2. Lyra
2
LYRA
I heft my worn leather satchel, double-checking the contents one final time. Dried warroya for fever, bluefrost for sleep, meqixste bark for pain - each bundle nestled in its own pocket, wrapped in cloth to prevent cross-contamination. The familiar ritual steadies my nerves as I climb the steep path toward the mansion looming above.
Black stone walls rise against the morning sky, their imposing facade a stark reminder that this isn't my usual sort of house call. The gardens flanking the entrance tell their own story - untamed grass creeps between stone pavers, and thorny vines sprawl unchecked across what must have once been neat flower beds. A handful of roses struggle upward, their red blooms defiant against the general air of neglect.
My boots crunch on gravel as I reach the massive front door. Before I can knock, it swings open to reveal a human woman. Her neat gray bun and crisp apron a sharp contrast to the wild gardens behind me. The housekeeper's brown eyes scan me from head to toe, and I resist the urge to smooth my travel-wrinkled dress.
"Thank the Lady you're here. I'm Mrs. Bramble, dear." Her shoulders sag with visible relief. "We've been so worried with how Miss Mira hasn't woken since she collapsed. Come in, come in." She ushers me inside with quick, efficient movements.
"How long has she been ill?" I slip past her into a cavernous entry hall, my voice echoing off marble floors and vaulted ceilings.
"Oh, Miss Mira was born with a condition. Some days she's up, running with her brothers, and others-" She wrings her hands in her apron. "Well, you'll see. This way, please."
I follow her brisk steps, noting how quickly she moves despite her age. Every surface we pass gleams with polish - a striking difference from the neglected exterior. Mrs. Bramble may be worried about her charges, but she clearly hasn't let her other duties slip.
The tap of Mrs. Bramble's shoes echoes through corridors wide enough for a minotaur's horns to pass without trouble. My own footsteps sound small and tentative in comparison. Dark wood panels line the walls, swallowing what little light filters through gaps in heavy velvet curtains.
I pause at an alcove where sheet-draped shapes hint at statues or busts underneath. My fingers itch to peek beneath the coverings, to discover what art lies hidden, but I curl them around my satchel strap instead. A healer's curiosity has its place, and this isn't it.
"Mind your step here." Mrs. Bramble gestures at a slight rise in the floor. "The children's wing is just ahead."
The children's wing - as if this place needs wings. My entire cottage could fit in this hallway alone. I duck my head to examine a patch of floor where the runner has worn thin, revealing intricate mosaic work beneath. Even the floors tell stories here, though no one seems interested in listening.
Another covered painting catches my eye, this one larger than the others. A corner of the dust cloth has slipped, revealing a gilded frame and the edge of what might be a formal portrait. Before I can make out more detail, Mrs. Bramble clears her throat.
"Best keep up, dear. The little ones need tending."
"Of course." I quicken my pace, but can't help noticing how the house feels like it's holding its breath. No sounds of servants chatting or dishes clinking from distant kitchens. No squeaking floorboards or creaking doors. Just our footsteps and the whisper of my skirts against the runner.
The morning light struggles to penetrate layers of heavy curtains, leaving pools of shadow in corners and doorways. I've treated patients who had money before - though not as much as this family seems to - but never been in a home that felt so deliberately closed off from the world. My fingers find a sprig of dried rirzed herb in my pocket, drawing comfort from its familiar scent. Whatever darkness haunts these halls, I'm here for the children. Their needs matter more than this house's secrets.
Instead of going straight to the young minotaur's room, Mrs. Bramble takes me to what appears to be a home office. The study door swings open, and I have to tilt my head back to take in the minotaur merchant who fills the frame. His shoulders nearly brush both sides, black fur gleaming in the dim light. Silver rings catch what little illumination filters through the curtains, winking from horns that curve up and back from his broad forehead.
But it's his eyes that hold my attention - amber irises clouded with a father's fear as they flick between me and the staircase. His massive hands clench and unclench at his sides, betraying an anxiety that his otherwise commanding presence tries to mask.
"Mr. Blackhorn?" I adjust my satchel strap. "I'm Lyra, the healer you sent for."
A small movement draws my gaze downward. A young minotaur boy peers around his father's leg, one hand clutching the fabric of those perfectly pressed trousers. His black fur matches his father's, but those eyes - startlingly blue and far too serious for such a young face - study me with careful consideration.
I sink into a crouch, bringing myself to his eye level. Both father and son blink at this, sharing a glance that speaks volumes about how few adults bother to meet the boy at his height.
"Hi." I smile, keeping my voice gentle. "I'm Lyra."
Kai's grip on his father's trouser leg loosens slightly. "I'm Kai. Are you here to treat my sister?" His voice carries that same gravity I see in his eyes. "I'm really worried about her."
"Then we should see what we can do about that, shouldn't we?" I reach into my satchel and pull out a small wooden charm carved into the shape of a sailing ship. It's in my nature to soothe all pain, and I can't stand seeing this little boy so distraught. "But first - would you like to see something interesting? This helps me know which medicines work best."
Kai steps forward, those blue eyes widening with curiosity as he releases his father's leg entirely. "How does it work?"
