Page 11 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
The song winds down, and she finally steps back, chest rising and falling quick. My hands feel strangely empty without hers.
A dwarven elder—Granda Oltar, all silver beard and sharp blue eyes—waves me over next, thumping his cane on the ground. “Ironjaw! You’re built like an ox, lad. Give an old dwarf a hand with these crates, eh?”
I grunt and follow without complaint. Oltar’s got three huge baskets of salted cabbages and pickled beets meant for tomorrow’s fair, all needing hauling to the cellar under the guild hall. I heft two at once, slinging them up onto my shoulders like they weigh nothing at all.
When I glance over, Maddie’s leaning against a nearby post, hands clasped under her chin, looking at me with this soft, starry expression that honestly scares me more than any blade ever could. Like I’ve done something noble instead of just moved a few damned crates.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter as I pass.
“Like what?” she calls after me, voice lilting.
“Like I’ve just handed you the bloody moon.”
Later, after half the square’s emptied out and the musicians have turned to slower, gentler songs, we find ourselves on a bench off to the side. I’ve got a paper cone of roasted chestnuts in one hand, Maddie curled up right beside me, thigh warm against mine. She keeps stealing nuts from my cone, popping them into her mouth with little sighs of delight.
“These are my absolute favorite,” she murmurs, eyelids fluttering. “Roasty, sweet, a little salty… perfect. Thoughhonestly you could hand me a charred rock with enough cinnamon and I’d probably swoon.”
I snort. “No argument here. Seen the way you swoon over half-burnt toast.”
She gasps, smacks my arm lightly. “You hush. My taste is impeccable.”
Her head drops to my shoulder not long after, heavy and warm. I stiffen out of pure startled instinct—nobody rests on me like this, like I’m something safe instead of something to steer clear of. But her breath evens, little puffs against my neck, and slowly I let myself ease into it.
I stare out at the lanterns, the winding festival lanes littered with stray petals and bits of confetti. Couples drift by hand-in-hand, the whole night painted soft around the edges.
Maddie makes a tiny content noise in her sleep, snuggles closer.
Something tightens in my chest, low and unfamiliar. Like maybe all the walls I’ve built are less stone than I thought, and she’s out here poking holes in them just by existing.
I reach over, careful as I can, and tug her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.
“Reckless little sunshine,” I mutter under my breath.
But I don’t move. Don’t wake her. Just sit there with her against me, pretending this isn’t the best damned night I’ve had in longer than I can remember.
CHAPTER 9
MADDIE
Iwake to the faint scent of roasted chestnuts clinging to the cool night air, to the softness of my cheek pressed against something warm and solid that definitely isn’t my pillow. My eyes flutter open—and immediately widen to the size of caramel tarts—because I’m still curled up against Thornak. His shoulder is rock-hard under my cheek, his big arm draped along the back of the bench like he might’ve been keeping me steady all this time.
For one glorious, embarrassing heartbeat I just stay there, soaking in the quiet thrum of his breath and the way he radiates heat like a living hearth. Then mortification sets in, sharp and hot, crawling up my neck until my ears feel like they might catch fire.
“Oh stars above, I fell asleep on you,” I croak, voice scratchy from sleep and probably from drooling on his shirt. “Why didn’t you shove me off? Or, I don’t know, growl loud enough to scare me upright?”
He makes a low, rough sound that might be a laugh if he was less grumpy by nature. “Figured you’d wake up eventually. Less fuss that way.”
I sit up so fast I nearly topple right off the bench, hands flailing. “Still, that’s—oh gods, there’s probably a damp spot where I drooled, I’m so sorry?—”
“Settle down, sunshine,” he rumbles, looking away like the distant cider cart is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. His ears twitch, the tips going darker, and for a wild second I wonder if I’ve actually managed to embarrass a giant, brooding orc. “Ain’t the worst thing to ever happen to my shirt.”
“Oh well that’s comforting,” I mutter, burying my burning face in my hands.
We stand after that, me brushing off my skirts and trying very hard not to catch anyone’s smirking eye. The last stragglers are packing up, lanterns winking out one by one, until the square is left in a hush of trampled petals and cider-sweet air. Thornak waits while I gather my baskets—gruffly refusing help with a grunt and a pointed look at my stubborn little arms—then falls into step beside me as we head back toward the orchard.
It’s a quiet walk, the sort that should feel awkward after everything, but somehow doesn’t. I steal glances up at him from under my lashes, catching the faint lines around his eyes that mean he’s thinking hard about something. Or maybe he’s just planning how best to flee the next time I try to feed him pie in public.
When we reach the orchard gate, the moon’s peeking out from behind the trees, silvering the old fence posts and turning the grass into a bed of tiny stars. I can’t help it—something bubbles up in me, light and fizzy, the kind of feeling that begs to be shared.
