22. Lyra
22
LYRA
T he morning sun streams through the tall windows of Theron's home, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors. I kneel beside Mira, my hands steady as I press them against her small chest, counting each beat of her heart. The rhythm is strong and even - so different from the erratic flutter I first encountered months ago.
"Deep breath for me, sweetheart."
Mira inhales dramatically, her amber eyes twinkling with mischief. Her silver-white fur catches the light, healthy and lustrous where it once was dull. She's wearing her favorite yellow dress today, insisting it matches the morning sun.
"Can I go play now?" She bounces on her toes, barely containing her energy.
"One more." I listen to her chest again, though I already know what I'll find. Each strong beat confirms what I've been seeing over the past weeks - she's ready. The medicine regimen is working exactly as intended and she doesn't need me hovering over her.
Not when Theron and Mrs. Bramble can make her tonics. Not when Kai knows her stretches and she's well enough to run around - to keep her heartrate up that way like a normal kid.
The moment I nod, she's off like an arrow, her hooves clicking against the floor as she races down the hallway. The sound of her laughter echoes through the house, pure and unfettered by the breathlessness that used to plague her.
I gather my herbs and supplies with trembling fingers, tucking them into the various pockets of my dress. The leather-bound notebook where I've tracked her progress sits heavy in my hands. Every measurement, every improvement, every setback - documented in careful detail. Maya will need these notes to continue preparing Mira's medicine. Medicine that Mrs. Bramble will get because they won't need me anymore.
A crash sounds from somewhere in the house, followed by Mira's giggling "Oops!"
I turn away quickly, pressing my palm against my mouth. These aren't the tears of worry I've shed so many times before. These are different - joy mixed with an ache I hadn't expected. My copper braid falls forward as I bow my head, and I catch the scent of the healing herbs woven through it, a reminder of my purpose here.
I've done what I came to do. Mira is thriving. Her heart condition will always need monitoring, but she no longer needs daily observation from a healer. The thought should bring nothing but satisfaction, yet each beat of her running hoofsteps feels like it's counting down our remaining time together.
Wiping my eyes, I head to the kitchen to gather my composure, only to find Mrs. Bramble already there, her steel-gray hair perfectly arranged in its usual bun as she methodically kneads dough on the worn wooden counter. Her brown eyes catch mine with that knowing look I've grown familiar with over these months.
"Sit." She points to a chair with flour-covered fingers. "You look like you need tea."
I sink into the offered seat, watching as she moves with practiced efficiency, her black dress and white apron a stark contrast to the warm wooden tones of the kitchen. She sets a steaming cup before me, then resumes her position at the counter.
"That little one's running about like new today." Her hands never stop moving as she speaks. "Thanks to you."
"She's strong. She just needed the right medicine."
"Mmhmm." She gives me that penetrating look that makes me feel like a child caught sneaking sweets. "And now that she's well, I expect there are other folks needing those skilled hands of yours."
The tea scalds my throat as I take too large a sip. "I suppose."
"You're a gifted healer, dear. Can't keep those talents all to one household, can we? Though we both know healing's not what's keeping you here anymore."
Heat floods my cheeks. Trust Mrs. Bramble to strike right at the heart of things.
"I've watched that man retreat into himself for years," she continues, her voice softening. "But lately... well. Changes are coming, one way or another. Best to face them head-on, wouldn't you say?"
I stare into my tea, unable to meet her knowing gaze. She's right, of course. I can't keep pretending I'm still here purely as Mira's healer. But admitting the truth means confronting feelings I'm not sure I'm ready to face. Especially if I'm not sure Theron will ever let me all the way in.
Mrs. Bramble's words follow me as I wander the familiar halls, my feet carrying me to the library without conscious thought. The scent of leather-bound books and aged paper wraps around me like a comforting embrace.
I find Kai in his usual spot by the window, perched on the wide sill with a thick tome balanced on his knees. His black fur gleams in the sunlight, making him look so much like his father it catches my breath. At six, he's already growing into those long limbs, though his small horns are just beginning to show through his fur.
He looks up as I enter, those blue eyes far too serious for such a young face. "Are you leaving us?"
The question hits like a physical blow. Of course he'd know - Kai notices everything.
"I-" My throat closes around the words.
"Is it because we weren't good enough?" His voice cracks. "Like Mother said?"