"Why don't you hold it while I explain?" I offer him the charm, noting how his shoulders relax as he turns the smooth wood over in his hands.
He studies it, turning it over in his hands, and I lift an oil from my bag. "I pour this oil over it, and based on the illness it detects, it will give off a scent. It tells me what I need to know about a patient." I don't add that it only works on colds and infections. I won't need it for the girl I'm here to see.
"Is it magic?" His eyes are wide, and I tense, knowing how much minotaurs hate magic. But his father doesn't snarl at me.
"It's…like magic," I answer carefully, standing and letting him focus on the tool. I face his father. "Is there anything I should know before we go see your daughter?"
He shakes his head. "I think it's best if you evaluate her. I can answer any questions you have after." He nods toward his housekeeper, and I turn, determined to help this child.
I follow Mrs. Bramble up a sweeping staircase, my boots silent against carpeted steps. Kai clutches the wooden ship in one hand, his other wrapped tight in his father's massive fingers. The contrast strikes me - those tiny black fingers disappearing into his father's protective grip.
The hallway narrows, and Theron has to duck slightly to avoid brushing his horns against crystal wall sconces. His shoulders nearly brush both walls, yet he moves with careful grace, each step measured as if the floor might shatter beneath his weight.
Mrs. Bramble pushes open a door decorated with painted flowers, and my breath catches. Silver-white fur gleams against dark sheets, so pale it almost glows in the dim light. The little girl looks lost in the massive four-poster bed, her tiny frame barely making a bump under thick quilts.
"Mira?" Kai scrambles onto the mattress, settling beside his sister with practiced ease. His hand finds hers atop the covers, and she stirs at his touch.
I set my satchel on a nearby table, cataloging symptoms as I move closer. Her breathing comes in short, shallow gasps. Sweat darkens the fur around her temples. When she blinks up at me, amber eyes like her father's struggle to focus.
"Hello, little one." I keep my voice soft as I perch on the edge of the bed. "I'm Lyra. Your brother's been telling me you're not feeling well."
Behind me, floorboards creak under Theron's weight as he shifts closer. The movement draws my attention to his shadow falling across the bed - how it seems to curl protectively around both children. His presence fills the room like a physical thing, all that power held carefully in check as he watches me reach for his daughter.
Kai never takes his eyes off his sister, his young face set in lines too serious for a child. He holds himself like a shield between her and the rest of the world, even as he makes space for me to work. The wooden ship charm rests in his lap, forgotten in his concern for Mira.
I press my fingers gently against her throat, feeling for swollen glands. Her pulse flutters beneath my touch, too fast and irregular for my liking. Heat radiates from her small frame - not just fever-warmth, but something deeper.
My fingers trace each rib beneath Mira's fur, counting breaths and heartbeats. Her heart skips and flutters like a caged bird, but there's strength beneath the irregularity. The fluid in her lungs hasn't settled deep - caught early enough to treat.
I pull back, meeting those amber eyes that watch me with such trust. "You're very brave, letting me poke and prod like this."
A tiny smile curves her muzzle. "Kai says being brave means doing scary things anyway."
"Kai sounds very wise." I glance at the boy who hasn't left his sister's side. His shoulders straighten at the praise, though worry still clouds those blue eyes.
Theron looms closer, his shadow falling across the bed. "Well?" The word comes out rough, almost challenging.
I stand, squaring my shoulders as I face him. "Her condition is…serious." Panic flashes in his eyes, and I raise a hand. "But not hopeless. She needs intensive treatment at first - herbal compresses every few hours, special teas, careful monitoring. But it's manageable. With time and proper care, we can get this under control."
His massive hands clench and unclench. "You're certain?"
"I don't make promises I can't keep, Mr. Blackhorn." I meet his gaze steadily. "Your daughter is ill, yes, but not beyond help. Once we establish a routine, she can live a normal life with daily maintenance."
Something flickers in those amber depths - hope warring with ingrained skepticism. He glances at his children, at the way Kai has curled protectively around his sister. The sight seems to pain him.
"I'll need to stay close," I continue softly. "It will probably take a few weeks before she's up and moving and then I can work on conditioning her body to get used to movement she's never had before." I look over at her and her brother. "I hope I can give her a semblance of a normal life."
"Stay." His voice cracks on the word. He clears his throat, drawing himself up to his full height. "I mean - I'm offering you a position. Live-in healer. Whatever salary you-"
"Yes."
He blinks, thrown off by my quick response. "You haven't heard the terms."
"I don't need to." I gesture to Mira, to Kai's too-serious face, to the sheets draped over every mirror and painting in this too-quiet house. "They need help. And that's why I became a healer."
He studies me for a moment, like he's not sure he can trust me. But I see the weight he carries, the way his children strain under shadows that have nothing to do with illness. Mira will never heal in a home like this, and I am determined to do whatever I can for them.
As if his decision has been made, his shoulders drop slightly, just enough to show relief. "When can you start?"
"I already have." I turn back to my patients, pulling herbs from my satchel. "Now, who wants to help me make some special tea?"