Page 40 of Ashes, Apples, & Amorous Orcs

She takes a step closer, tilting her head back to meet my eyes directly.

"I'm grateful, Draven. We all should be. And I should have spoken up in your defense long before this."

The quiet that follows feels different now—not accusatory, but contemplative. I can see the shift in faces around the square as Sarah's words sink in. Maddie wipes at her eyes with her hand. Thornak nods grimly, his massive arms still crossed but his expression softer.

Even Vaelis has gone still, her perfect composure finally showing cracks as the foundation of her accusations crumbles beneath Sarah's simple honesty.

"Thank you," I say roughly, shifting uncomfortably.

"No," Sarah asserts. "Thank you, Draven."

CHAPTER 25

ISOLDE

Sarah's words shatter the crowd's unity like a stone through glass.

"Well, of course she'd defend him," Mrs. Penwhistle mutters loud enough for half the square to hear. "She works for the paper. They stick together."

"That's ridiculous," Alma snaps back, her cheeks still flushed with shame. "Sarah was there. She knows what happened."

The festival guests from other towns exchange confused glances, clearly lost in the sudden eruption of local politics. A merchant near my abandoned honey stall shakes his head and moves toward the cider booth, apparently deciding our drama isn't worth his time.

"Maybe we should listen to what Sarah's saying," Thornak's voice rumbles across the square. "Instead of deciding what we want to believe."

"Easy for you to say," Vaelis retorts, sneering. "You orcs are birds of a feather."

The crowd fractures visibly. Maddie steps closer to Thornak, her flour-dusted apron twisted in her hands. Several of the younger residents nod in agreement with Sarah's defense, while the older merchants cluster around Granda Oltar with worried expressions.

"This is what I was talking about," I say, my voice cutting through the rising chatter. Every head turns toward me, and I feel the intensity of their collective attention like a physical thing. "You're turning people into characters in your story instead of listening to what actually happened."

My fingers slip free from Draven's grip. The loss of contact sends a chill up my arm, but I need both hands for what comes next. I reach into my apron pocket and pull out the small leather pouch where I keep my festival earnings.

"The honey's fifty coppers a jar," I announce to the festival guests who've been caught in our local drama. "Take what you want and leave the money on the table."

"Izzy, what are you doing?" Maddie's voice cracks with concern.

My hands shake slightly, but I force them steady through sheer will.

"I'm removing myself from this circus before someone decides I'm the villain in act two."

"You don't have to leave," Draven's voice carries a rough edge I haven't heard before. "This isn't your fight."

I pause with a jar of lavender honey halfway to the crate, meeting his golden-brown eyes across the chaos of the fractured crowd. The afternoon light catches the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

"It became my fight the moment I knew you," I say quietly. "And I refuse to stand here while they dissect our personal business for entertainment."

The arguing continues behind us, voices rising and falling in waves of accusation and defense. Sarah hovers near the barrel, her wings beating rapidly as she tries to interject reason into the chaos. But the crowd has moved beyond listening, splitting into factions that seem more interested in being right than finding truth.

Without another word, I turn my back on the chaos and walk away. My boots click against the cobblestones with sharp precision, each step carrying me even further from the fractured crowd and their endless need to dissect every relationship like specimens in a jar.

"Izzy, wait!"

Maddie's voice follows me down the lane, breathless and urgent. Her footsteps pound behind mine, flour still dusting her skirts from the morning's baking rush.

I don't slow down until I reach the edge of town where the road splits toward the orchard. The sounds of the festival fade to a distant hum, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of my hives.

"Please, just—" Maddie catches up, pressing a hand to her side. "Let me explain."