Page 22 of Pumpkin Spiced Orc
Eventually, I walk.
Not toward the barn. Not toward Garruk, though I know exactly where he is—probably pretending not to glance at the house, carving something just to keep his hands busy while the orchard flirts with hysteria.
I go into town.
The meeting hall hasn’t changed. Still smells like mildew and old pine polish, still echoes with every footstep no matter how quiet you try to be. The elders sit around the long table in their matching expressions of guarded curiosity, like I’m a riddle they forgot how to solve.
Elva Dunn is already fanning herself with a folder, despite the chill that’s settled in the building. Mayor Riggs offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. And the Valens twins, dressed in their usual matching gray coats, blink in unison but say nothing.
“Ivy,” Elva says. “We were just about to send for you.”
I step inside, not bothering to sit. “You knew the orchard would react.”
Riggs clears his throat. “We suspected.”
“Suspected,” I repeat, biting the word.
“You’ve formed a bond,” Elva says, folding her hands in her lap. “With the land. And with him.”
“I didn’t—” I begin, but falter. “It wasn’t planned.”
“Of course not,” Riggs murmurs. “The land doesn’t ask for permission.”
The Valens twins nod like old clocks ticking in agreement.
I cross my arms. “Then explain why it feels like it’s bleeding magic every time I breathe.”
Elva leans forward. “Because it is. The orchard has been dormant for years. What happened between you and Garruk woke something that’s been sleeping since before your mother left. You’ve rooted yourself. You’ve accepted the land’s claim.”
“I didn’tacceptanything.”
“The land disagrees.”
Riggs reaches into a small satchel at his side and pulls out a stone—rough and dark, veined with silver, pulsing faintly under the light.
“This was found at the foot of the eastern tree line,” he says. “It only appears when the bond begins to settle. Breathroot crystal. A sign of permanence.”
My stomach flips. I take a step back. “You’re saying this ismyfault?”
“We’re saying,” Elva says gently, “that you’ve always been meant for this place. The bond just reminded the orchard.”
I want to scream. I want to claw the petals from the trees and demand the land let me go. I want to stop feeling like my breath doesn’t belong entirely to me anymore.
But all I say is, “And if I walk away?”
Silence.
Elva’s face softens. “Then the orchard will mourn. And mourning land is dangerous.”
I walk out before they can say anything else.
Garruk is waiting on the porch when I return, arms crossed, brow furrowed, jaw set like stone. The orchard lights him up like a story I haven’t finished reading—too big, too strange, too familiar.
“You went to them,” he says.
“They said it’s real,” I reply, voice hollow. “The bond.”
He nods once. “I know.”
