Page 93 of Her Orc Protector

"I'll be back tomorrow," I said, not turning. "We can talk more then."

I didn't wait for his response. The night air hit my face as I stepped outside, cool against the heat of unshed tears. Ellie snuffled against my chest, her small weight at once a comfort and a reminder of all that hung in the balance.

As I walked down the street toward Tinderpost, the claiming mark on my collarbone remained silent. No pulse, no heat. Just a reminder of what had been—and what might not return.

Chapter 26

The night had grown colder, a bitter wind sweeping down from the northern hills. Ellie's sobs had settled into hiccuping whimpers against my neck, her small body radiating heat through the sling. I bounced gently as I walked, the steady motion more for my comfort than hers.

"It's all right," I murmured, though I knew the tremor in my voice gave me away. "We'll be somewhere warm soon."

My own tears had dried, leaving my face tight and raw in the night air. I hadn't meant to cry—had held myself rigid with the effort of containing it until I was well past the cottage, out of sight of windows where he might be watching. Then they had come without permission, silent and hot down my cheeks.

How had everything fallen apart so quickly? This morning, I'd woken in our bed, in our home, with a future stretched before us. Now, I was walking through the dark with my child and a hastily packed bag, fleeing an argument that made no sense to me.

I don't need protection anymore.Such a simple statement. A truth I had been so proud of, so relieved to recognize. And somehow, those words had cracked the foundation of everything between us.

The bond is broken. His voice echoed in my mind, flat and certain. I touched the mark at my collarbone, feeling nothing but skin. No warmth. No pulse. Just a scar where magic had once lived.

But did that really change what we were to each other? Did it erase the weeks of learning each other, building trust, creating a home? Did it undo the mornings I'd woken to find he’d already changed and fed Ellie so I could sleep an extra hour? The evenings we'd spent by the fire, his voice low as he told stories of his travels? The thousand small kindnesses that had nothing to do with protection and everything to do with care?

Apparently, to him, it did.

Ellie squirmed in the sling, her small fist tugging at my hair. I winced, gently untangling her fingers.

"I know," I said softly. "I don't understand it either."

The street curved, and Tinderpost House came into view, windows glowing amber against the night. No grandeur, no pretension. Just sturdy stone walls and a door that was never locked to those who needed it.

I pushed the gate open. The small courtyard was neat as always, with herbs growing in tidy rows along the pathway. I climbed the three steps to the door and knocked, the sound too loud in the quiet evening.

Footsteps approached, and the door swung open to reveal Gruha, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a dish towel tucked into her belt. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, flicking from my face to Ellie and back again.

She didn't ask why I was there or what had happened. She just grunted, "Well, you're late for dinner," and opened the door wider.

Relief washed through me as I stepped inside. The familiar smells of Gruha's hearty stew, fresh bread, and beeswax candles enveloped me like an embrace. The main room was warm and bright, the long wooden table dominating the center. Four women sat around it, bowls and cups before them, conversation flowing easily.

Leilan noticed me first, her delicate features brightening. "Issy!" she exclaimed, then faltered as she registered my expression. "And Ellie. What a nice surprise."

Dora bounced up from her seat. "Is that my favorite little one? Come here, sweetheart." She hurried over, already reaching for Ellie.

I surrendered my daughter to her practiced hands, grateful for the momentary relief. Dora cradled Ellie with expert care, cooing and bouncing as she returned to the table.

"Sit," Gruha commanded, pointing to an empty chair beside a woman I remembered as Kazrek's mate, the ink-maker. "There's plenty."

I sank into the seat, suddenly exhausted. "Thank you."

"You remember Rowena," Leilan said, gesturing to the tall, coppery-haired woman beside me. "She’s been helping me figure out how to stabilize that new red—I guess ink wants different things than silk, but some of the base pigments overlap."

Rowena gave me a small smile, her clever eyes missing nothing. "Good to see you again, Issy."

"And you," I murmured.

Gruha set a bowl of stew before me, the rich aroma making my stomach clench despite my emotional turmoil. I hadn't realized I was hungry until that moment.

"Eat," she ordered, already turning away.

I managed a few spoonfuls, letting the familiar sounds of dinner conversation wash over me. Leilan and Rowena discussed dye mordants while Dora bounced Ellie on her knee, singing a nonsense song about market day. The normalcy of it all began to settle my nerves, though the ache in my chest remained.

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