Page 82 of Her Orc Protector

"Shall we go tell Hobbie the good news?" he asked, trying to sound light. "She's probably worn a path in the floor by now."

I smiled. "Yes. I can't wait to hold Ellie."

We descended the steps together, merging into the flow of people in the street. The buildings of Everwood rose around us, familiar now after these months. The bakery where Dora sometimes bought sweet rolls. The small garden where Ellie had first smiled in the sunshine. The path that led to the Archives, where I'd rebuilt a piece of myself among the scrolls and books.

We passed beneath a stretch of shadow where the sun hadn't reached. Uldrek's hand found mine again. Steady. Familiar. But the mark beneath my skin stayed quiet.

No pulse. No heat. Just memory.

I didn’t know what that meant yet or what he was thinking. But I knew where I was going.

Home.

Chapter 23

By the time we reached the Broken Spoke, the windows glowed gold with lamplight, and the sound of laughter spilled out into the street. I paused just outside the door, the warm press of voices and music a jarring contrast to the quiet gravity of the Council chamber that morning.

"I still don't think we need to do this," I murmured, glancing up at Uldrek.

He shrugged. "Gruha's orders. And I'm not brave enough to argue with her."

It hadn’t been our idea. After the hearing, we’d gone straight to the cottage—expecting quiet, maybe a bowl of stew, maybe a fire. Instead, the living room was full: Dora, Leilan, Fira, Gruha, and even Edwin, looking slightly overwhelmed in a corner. Ellie had been passed from arm to arm, babbling contentedly, her curls mussed from all the kisses.

Dora had offered Tinderpost as the obvious place to gather and celebrate, but Gruha had waved her off.

“Too quiet,” she said. “Tonight needs noise and spiced drinks.”

Before I could protest that I didn't need a celebration at all, plans were already being made. The Broken Spoke. An hour after sunset. Everyone would be there. Dora was already out the door to spread the word.

It seemed easier to accept than to explain that what I really wanted was quiet—just Ellie in my arms and Uldrek beside me, the three of us safe in our little cottage. But I nodded and smiled, and now here we were.

Hobbie had insisted on staying behind with Ellie. "Public noise causes infant skull shrinkage," she'd muttered, which I was fairly certain wasn't true. But the relief of knowing my baby was safe at home with the fiercest protector I knew made it easier to step through the tavern door.

"There she is!" Dora's voice cut through the noise, and suddenly, a dozen faces turned toward us. I fought the urge to retreat. These were friends—or at least friendly faces. I had nothing to fear here.

Fira appeared at my elbow, a tankard already in her hand. "About time," she said, her usual gruffness softened by a genuine smile. "Everyone's been waiting to toast you."

"Toast me?" I echoed, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "That's really not necessary."

"Oh, shut it," she said cheerfully. "You faced down an ex-husband with dark artifacts and lived to tell about it. If that's not worth a drink, what is?"

Before I could respond, she was steering me deeper into the tavern, toward a corner where Thok and several of his guardsmen had pushed tables together. Gruha sat at one end, looking distinctly out of place yet somehow exactly where she belonged.

I glanced back to make sure Uldrek was following, but he had already been intercepted by a pair of soldiers I recognizedfrom the barracks. He clapped one on the shoulder, laughing at whatever had been said. The sound of it twisted something in my chest—not because it wasn't genuine, but because it felt... separate from me. As if we'd walked through the door together but were already drifting to different corners of the room.

I pushed the thought aside. We'd had a long, intense day. Of course we needed space to process it in our own ways.

"Sit," Fira commanded, shoving me onto a bench beside Gruha. "Drink."

A tankard materialized in front of me. I took it automatically, though I had little appetite for ale. The liquid inside was darker than I expected, with a hint of something sweet.

"It's the spiced mead," Gruha explained, noticing my hesitation. "Less kick, more taste. Better for thinking people."

I smiled gratefully and took a sip. The warmth spread through me, cinnamon and clove chasing away some of the chill that had settled in my bones.

I caught a flash of silver braid as Leilan slipped through the crowd, carrying two mugs of cider above her head like a tavern regular twice her age. She spotted me and gave a quick nod—half grin, half salute—before ducking toward the firelit corner where Edwin sat recounting something to a cluster of junior scribes.

"So," Gruha said, her voice pitched just loud enough to be heard over the din, "it's done then? He's locked away?"

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