27. Theron
27
THERON
I stand in my study doorway, staring at the row of herbs drying in the window. Lyra's delicate handiwork - each bundle tied with precise knots, labeled in her flowing script. The sight twists something in my chest.
My heavy footsteps echo through empty halls that once carried the melody of her humming. The kitchen, usually filled with the scent of her healing brews, sits cold and unused. Even Mrs. Bramble's attempts at cooking lack the warmth Lyra brought to every meal.
"Papa?" Kai's voice draws my attention to the library. My son hunches over his desk, quill untouched beside his practice sheets. Dark smudges under his blue eyes match the ink stains on his fingers. He hasn't written a word all morning.
"The letters look wrong today." He pushes the parchment away, shoulders slumping. "Mrs. Bramble tried to help, but..."
But she's not Lyra, who would sit beside him for hours, praising each wobbly attempt until he got it right.
A crash from upstairs sends me running, Kai close behind. We find Mira in her playroom, silver-white fur standing on end as she stares at the shattered remains of her favorite tea set.
"I just wanted to make tea like Lyra does." Her bottom lip quivers. "But I couldn't."
I scoop her up before she can step on any pieces, feeling her tiny heart racing against my chest. She's been so happy and full of life, but without Lyra, I've seen less of those improvements in Mira.
Now my daughter buries her face in my shirt, her words muffled. "When is she coming back?"
Kai wraps his arms around my leg, and I feel his silent question too. The mansion looms around us, too big, too quiet, too empty without the tiny healer who somehow filled every corner with life.
I carry Mira to her bed, her small form still shaking. Kai helps tuck her in, his serious expression a mirror of my own as she drifts into an exhausted sleep.
In the hallway, Mrs. Bramble's footsteps click against the wooden floors with sharp, deliberate strikes. The sound follows me down the corridor like an accusation. She yanks open the curtains with more force than necessary, her usual grace replaced by rigid movements.
"The children barely touched their breakfast again." She slams a silver tray onto the side table. Her steel-gray bun, typically pristine, has loose strands breaking free. "And young Miss Mira's heart medicine is running low. We need-"
She cuts herself off, but I hear the unspoken word. We need Lyra.
Mrs. Bramble comes closer, adjusting my collar with sharp tugs. "The children need stability, sir." Her fingers pause on my lapel. "They need-"
"I know what they need." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She steps back, pressing her lips into a thin line. The same expression she wore when I made mistakes as a calf. "Do you, sir? Do you really?"
Mrs. Bramble's words follow me through the day, haunting my thoughts until evening falls. The dining room gleams with polished silver and fresh flowers - her attempt to impress the Ironhoof trading company representatives.
"The northern route shows promising returns." Marcus' nasal voice grates across my nerves as servants bring the first course. I hate that he's here, but he's a member of the guild's council so I'm stuck with him. His horn rings catch the candlelight, too numerous, too showy. "Though some say the area's grown unstable since you... withdrew your presence."
I grip my fork harder. The metal bends.
Kai sits ramrod straight beside me, copying my posture as he always does. But his eyes keep drifting to the empty chair where Lyra used to sit, helping Mira cut her meat into tiny pieces.
"Papa, my chest feels funny." Mira pushes her plate away, her silver-white fur dull in the lamplight.
"Just a few bites, sweetheart." I reach for the patience Lyra always showed. "Like we practiced-"
"No!" Mira's lip trembles. "I want Mama! I want Miss Lyra!"
The words echo through sudden silence. Marcus's wife gasps softly, her perfectly manicured hands flying to her throat. Their daughter whispers something behind her napkin.
"Poor dear," Marcus's wife simpers. "It must be so difficult, without a proper mother figure."
Mira's sobs grow louder. Tears mat her fur as she hiccups, "She - she always knew how to make the medicine taste good. And - and she braided my fur special so it wouldn't tangle-"
"Perhaps," Marcus drawls, "it's time to consider a more... suitable arrangement. My sister knows several excellent governesses-"
The crystal goblet shatters in my grip. Red wine spreads across white linen like blood.
