3. Theron
3
THERON
I lean against the doorframe of my study, arms crossed over my chest as I observe the scene before me. The morning sun streams through the window, casting a warm glow over Lyra as she guides Mira through her morning exercises. My daughter's tiny silver-white form looks even more delicate next to the human woman's copper hair and earth-toned dress.
"That's it, little one. Deep breath in..." Lyra's voice carries the same gentle authority she's shown since arriving. Her small hands support Mira's back with practiced confidence as she helps her move just a little, getting her heart rate up safely and slowly. She says the muscle needs more work, not more rest.
I'm terrified of what that will entail.
My fingers drum against my bicep. The rings on my horns catch the light as I tilt my head, studying their interaction. Every healer before this has treated Mira like fragile glass or a problem to be solved. But Lyra...she handles my daughter with a reverence that speaks of genuine care rather than professional obligation.
It took Lyra no time to move her belongings into a guest room in the children's wing. She gets up with Mira and Kai, making sure that Mira gets the herbs and movement she needs. It's only been a few days, but I'm already seeing the improvement.
Like now, as I watch Mira's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm – no hitching, no struggle. For the first time in so long, she's drifted into peaceful sleep, her tiny form curled trustingly against Lyra's side. The sight stirs something in me I'm not ready to examine.
"Remarkable," I mutter, the word escaping before I can catch it.
Lyra's green eyes flick up to meet mine, a knowing smile playing at her lips. Those gold flecks in her irises seem to dance with quiet triumph. It seems she cares about healing my daughter just as much as I am.
I straighten, adjusting my tunic in a futile attempt to regain my composure. The top of Lyra's head wouldn't even reach my chest if she stood, yet somehow she's managed to make me feel off-balance in my own home. Professional interest, I tell myself. That's all this scrutiny is – appreciation for her skill with Mira. Nothing more.
I won't let myself think about how I was stunned at her beauty the second she walked in. Not how I find myself studying her copper hair and bright green eyes, far longer than I should.
No. I just want the best for Mira, and this healer seems to be it.
But watching her small fingers stroke my daughter's fur with such tenderness, seeing the peaceful expression on Mira's face...it challenges everything I thought I knew about humans. About capability. About strength.
The numbers blur before my eyes as I stare at the ledger. Third time I've tried to calculate this shipment's costs. My quill drips ink onto the page, creating a dark stain that spreads across the careful columns.
"Damn it." I toss the ruined page aside, running a hand over my face.
Through my study window, I catch glimpses of the garden. Mira's silver fur gleams in the afternoon sun as she toddles after Lyra, who's teaching her the names of healing herbs. My daughter's steps are steadier than they've been in months.
I grab a fresh sheet of parchment, determined to focus. The Steelhorn contract needs reviewing before?—
A burst of laughter draws my attention back outside. Kai perches on the garden wall, his gangly legs swinging as he reads aloud from one of his books. His voice carries the animated tone I haven't heard since before Cassandra... I grip my quill tighter.
Even Mrs. Bramble has changed, humming as she arranges flowers – actual flowers – in the hallway vases. The house feels lighter somehow. Warmer.
All because of one stubborn human woman who dared stand up to me in my own home. Who meets my glare with those fierce green eyes and refuses to back down when she thinks I'm being unreasonable about the children's care.
My rings scrape against my horns as I rub them in frustration. I need to get these contracts finished, not waste time watching Lyra's copper braid swing as she demonstrates proper plant harvesting technique. Or notice how her small hands move with such confidence. Or wonder how those hands would feel?—
The quill snaps in my grip. Ink splatters across my vest.
"Get it together, Blackhorn," I growl at myself. "She's the children's healer. Nothing more."
But the warmth spreading through my chest when she smiles at my children tells a different story. One I'm not ready to read.
The familiar thud of Dex's footsteps echoes through my front hall, followed by his booming laugh as he shoves my study door open. Only my closest friend would dare to disturb me without an ounce of remorse. "So the rumors are true. The great Theron Blackhorn hired a human healer."
I shoot him a warning glare as he ducks through the doorway of my study, his bronze horn rings catching the lamplight. "Not now, Dex."
"Oh no, we're definitely discussing this." He drops into the reinforced chair across from my desk, the wood groaning under his massive frame. "You? The one who lectured me for an hour about 'maintaining proper standards' when I suggested hiring that human carpenter?"
"That was different." I pour us both a measure of aged whiskey, pushing his glass across the desk.
"Different how?" His green eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans forward. "Because she's pretty?"
The whiskey burns my throat. "Because she's qualified. Mira's breathing has improved more over the last week than?—"
A soft knock interrupts us. Lyra enters with the tea service, her copper braid falling over one shoulder as she manages the oversized pot designed for minotaur hands. My fingers twitch with the urge to help, but I force them still. She'd only scold me again about underestimating her.
