24. Lyra
24
LYRA
T he kitchen bustles with familiar energy as I gather ingredients from the shelves. My hands move with practiced ease, selecting dried herbs from their labeled jars while Mira perches on her special stool beside me.
I'm trying to soak up every last second I get with the kids. Kai has been unusually quiet, but Mira is clinging to me. I'm hoping that this farewell dinner I've invited her - invited both of them but Kai declined - to help make will give them a sense of closure.
Not that it's helping me.
"This one smells like summer," Mira holds up a sprig, her silver-white fur catching the late afternoon light streaming through the window.
"That's right, little one. And what do we use it for?" I weave through the kitchen, my skirt pockets heavy with fresh herbs from the garden.
Her amber eyes light up. "The roasted vegetables! Like Papa likes them."
My throat tightens as I nod. Three months of teaching her about herbs, and she's absorbed so much. I pull out the wooden cutting board, its surface marked with countless knife scores from previous meals.
"Watch carefully now." I demonstrate how to strip the leaves from their stems. "See how gentle you need to be? Just like when we're picking flowers."
Mira mimics my movements, her small fingers working with surprising delicacy. Her breathing remains steady – a good sign. I've learned to watch for any signs of strain.
"Can I stir the pot?" She peers at the simmering broth.
"Not today, sweet one. Remember what happened last time?" I tap her nose gently, earning a giggle. "But you can help me sort these leaves."
Every drawer I open, every spice I measure feels like counting down moments. The copper pots hanging overhead catch my reflection – my red hair escaping its braid, green eyes perhaps a bit too bright. I blink hard and focus on chopping vegetables.
"Lyra?" Mira's voice is small. "Will someone else teach me about herbs when you're gone?"
The knife stills in my hand. I set it down carefully, turning to face her. "Your papa knows quite a bit about cooking. And I've written down all our special recipes, see?" I pull out the small leather-bound book I've been filling with notes. "Everything we've learned together is right here."
She runs her fingers over the pages, tracing the drawings I've made of different herbs. Her lower lip trembles slightly, but she straightens her shoulders – so much like her father in that moment.
A gentle knock at the kitchen door announces Kai's arrival. His serious expression softens at the sight of his sister helping me plate the food.
"Papa says I needed to come down for dinner," he announces, his lanky frame hovering in the doorway.
"Perfect timing. Could you help carry these?" I hand him the lighter dishes while balancing the heavier platter.
In the dining room, we settle into our usual spots. Mira chatters about her herb lessons while I reach into my satchel, fingers brushing against the worn leather binding I've carried since childhood.
Theron is noticeably absent, but I'm not too surprised. Not after the way he acted last night.
"Kai, I have something for you." I slide the book across the table. Its corners are soft from years of eager page-turning, the spine cracked in places where I'd spent hours studying particular entries.
He opens it carefully, black fur contrasting against the yellowed pages. His blue eyes widen at the detailed sketches – creatures both common and rare, each annotated in my childish scrawl that grew neater as the years progressed.
"These are all real?" His fingers trace a drawing of a frost wolf, careful not to smudge the ink.
"Every one. I documented them during our travels." I point to a note in the margin. "See there? That's where I wrote about seeing my first shadow cat when I was just a little older than you."
Kai pulls the book closer, hugging it to his chest. The way his arms wrap around it, protecting it like a treasure, makes my chest ache. His usual composure cracks just slightly – I catch the slight tremble in his lower lip before he masters it.
"Thank you," he whispers, eyes fixed on the table. "I'll take really good care of it."
"I know you will." I reach across to squeeze his hand. "You can add your own notes too. There's still plenty of blank pages in the back."
The weight of unsaid goodbyes hangs over dinner. Mira insists on sitting beside me, her small hand finding mine under the table whenever she thinks no one's looking. Even Kai's usual composure wavers as he sneaks glances between his father and me.
As I take the children reluctantly upstairs for bed, Theron appears at the top of the stairs. "Come with me for a moment."
I nod, sending the kids to their rooms and then he leads me to his study. The familiar room with its dark wood panels and towering bookshelves feels different tonight. Every shadow seems deeper, every familiar object more significant.
Theron moves behind his massive desk, his broad shoulders tense as he pulls out a leather pouch. The rings on his horns catch the lamplight as he turns. "Your payment, as agreed."
When he extends his hand, the pouch is heavier than I expected. The brush of his fingers against mine sends warmth racing up my arm. His amber eyes flick away from mine, focusing somewhere over my shoulder.
"This is too much." My voice comes out rougher than intended. I try to push the excess gold back, but his large hand closes over mine.