"Papa's hand!" Mira wails harder.
Kai jumps up, napkin already out to stem the bleeding, but I barely feel the cuts. All I see is the pity in their eyes. The knowing looks. The silent judgment.
And for once, I can't blame Marcus's schemes or Cassandra's ghost or the cruel whispers of society. This wound - this emptiness in my home, in my children's hearts - I carved it myself.
After Marcus and his family finally leave, I retreat to my study. The cut on my palm throbs, poorly wrapped by my own clumsy attempts. Lyra would have cleaned and bandaged it properly, scolding me the whole time about my temper.
The house creaks with midnight silence. My rounds take me past empty rooms, each step heavier than the last. The children's beds lie cold and untouched.
A faint herbal scent draws me toward Lyra's old room. The door stands ajar, moonlight spilling across the simple furnishings she left behind. My breath catches.
Kai and Mira lie tangled together on her bed. Mira's silver-white fur glows in the darkness, her tiny form curled protectively around her brother's middle. Kai's black fur blends with the shadows, but his blue eyes - so like his mother's - flutter beneath closed lids. Dried tear tracks matt both their faces.
Bundles of dried herbs still hang from the ceiling - rirzed herb, bluefrost, moonbloom - their lingering fragrance a ghost of Lyra's presence. A half-empty jar of heart medicine sits on the bedside table, the last batch she made before... before I drove her away.
My children shouldn't be seeking comfort in an empty room, clinging to fading memories of warmth. The sight cracks something deep in my chest, shattering the walls of pride and fear I've hidden behind.
Mira whimpers in her sleep, one small hand clutching the herb-stained apron Lyra forgot in her haste to leave. Kai's arm tightens around his sister, even in sleep trying to protect her from hurt - from the hurt I caused.
I sink to my knees beside the bed, careful not to wake them. The truth I've been fighting crashes over me like a wave: I've made a terrible mistake. My stubborn pride, my fear of appearing weak - I've let it hurt the very ones I swore to protect.
The emptiness in my home, the pain in my children's eyes - it's not just about losing a healer or even a friend. We've lost the heart of our family, and I'm the fool who pushed her away.
The floorboards creak under my weight as I rise from beside the children's sleeping forms. My knees protest - I've been kneeling there longer than I realized. A knock at the front door echoes through the quiet house.
Dex's massive frame fills the doorway, his horn rings catching the lamplight. "You look like shit."
I grunt, stepping aside to let him in. His green eyes scan the entrance hall, taking in the wilting flowers Mrs. Bramble hasn't replaced and the thin layer of dust on the banister.
"Heard about the dinner disaster." He follows me to my study, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. "Marcus is spreading it around that Mira had some kind of fit."
My hand finds the bottle of brandy without looking. The cut on my palm stings as I pour.
"This place..." Dex trails off, running a finger along the herb-drying rack Lyra installed. It stands empty now, the twine hanging limp. "It's like all the light got sucked out. Even your staff moves different - like they're walking through fog."
I down my drink rather than answer.
"Remember when you used to be this miserable all the time?" He settles his bulk into the chair across from me, the wood groaning. "Before she came? Then suddenly there was laughter in these halls. Life. Your children started blooming instead of just surviving."
"If you came to lecture me-"
"Some beasts are meant to be tamed, old friend." His voice carries none of its usual playful edge. "Not broken or changed - just... gentled. Given a reason to lower their horns and let someone close."
The brandy burns in my throat, but it can't touch the cold emptiness inside of me. Dex's words hit deeper than Marcus's sneers or Mrs. Bramble's disappointment. Because he's right - I had let Lyra gentle me, let her warmth thaw the ice around my heart. And in return, I'd...
"The children were sleeping in her room again," I manage.
Dex nods, his expression heavy with understanding. "They miss their mother."
The word strikes like a physical blow. Because that's what she'd become to them, hadn't she? Not just a healer or a friend, but the mother they'd never truly had. And I'd taken that from them too.