"Evening, gentlemen." She sets the tray down with practiced grace. "The kids are napping, and I thought I'd bring you some tea since I was already making some for them."
Dex's grin widens. "How thoughtful. And how's our little Mira doing under your care?"
"Much better." She pours the tea with steady hands, the delicate movements highlighting how small she is compared to the minotaur-sized porcelain. "Though her father still hovers like I might break her."
"I do not hover," I growl.
Her knowing smile makes my grip tighten on my whiskey glass. The crystal creaks ominously.
"Of course not." She sets a cup before each of us. "You just happened to pass by the garden eight times during our lesson today."
Dex's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. I resist the urge to throw something at him.
"Thank you, Miss Moonweaver," I manage through gritted teeth. "That will be all."
She dips a small curtsy - probably to provoke me - and leaves, the scent of healing herbs lingering in her wake. While she might be good with the kids, she does not fear me, and with each passing day, I don't know how to deal with that.
"Not. One. Word." I point at Dex's smirking face.
"I didn't say anything." He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Though your cracking glass might."
I consider throwing it at him. Instead, I down the damn thing and glare at him. It only makes Dex laugh.
He stays a while longer before I finally kick him out. I miss dinner, though that's not unusual, but late into the night, I still can't focus. I finally decide to take a break, knowing I won't be able to sleep, and find myself wandering the halls instead.
I pause outside Mira's door, my horns nearly brushing the frame. The house creaks and settles around me, familiar sounds that usually bring comfort during my late-night wanderings. Tonight, they only emphasize the unusual silence from my daughter's room.
No labored breathing. No muffled coughs.
My chest tightens as I ease the door open. Moonlight spills across Mira's bed, illuminating her silver-white fur. She's curled on her side, one tiny hand clutching her favorite blanket, her chest rising and falling in smooth, even breaths.
"By the Lady of Light," I whisper, moving closer. It's the second time I've seen her rest so easy, and I think I could have a lifetime of this and never stop thanking the goddess.
Something catches my eye – a leather-bound journal on the bedside table. I recognize Lyra's neat handwriting on the open page:
Day 6 - Mira's lung capacity improving steadily. Morning exercises showing marked progress. Note: She responds better when we make it into a game. Taught her to pretend she's breathing fire – the visualization helps her focus.
Afternoon tea blend adjusted: Added more fylvek to counter the bitter herbs. She drank it all today! Must remember to praise her bravery.
The pages are filled with detailed observations, sketches of herb combinations, and little notes about Mira's preferences. Lyra's documented everything from my daughter's favorite stories to which breathing techniques work best when she's anxious.
Important: bluefrost tea before bed seems to help most, but only if served in the blue cup with the painted flowers. She says it makes her feel special.
My fingers trace the careful diagrams showing optimal sleeping positions. The dedication in these pages... it's not just medical knowledge. Every observation is infused with genuine care for my daughter's comfort, her happiness.
Because she's a good healer , I remind myself.
Mira stirs slightly, mumbling in her sleep. I freeze, but she just hugs her blanket closer and settles again. The peaceful expression on her face makes my heart ache.
I close the journal gently, something unfamiliar and warm uncurling in me as I study my sleeping daughter. For the first time since her birth, she looks truly at peace.
Dawn's first light creeps across Mira's floor when Mrs. Bramble's familiar shuffle breaks my reverie. I'm still holding Lyra's journal, my large fingers careful not to crease the pages filled with her meticulous notes.
"Sometimes the best healing comes from unexpected places." Mrs. Bramble's voice holds that knowing tone she's perfected over decades of service. She adjusts her pristine white apron, her steel-gray bun as precise as ever.
I grunt, not ready to examine the truth in her words or why I've spent hours poring over Lyra's careful observations of my daughter. The leather cover feels warm from my grip as I set it back on the nightstand.
My hooves are silent on the thick carpet as I leave Mira sleeping peacefully. The walk to my study feels different this morning – lighter somehow. At the doorway, I pause. My hand hovers over the heavy oak door I've kept firmly shut since... since Cassandra.
The sound of Lyra's voice drifts up from below, bright and clear. "Good morning, Kai! Ready to help wake your sister?"
My son's response carries his rare morning enthusiasm. "Can I show her the new book about sea beasts?"
"Perfect timing – we can practice her breathing exercises while you read."
My fingers drop from the door handle. For the first time in three years, I leave it open, letting the life of my household flow in. The morning routine unfolds like a melody – Kai's excited footsteps on the stairs, Lyra's gentle coaxing as she helps Mira start her day, Mrs. Bramble's pots clanking in the kitchen below.
I settle at my desk, ledgers spread before me. But instead of shutting out the sounds of my family, I let them wash over me. Through the open door, I hear Mira's delighted giggle as Kai describes some fantastical creature. Lyra's voice guides them both, patient and warm.
The house feels alive again. And I'm no longer hiding from it.