12. Lyra
12
LYRA
T he morning dew clings to my herb garden, droplets sparkling like tiny crystals in the early sunlight. I guide Mira through her daily stretches, her silver-white fur almost luminescent against the backdrop of green plants. Her small frame moves with careful determination as she reaches toward her toes, each motion designed to strengthen her heart.
"That's perfect, sweetheart. Three more and we're done."
Kai sits cross-legged on a nearby bench, his practice slate balanced on his knees. His black fur ruffles in the breeze as he scratches out letters with intense focus, tongue caught between his teeth. Every few minutes, his blue eyes dart up to check on his sister.
"Look how high I can reach!" Mira stretches her arms skyward, her amber eyes bright with pride.
"You're getting stronger every day." I adjust her stance slightly. The garden fills with birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves.
Mira moves to her next exercise, taking careful steps along the garden path. Her hooves click against the stone as she practices her balance. A loose paving stone shifts beneath her weight. She stumbles, pitching forward onto her knees.
"Mama!" The cry bursts from her as she scrambles up and throws herself into my arms. Her small body trembles against mine.
The garden stills. Even the morning breeze seems to hold its breath. Kai's slate clatters to the ground, his eyes wide with shock. My heart pounds as I hold Mira close, feeling her tears dampen my dress. The weight of that single word hangs in the air between us.
I meet Kai's gaze over his sister's head. His young face carries an old pain, and I see his fingers clench around his fallen slate. The silence stretches, broken only by Mira's sniffles as I check her scraped knee.
My hands tremble slightly as I clean Mira's scraped knee with the herb-infused cloth from my pocket. The familiar motions ground me - dab away dirt, check for deeper cuts, apply healing salve. But my mind whirls with the echo of that word. Mama .
Through the garden archway, Theron's massive frame fills the doorway. His amber eyes lock with mine, intense and unblinking. The silver rings in his horns catch the morning light as he grips the doorframe, wood creaking under his strength.
Mrs. Bramble appears at his elbow, her neat bun slightly askew. Her weathered hands twist her apron as she watches the scene unfold. The worry lines around her eyes deepen.
"There we go, all clean." I wrap a small bandage around Mira's knee, trying to steady my voice. She clings to my dress, her silver-white fur soft against my hands. "You were very brave."
Kai slides off his bench, approaching with careful steps. His lanky frame seems to fold in on itself, making him appear smaller than his already young age. Those blue eyes - so different from his father's - search my face.
"Can we..." He swallows hard, glancing between his father and me. "Can we call you that?"
The question hits like a physical blow. Mornings of stretches, nights filled with bedtime stories, wiped tears, and shared laughter crystallize in this moment. I pull him close with my free arm, feeling his slight tremors match my own.
"I..." My throat tightens around the words. Theron's presence looms larger, though he hasn't moved from the doorway. His expression remains carefully neutral, but his tail lashes once, betraying his tension.
Mrs. Bramble's hands still on her apron as she holds her breath, waiting for my answer. The whole garden seems suspended, even the morning breeze dying away as if listening.
"You can call me whatever you like." I pull them both into me. "Let's go eat, hmm?"
Both the children jump up at that, and I follow them inside to the table. Theron catches my eye as I walk in, surprising me by joining us.
I settle into my usual seat at the dining table, the familiar warmth of polished wood beneath my hands doing little to calm my nerves. The sun streams through tall windows, catching the silver rings in Theron's horns as he cuts Mira's meat into tiny pieces. His movements are precise, methodical, but I notice the slight tremor in his massive hands.
"And then the thalivern landed right on my nose!" Mira waves her fork, her silver-white fur glowing in the sunlight. "It had purple wings, just like my dress!"
"Careful with your fork, little one." I reach over to steady her hand. Our fingers brush, and she beams at me with such pure joy that my chest aches.
Kai pushes his vegetables around his plate, his black fur a stark contrast against the crisp white tablecloth. His blue eyes dart between his father and me, weighing each gesture, each silence. He has his father's way of reading a room, sensing the currents of unspoken words.
Theron's amber gaze finds mine across the table. Something raw and uncertain flickers there before he looks away, focusing intently on cutting his own meal. His tail twitches against his chair - a tell I've learned means he's wrestling with emotions he'd rather not show.
"Papa, may I have more bread?" Mira's voice breaks through the tension.
Theron reaches for the basket, his massive frame making the dining chair creak. "Here, little heart." His deep voice is softer than usual.
I catch him watching me again as I help Mira spread butter on her bread. His expression reminds me of that first day in his study - vulnerable despite his imposing size, afraid to hope. The word Mama echoes in my mind, making my hands tremble slightly as I set down the butter knife.
Mrs. Bramble moves around us like a silent shadow, refilling water glasses and adjusting plates. Her knowing eyes miss nothing as she pauses behind Theron's chair, one weathered hand resting briefly on his shoulder before she continues her rounds.
The rest of the day feels stilted until I get the children in bed. Needing a second to breathe, to think over everything that has happened, I head outside.
The moon hangs heavy in the night sky as I slip through the garden gate. My bare feet brush against the cool grass, each step carrying me deeper into the sanctuary where everything changed. Here, among the climbing roses and herb beds, I first saw past Theron's gruff exterior to the tender heart beneath.
Our roses reach toward the stars, their blooms unfurling in shades of crimson and blush. I trace a velvet petal, remembering how his massive hands looked so gentle as he helped me plant these very bushes. The night air fills with their sweet perfume, mixing with the herbs I've braided into my copper hair.
My fingers catch on a thorn, and I welcome the sharp sting. Physical pain feels simpler than the ache in my chest, the weight of Mira's Mama still echoing in my ears. I knew I was falling in love with these two children who deserve the world. I just hadn't realized they had been doing the same.
I sink onto the stone bench where I've sat with Theron from time to time, when some nights I can see his fear of failing his children come out. Now I understand that bone-deep terror of not being enough. What right does a human healer have to mother minotaur children? To love their father with an intensity that steals my breath?
The roses sway in the night breeze, their shadows dancing across the garden path. Like the flowers, my feelings have grown wild and unstoppable, taking root in every corner of my heart. I've poured myself into nurturing this family, knowing I might never truly belong. Yet here I am, crying in a moonlit garden, wanting nothing more than to be theirs completely.
A twig snaps behind me. Even after so many nights out here, the sound of his hoofsteps sends a shiver down my spine. I don't turn around, letting the tears fall freely as Theron's presence fills the garden. The silver rings in his horns catch moonlight as he moves closer, each step deliberate, giving me time to compose myself or flee.
I do neither.
His warmth radiates against my back before his arms wrap around me. No hesitation this time, no careful distance maintained. He pulls me against his chest, my head tucking perfectly beneath his chin. His black fur is soft against my tear-stained cheeks.
My hands grip his forearms, feeling the strength coiled beneath. He could break me without effort, this massive merchant who commands respect in every room. Yet his touch remains gentle, almost reverent, as his fingers spread across my waist.
The roses sway around us, their perfume mingling with the herbs in my hair and the earthy scent that is uniquely Theron. His heart thunders against my back, matching the rapid flutter of my own. Neither of us speaks. We don't need to.
He draws me impossibly closer, and I give into the way I've been wanting him for the moment, sinking into his hold. The gesture speaks volumes - possession, protection, promise. Everything we've left unspoken these past years flows between us in this moonlit moment.
I feel the slight tremor in his massive frame, the way his breath catches when I lean fully into his embrace. For all his imposing presence and gruff exterior, Theron holds me like I'm something precious. Something he's afraid might slip away if he loosens his grip.