20. Lyra
20
LYRA
I 'm setting down a platter of freshly baked sweetbread when the front door bursts open, four pairs of clicking hooves announcing our unexpected visitors. My heart sinks at the sight of the imposing minotaur women filling the doorway, their elaborate silk dresses and glinting horn jewelry marking them as nobility.
"Theron!" a sleek-furred female with piercing blue eyes sweeps into the dining room. "We thought we'd pay you a visit."
Theron stiffens beside me, his massive frame tensing. "Emkia. Aunts. What brings you here?"
Three older minotaur women follow in who I can only assume is Emkia, their horns adorned with so many golden rings they must weigh heavy on their heads. Their gazes cut through me like knives as they take in my simple dress and the herbs braided in my hair.
"Can't we check on our nephew?" The tallest aunt sniffs, her nose wrinkling at Mrs. Bramble who's serving tea. "Though I see some things haven't changed. Still keeping... human help."
Mrs. Bramble's shoulders square as she continues her work, every movement precise and dignified. I admire her composure – decades of service have given her an armor I'm still developing.
"Theron," another aunt says, her voice dripping honey-coated venom. "Why is this... healer seated at the family table?"
Mira chooses that moment to reach for me. "Lyra, can I have more bread?"
The silence that follows could freeze flame. Four pairs of eyes lock onto my hand as I pass Mira the basket, my casual familiarity with the child clearly shocking them.
"She's having breakfast with us," Theron rumbles, his tone daring them to comment further.
Emkia just studies me, not saying a word. I don't see any malice in her eyes, either. The same can't be said for his aunts.
Another aunt's tail lashes. "Really? What would Cassandra say?"
I feel the tension radiate through Theron's body, though his face remains impassive. The children shrink in their seats, and even Mrs. Bramble's steady hands falter for a moment as she pours the tea.
The third aunt, who hasn't spoken yet, eyes the healing herbs drying on the kitchen windowsill with clear disdain. "I see you've allowed quite a few... changes to the household."
I pour tea with steady hands, though my stomach churns at their scrutiny. The eldest aunt, her horns nearly scraping the ceiling as she sits ramrod straight, pins me with a stare.
"So, girl. What exactly brings a human healer to serve in a respectable minotaur household?"
"I trained with healers all over Milthar," I say, keeping my voice even. "It's given me quite a unique experience."
Her lip curls. "Theron, surely you could afford proper minotaur healers."
Theron's massive hand clenches around his teacup. "Lyra's skills are unmatched in the city."
"But what of tradition?" The second aunt leans forward, her horn jewelry jangling. "The Blackhorn name carries weight. Having a human so... intimately involved with the children's care..."
"Look what I made!" Mira bounces in her seat, oblivious to the tension as she waves a piece of parchment. Her silver-white fur practically glows in the morning light. "Lyra helped me draw Papa's shop!"
The aunts exchange dark looks at her familiar use of my name. But Mira's already sliding from her chair, her small hooves clicking against the floor as she toddles toward the stairs.
"Watch this!" She grabs the railing, determination lighting her amber eyes. "I can do it myself now!"
My heart swells with pride as she carefully navigates each step, something that would've exhausted her just months ago. The aunts can't hide their surprise at her progress.
"I see you've been... active in the children's development," the third aunt says, her words careful but cutting.
"Lyra makes my medicine taste like honey," Mira announces from the top of the stairs, "and she never tells me I'm too weak to try things."
The silence that follows feels like a physical weight. I catch Mrs. Bramble's approving nod as she refreshes the tea, her experienced hands never wavering despite the charged atmosphere.
Mira's hooves click against the wooden steps as she hurries back down, clutching another piece of parchment to her chest. Her silver-white fur catches the morning light streaming through the windows, making her seem to glow. She's wearing the amber dress I helped her pick out this morning - her favorite because it "matches Papa's eyes."
"Look what else I drew!" She spreads the parchment across the table, narrowly missing the teacups. "This is our family!"
My heart catches at the childish figures scratched in charcoal. There's Theron, towering over everyone with exaggerated horns. Kai stands next to him, holding what appears to be a wooden sword. And there, beside Mira's own small form...
"This is Mama Lyra!" Mira's finger jabs at a figure with long, wavy lines for hair. "See the herbs in her braid? And look, she's holding my medicine cup!"
The eldest aunt's teacup hits her saucer with a sharp crack. Tea sloshes over the rim, staining the pristine tablecloth. Selena's tail goes rigid, the fur standing on end.