"It's what you're worth." His deep voice catches slightly. He clears his throat. "What you've done for them... for us..."
The professional mask I've worn all evening threatens to slip. His thumb grazes my knuckles, probably unintentionally, but the gentle touch makes my breath catch. I force myself to look down at our hands – his dwarfing mine, black fur stark against my pale skin.
"Theron, I—" The words stick in my throat. What could I possibly say? That three months of caring for his children has made them feel like my own? That leaving feels like tearing out a piece of my heart?
That I want him, but I can't jeopardize him, especially when I never know what I mean to him. I'm his stolen moment, his secret, but not someone that could be more .
He pulls back first, straightening to his full height. Even with the desk between us, I have to tilt my head back to see his face. The lamplight catches the silver sheen in his dark fur, highlighting the tension in his jaw.
We stand there, trapped in a moment neither of us seems willing to break, the heavy purse a tangible reminder of all the reasons I need to walk away. So I do.
The weight of the coin purse drags at my skirts as I climb the stairs to say my final goodnights. Before I reach the children's rooms, muffled sniffles drift from Mira's chamber. My heart clenches.
I push open the door to find both children huddled on Mira's bed. Kai sits straight-backed against the headboard, one arm around his sister while he clutches my bestiary book to his chest. His blue eyes shine with unshed tears.
"I don't want you to go." Mira launches herself at me, her silver-white fur damp where tears have already fallen. I catch her, checking her breathing automatically – a habit formed over months of watching for signs of strain.
"Shh, little one." I settle onto the bed, gathering her close. She burrows into my chest, small fingers tangling in my copper braid.
Kai maintains his distance, jaw set in that stubborn way that reminds me so much of his father. But when I open my other arm, he breaks. The book tumbles to the covers as he presses against my side, his lanky frame shaking with silent sobs.
"Who's going to help me with the herb garden?" Mira hiccups against my dress. "Who's going to make Papa smile at breakfast?"
My throat burns. I stroke her fur, remembering countless mornings teaching her which plants were safe to touch, which needed gentle hands. "You will, sweet one. You know all the important herbs now."
"It's not the same." Kai's voice cracks. He tries to wipe his eyes discreetly, still attempting to maintain his composure even as tears streak through his black fur. "You make everything better."
Movement catches my eye. Theron fills the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the hallway light. His expression remains shadowed, but I catch the way his hands clench at his sides, the slight forward tilt of his horns betraying his distress.
But he doesn't want me to stay. So, I can't. Not when this is all I can be for them - and my heart can't take it. Not when there's too much pressure from the other merchants and Theron won't withstand it.
This will have to be goodbye.
I hold his children closer, breathing in the scent of the rirzed herb soap we made together last week. Mira's sobs gradually quiet into hiccups, then into the deep breathing of exhaustion. Even Kai's rigid posture softens as sleep claims him, though his fingers remain twisted in my skirt.
With both children finally asleep, I ease away carefully, tucking blankets around them. My fingers linger on Mira's cheek, brushing away the tear tracks matting her silver fur. Theron has disappeared from the doorway, leaving me alone with the weight of goodbye pressing against my ribs.
The house creaks familiar notes as I make my way through shadowed halls. My hand trails along the banister, worn smooth from countless trips up and down. Here's where I caught Mira when her legs gave out during those first tentative steps. The polished wood still bears a tiny scratch from where her hoof slipped. I'd held her while she cried, not from pain but frustration, until she was ready to try again.
The library door stands ajar, lamplight spilling across the threshold. I step inside, inhaling the comforting scent of leather bindings and parchment. The oversized armchair near the window – Kai's favorite spot – still holds the indent where we'd squeeze together, pouring over books about distant lands. He'd point to illustrations with careful fingers, asking questions that revealed a mind as curious as it was gentle.
My herb basket sits forgotten by the kitchen hearth, half-full from this morning's gathering. The copper pots overhead reflect fractured lamplight, dancing like the tears I refuse to let fall. Every drawer holds a memory – teaching Mira to sort dried flowers, showing Kai how to measure spices. Even the burn mark on the counter tells a story, from the day Theron tried to help with dinner and we ended up laughing so hard we forgot about the bread in the oven.
I pause at his study door, my fingers hovering over the carved wood. Behind this door, I watched him work late into the night, bringing him tea he'd forget to drink. Here's where I first noticed how his shoulders tensed when he was worried, how his voice softened when speaking of his children. Where I learned that behind his gruff exterior beat a heart vast enough to love fiercely, protect completely.
Each step feels heavier than the last as I make my final rounds. Three months of life have seeped into these walls, turning a job into something achingly close to home. But home isn't mine to claim, no matter how perfectly my heart fits here.