Page 20 of Ashes, Apples, & Amorous Orcs

The barb lands exactly where he intended. Heat blooms through my neck as Isolde steps forward, her chin lifting with unmistakable defiance.

"That's my fault entirely. I needed the help and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Draven's an adult." Thornak's voice carries that particular brand of bluntness that cuts deeper than outright accusation. "He knows what his responsibilities are."

Isolde's hazel eyes flash with something fierce and protective that stops my breath entirely.

"There's no reason for you to be hard on him when he was just being kind." Her voice sharpens, each word precise as a blade. "Draven has dedicated his life to not being seen, not being heard, all to protect this village from predators in the forest who, without his presence, would come into Harvest Hollow, hurt someone, and cause a panic."

The words hit me hard. Not because they're harsh, but because they're true—and because she sees it. Really sees it.

"He can take a break and help me," she says, "and be heard for a few short moments. Not everyone has a Maddie Quinn to listen to them every night."

Thornak grunts, drains his cup in one long pull, and sets it on the nearest hive box with deliberate care.

"Fair enough." He shoulders his axe and turns toward town without another word, boots already crunching through the fallen leaves.

Isolde sighs and settles back onto her crate, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. The silence lingers between us, filled with the sound of Thornak's retreating footsteps and the gentle hum of bees settling into their evening routines.

Something warm and unfamiliar spreads through my chest—a sensation I can't quite name. She defended me. Stood up to Thornak without hesitation, without calculation, without concern for how it might affect her standing in town.

No one has ever done that before.

Isolde takes a slow sip from her cup, steam curling around her face as she stares out at the neat rows of hives. The bees move in lazy patterns between the boxes, their humming a low counterpoint to the rustle of apple leaves overhead.

"I'm sorry." She doesn't look at me, her voice quiet but steady. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. Thornak was just looking out for you, making sure you weren't neglecting your duties because of me."

Her fingers trace the rim of her cup, a nervous gesture that draws my attention to the small calluses on her hands from years of working with wood and wire.

"He has a point. People depend on you to keep them safe, and here I am pulling you away from that work because I'm too stubborn to accept that I might need help."

The self-recrimination in her tone grates against something deep in my chest. She defended me without hesitation, stood toe-to-toe with Thornak's bluntness, and now she's apologizing for it.

"No problem at all." I lean against the nearest hive box, careful not to disturb the entrance where a few late workers are returning with pollen-heavy legs. "Better your temper than mine."

That gets her attention. Her hazel eyes lift to meet mine, curiosity replacing the guilt that had been clouding her features.

"What do you mean?"

I drain the last of my cider, buying myself a moment to consider how much truth I want to share. The apple sweetness lingers on my tongue, mixing with the scent of lavender and honey that seems to follow her everywhere.

"Thornak's used to people accepting his authority without question. Maddie's the only one who regularly challenges him, and even then, she picks her battles." I set my empty cup beside hers on the wooden crate. "If I'd spoken up the way you just did, it would have escalated into something uglier."

The admission comes easier than expected. Maybe because she's already seen me at my most direct, already proven she won't flinch away from the rougher edges of who I am.

"Orcs don't do subtle when we're angry. We don't use careful words or measured tones." I watch a worker bee navigate the entrance to the nearest hive, her movements efficient and purposeful. "We growl, we bare teeth, we make it clear that pushing further would be a mistake."

Isolde shifts on her crate, turning to face me more fully. The late afternoon light catches the gold in her eyes, making them seem almost luminous.

"And that would have made things worse."

"Much worse." I run a hand through my hair, feeling the leather tie that holds it back at my nape. "Thornak and I have an understanding, but it's built on respect, not friendship. If I'd challenged him directly, especially in front of you, it would have become about dominance instead of duty."

"I see," she murmurs. Then she smiles brightly and says, "Then better mine than yours."

CHAPTER 13

ISOLDE