"Mama?" The second aunt's voice rises to a pitch that makes my ears hurt. "Child, what did you just say?"
"Mira." Theron's low warning comes too late.
"Mama Lyra makes everything better!" Mira continues, oblivious to the horror rippling through her relatives. "She sings to me when I'm sick and teaches me about plants and-"
"This is unconscionable!" The third aunt surges to her hooves, her horn jewelry jangling violently. "A human? Playing at being mother to Cassandra's children?"
"Have you lost all sense of propriety?" the last aunt's words slice through the air. "What would people say? A merchant-class widower letting his children call some wandering herbalist 'Mama'?"
Mrs. Bramble's hands are steady as she wipes up the spilled tea, but I catch the tight set of her jaw. She positions herself closer to Mira, who's starting to pick up on the tension, her small form shrinking against my side.
"I won't have my niece and nephew raised by-" The eldest aunt's words cut off as Theron's massive fist slams onto the table, rattling every dish.
The aunts huddle near the window, their whispers sharp as daggers. Theron leads the children upstairs with Mrs. Bramble, leaving me to gather the breakfast dishes with trembling hands.
"Here, let me help." A soft voice startles me. Emkia. Her amber eyes hold none of the earlier hostility as she stacks teacups.
"Thank you." I study her, noting the differences from her sharp-tongued aunts. Where they are precise and cutting, Emkia has a hesitant grace. Her horn jewelry is simpler too - just a single copper band rather than the elaborate golden rings favored by the others.
"Walk with me?" She gestures to the garden door. "While they... deliberate."
The morning air carries the scent of my herb garden. Emkia trails her fingers over a flowering moonbloom, her tail swishing thoughtfully.
"I know what it's like," she says finally. "Loving someone they don't approve of. My brother and I were always different from them."
So she is his sister. I can see it now, how similar they look, and I'm relieved she isn't here to admonish her brother, too.
My hands still on a blooming leaf. "What do you mean?"
"His name was James." Her voice catches. "A human merchant who traded spices from the other continents. He had the most beautiful laugh... but the aunts..." She swallows hard. "After our parents died, they became our guardians. They said it would ruin the family name."
"What happened?"
"They arranged a 'proper' marriage instead. He's in the southern part of the continent now, with a wife and children of his own." Her fingers tremble on the moonbloom petals. "Sometimes I wonder if I should have fought harder. Been braver."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She turns, gripping my hands. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "That's why I can't let them do the same to Theron. Or those children. The way Mira looks at you... it's how I used to look at my mother."
The weight of her words settles between us like a physical thing. In the distance, we can still hear the aunts' harsh whispers, but they seem less threatening now.
"They won't understand," she says softly. "But I do."
Emkia's words linger in the garden air as shouts erupt from inside. The aunts' voices rise in a crescendo of outrage, punctuated by Theron's deeper rumble. I hurry back through the kitchen door, Emkia close behind.
"This discussion is finished." Theron blocks the dining room doorway, his massive frame casting a shadow over his relatives. His tail sweeps back and forth, a warning sign I've learned to read.
"It most certainly is not!" The eldest aunt jabs a bejeweled finger toward the stairs where Kai and Mira peek through the railings. "Those children deserve-"
"Those children deserve peace in their own home." Mrs. Bramble's calm voice cuts through the chaos as she appears with a fresh pot of tea. Her gray hair remains perfectly pinned despite the morning's upheaval. "Perhaps we should all take a breath?"
One aunt's nostrils flare. "You forget your place, servant."
"And you forget whose house this is." Mrs. Bramble sets down the teapot with a decisive clink. "I've served three generations of Blackhorns, and I know when guests have overstayed their welcome."
The aunts gather their skirts in a rustle of silk, horn jewelry jangling as they toss their heads in unified disapproval. They sweep toward the door in a wave of perfume and prejudice.
Emkia hangs back, her simpler copper horn band catching the light as she kneels to hug Mira and Kai. "Be good for your father," she whispers, then louder, "And Miss Lyra too."
The pointed addition makes the aunts' tails lash as they wait impatiently by the door. But Emkia takes her time, squeezing my hand and touching Theron's arm before joining her sisters.
Mrs. Bramble closes the door behind them with quiet finality. Her brown eyes, sharp as ever, sweep over us all before she straightens her pristine apron. "Well then. Who's ready for fresh sweetbread?"