Page 43 of Ashes, Apples, & Amorous Orcs

The festival sounds seem to fade into background noise as I stare at these two orcs who've somehow managed to find their place in this human settlement while I've remained perpetually on its edges. Thornak with his integration through love, Brakkor with his partnership with Calla that's earned him respect and purpose. Both of them belonging in ways I've never allowed myself to imagine.

"If you want," Thornak says carefully, his voice carrying that same measured tone he uses when approaching spooked animals in the forest, "we'd be happy to help with your patrols. Share the load. Make sure you're not carrying everything by yourself anymore."

The offer hangs between us like something fragile. Years of solitary watches, of tracking threats through the wilderness with no backup, of returning to an empty cabin with only my own thoughts for company. The idea of shared responsibility feels almost overwhelming in its implications.

I shake my head immediately, the movement sharp and decisive. "Patrols are the last thing on my mind right now."

Because they're not. For the first time in years, maybe ever, the safety of trade routes and forest borders feels secondary to something else entirely. Someone else entirely.

Brakkor's scarred face breaks into a rare grin, the expression transforming his usually intimidating features into something approaching warmth. He slaps my arm hard enough to rock me back a step, his calloused hand connecting with enough force to remind me that despite everything, we're still orcs.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go get her."

CHAPTER 27

ISOLDE

Iwipe my eyes with the back of my hand as the apiary comes into view, the wooden hive boxes standing like silent sentinels in the fading festival light. The tears keep coming despite my efforts to stop them—angry tears, frustrated tears, tears for everything that could have been and never will be.

My hands shake as I pull the canvas covers from my storage area, the familiar routine of packing offering some semblance of control. Each jar gets wrapped in soft cloth, each tool cleaned and stored with the methodical precision that's carried me through twelve years of building this business from nothing.

"Starting without me?"

I don't turn at Liora's voice, focusing instead on sealing the wax on a batch of lavender honey. "Didn't expect company."

"Maddie sent me." Her footsteps crunch on the dried grass as she approaches. "Though honestly, I was coming anyway."

She settles beside me without invitation, her herb-scented presence both comforting and unwelcome. I don't want comfort right now. I want the clean simplicity of departure, of putting distance between myself and this mess.

"You don't have to say anything," she continues, pulling a jar from my work area to examine it. "Just let me help."

We work in silence for several minutes, the distant sounds of the festival carrying on the evening breeze. Music and laughter, as if the world hasn't just tilted off its axis. As if I haven't just watched the man I⁠—

"Izzy." Liora's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, sharp with concern. "This one's wrong."

I look up from the cloth I've been wrapping around the same jar for the past minute. She holds a container of my prized wildflower blend, the one that took three seasons to perfect. The honey inside has crystallized in strange, uneven patterns, nothing like the smooth texture it should have.

"That's impossible." I take the jar from her, holding it up to catch the last rays of sunlight. The honey looks cloudy, almost gray in places. "I checked that batch two days ago."

Liora unscrews the lid and immediately recoils. "It smells bitter. Almost medicinal."

My stomach drops. I grab another jar from the same batch, then another. All wrong. All ruined. The sweet floral scent that should greet me instead carries an acrid undertone that makes my nose wrinkle.

"This doesn't happen naturally." My voice comes out steady despite the panic crawling up my throat. "Honey doesn't just spoil like this. Not when it's been properly stored."

Liora's dark eyes narrow as she examines the crystallization patterns. "This looks deliberate. Like something was introduced to the honey after processing."

I set the ruined jars aside with careful precision, my hands moving through the motions while my mind races. Three batches affected. All from the same hive. All stored in the same area of my setup.

"Who has access to your storage?" Liora's question cuts straight to the heart of what I'm thinking but don't want to voice.

"Anyone who wanted it." The admission tastes as bitter as the ruined honey. "I never locked anything. Never thought I needed to."

But I'm thinking of other things now. Small things that seemed insignificant at the time. Tools moved slightly from where I left them. The faint impression of footprints near my storage area that I'd attributed to curious children. The way Mrs. Penwhistle's eyes lingered on my honey display at the festival, calculating and cold.

"How much is ruined?" Liora asks gently.

I do quick mental calculations, factoring in the time it will take to replace the lost product, the impact on my winter reserves. "Enough to matter. Enough to delay my departure if I want to fulfill my existing commitments."