there. Like he was waiting for something. Or offering something. I wasn’t sure.

I shifted Ellie in her wrap and walked close enough that our shoulders brushed—just barely. Warm fabric to warm fabric. His arm was solid beside mine, his gait steady. I didn’t lean. Not exactly.

But I didn’t pull away, either.

Chapter 12

Iwoke to Ellie’s fussing with a strange, disorienting sensation—like I’d fallen asleep too hard, too fast, and now the world was slightly out of focus. The room was dim except for the dying glow of the brazier, embers pulsing low in the iron bowl. Night had returned—fully this time, the kind that blanketed the house in stillness.

At some point, someone had lit the candle on the side table and left a mug of cooled broth I didn’t remember asking for. The day had passed in pieces: a stretch of sleep I couldn’t quite recall, blurred moments of waking to feed Ellie, to check her fever, to drink water handed to me by someone I didn’t quite register. Leilan, maybe. Or Gruha. Everything felt distant around the edges, like the walls of the room had moved farther away.

Now Ellie stirred beside me, her soft, unhappy sounds breaking the quiet. Not crying, not yet—but close.

I placed my palm against her forehead. Cooler than before, but still warm. The fever had broken, but its ghost lingered.

"Shh," I murmured, lifting her against my shoulder. "I know. I know."

She squirmed, her tiny hands opening and closing against my nightdress. Not hungry—I'd fed her before we drifted off. Not wet—I'd changed her linens barely an hour ago. Just unsettled. Caught somewhere between sickness and sleep, too aware of her own discomfort to settle.

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