I cross the room in three quick strides, kneeling before him. The book slides from his lap, forgotten. "No, Kai. Never that. You and Mira are..." I swallow hard. "There are different kinds of love. Your mother-"
"Didn't want us." His words come out flat, rehearsed. "But you do. I see how you look at Mira. At Father. You love us."
"I do." The truth slips out before I can stop it. "But Mira's better now. She needs space to grow strong on her own. That doesn't mean I'm leaving you. I'm just…letting you live." Because they aren't really my family.
"That's what Mother said too. That she needed space." His shoulders hunch. "From us."
My hands shake as I reach for him, but he pulls away. The rejection stings, but I understand. Every word I'm saying - about love, about leaving being the right thing - sounds hollow even to my own ears. How must they sound to a child who's already lost one mother?
"I'm not your mother, Kai."
"No." He slides off the windowsill, standing straight and tall like I've seen Theron do countless times. "You're just someone else who's leaving."
The library door clicks shut behind Kai with devastating finality. His words echo in my mind as I sink onto the windowsill he vacated, the warmth of the afternoon sun doing nothing to chase away the chill in my chest.
A soft knock interrupts my brooding. Mrs. Bramble enters, holding a letter. "From Miss Maya, dear."
The familiar sight of Maya's precise handwriting usually brings comfort, but today the words blur before my eyes.
Lyra,
Marcus Steelhorn's been making his rounds at the merchant council. He's spinning tales about the 'impropriety' of an unmarried human healer living under a widowed minotaur's roof. Claims you're taking advantage of Theron's grief to 'worm your way' into a noble house.
You know I don't give two figs what that pompous ass thinks, but his words carry weight with the old families. He's threatening to bring it before the council formally. I don't want to see you run out of town or worse - punished by those who are too stubborn and stuck in their ways.
You need to decide what you really want, how you really want to live. Because the way you are now will get you nowhere.
Be careful.
- Maya
The paper crumples in my grip. Of course Marcus would do this. My fingers brush the healing herbs in my braid - a habit when I'm distressed. The irony tastes bitter: I have to leave to protect their reputation, to protect Theron, but leaving will destroy the fragile happiness we've built.
I smooth the letter, folding it carefully. Three months ago, I would have laughed at anyone suggesting I'd find a home here, among these towering halls and even taller minotaurs. Now the thought of walking away makes my chest constrict worse than any of Mira's attacks.
But I'm not fit to be their mother, to be Theron's bride. And this is only a reminder of it.
Mrs. Bramble's hand settles on my shoulder. "Whatever's in that letter, dear, remember - sometimes the hardest path is the right one."
"And sometimes," I whisper, "doing the right thing feels like tearing your own heart out."
She squeezes gently before leaving me alone with Maya's warning and the weight of impossible choices.
Through the library window, I watch darkness creep across the gardens. I walk to the desk in the corner where Kai left a family portrait he drew, his careful lines capturing details only a child would notice - the way Mira's dress always has mud at the hem, how Theron's horn rings catch the light. He even included me, standing beside them, herbs woven through my copper braid just as I wear them now.
My fingers trace the charcoal lines. Such a simple thing, to be drawn as part of their family. Yet it cuts deeper than Marcus's threats ever could.
Rising from the window seat, I make my way to my chambers. Each step echoes with memories - teaching Mira to identify healing herbs in the garden, reading stories with Kai, those moments when Theron's gruff exterior softened into something warmer.
My healing supplies lie arranged on the dresser, each bottle and packet meticulously labeled in my flowing script. Everything I did because I cared for them.
My hands shake as I wrap each bottle in cloth. The glass clinks softly, a discordant melody to match my fractured thoughts. The wooden box Maya gave me years ago - my first proper healer's kit - seems too small now. How did so much of my life become entwined with theirs in just a few months?
I fold my spare dresses mechanically, leaving behind the ones Mrs. Bramble had made for me. They belong here, like so many pieces of my heart I'll have to abandon. The practical earth tones I arrived in feel coarse against my skin after months of finer fabrics.
A dried sprig of rirzed herb falls from between the folds - the first herb Mira successfully identified on her own. I press it between the pages of my notebook, next to the detailed records of her recovery. The evidence of my success. The proof I'm no longer needed.
The thought brings fresh tears, but I force myself to continue packing. Each item I place in my bags feels heavier than the last, weighted with memories I'll have to leave behind.
I'll wait until Theron comes home. And then I'll go.
I just wasn't ready for it to be so soon.