Page 35 of The Demon's Little Girl
She transfers Nalla to my arms with careful precision, making sure I have a secure hold before letting go. The baby feels impossibly small against my chest, warm and solid and utterly trusting in the way only children can be. Her crying doesn't stop immediately, but it shifts to something less frantic as I adjust my grip to support her head.
"There," I murmur, my voice dropping to the low rumble that seems to work with most young creatures. "What's all this noise about, little one?"
I start to walk, keeping my movements slow and steady as I follow the garden path toward the fountain. Nalla's crying gradually subsides to sniffles and hiccups, her pale gold eyes fixing on my face with intense baby focus. When I shift her to one arm and use my free hand to trace the edge of the fountain, letting water droplets catch the light, she makes a soft sound of interest.
"She likes the water," Liora says from beside me, and I realize she's been following at a careful distance. There's wonder in her voice, like she can't quite believe her fussy daughter has settled so quickly.
"Most young things do." I keep my attention on Nalla, who's now reaching toward the sparkling water with chubby fingers. "Movement, sound, light—it's soothing."
"You're good with her." The observation is quiet, almost hesitant. "Better than I would have expected."
The comment stings more than it should, though I can't blame her for the assumption. I'm not exactly known for my way with children—most people in Sarziroch would sooner trust me with their business contracts than their offspring. But there's something about this particular child, with her mix of curiosity and boldness, that brings out protective instincts I didn't know I possessed.
"She's easy to like," I say simply, letting Nalla wrap her tiny fingers around one of mine. Her grip is surprisingly strong, and when she makes happy babbling sounds at the fountain, I feel something in my chest loosen.
We walk the garden paths in comfortable silence, Nalla content to observe her new surroundings from the safety of my arms while Liora follows at her watchful distance. The late afternoon light is golden and warm, casting everything in soft focus that makes the moment feel suspended somehow. Separate from the complicated reality of questions unasked and truths unspoken.
"Thank you," Liora says as we complete another circuit of the fountain. "For helping. I know you have work to do, and I don't want to take you away from?—"
"My work can wait." The interruption comes out rougher than intended, carrying more weight than a simple statement about priorities. Because the truth is, Ihavebeen ignoring my responsibilities. Treaties unsigned, shipments unverified, correspondence piling up while I find excuse after excuse to be wherever Liora is.
I should care more about the business implications. Trade Master positions aren't granted lightly, and maintaining the eastern ports requires constant attention to detail and relationship management. But every time I try to focuson contracts and shipping schedules, my attention drifts to wondering if Liora has eaten enough, if she's getting sufficient rest, if that tension in her shoulders has eased even slightly.
"You've been working these gardens for years," I continue, keeping my voice carefully neutral. "You know every plant, every season. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed hearing you talk about them."
It's a careful truth, one that skirts the edge of deeper feelings without crossing into territory that might make her uncomfortable. Because Ihadenjoyed those conversations, back before she left. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about coaxing new growth from stubborn soil, her quiet pride in creating beauty from nothing.
"I missed them," she admits softly. "The gardens. Having something growing and living to tend to."
The words carry implications I don't dare examine too closely. Because if she missed the gardens, what else might she have missed? And why did she stay away from things she loved?
Nalla makes a demanding sound and reaches toward a cluster of bright aracin blooms. I guide her closer, supporting her weight as she grasps at petals with uncoordinated baby fingers. The flowers are sturdy enough to withstand her exploration, and her delight at the bright colors is infectious.
"She's going to be trouble," I observe as Nalla manages to grab an entire blossom and immediately tries to put it in her mouth. I gently redirect her hand, earning an indignant squawk of protest.
"She already is," Liora says, but there's warmth in her voice now. Love so fierce it transforms her entire expression. "Yesterday she tried to climb out of her crib three times. I'm going to have to figure out how to make it taller."
"I can have Tome look at it," I offer, then pause as I realize how presumptuous that sounds. "If you want. No pressure to?—"
"That would be helpful," she says quickly, and relief floods through me at the acceptance. "Thank you."
We find another bench, this one positioned to overlook the herb gardens where the evening light casts long shadows between the rows. I settle with Nalla on my lap, letting her explore the texture of my sleeve while Liora sits beside me with careful space between us.
The distance is deliberate, I'm certain. She's been maintaining it since her return—close enough for conversation, far enough to avoid accidental contact. It's driving me slowly insane, this awareness of every inch of space between us. The way I catch her scent when the wind shifts. The careful way she moves to avoid brushing against me when we share the same space.
I want to close that distance. Want to reach for her hand or touch her shoulder in casual affection the way I never allowed myself before she left. Want to ask her a hundred questions about where she went and why she came back and whether there's any part of her that felt the same pull I did during those quiet mornings over tea.
Instead, I focus on Nalla, who's discovered the horn at my temple and is trying to grab it with enthusiastic determination. Her tiny fingers can't quite manage the grip, but she keeps trying with the single-minded persistence that seems to characterize everything she does.
"Persistent," I comment, gently redirecting her hands before she overbalances herself.
"Takes after her mother in that regard," Liora says, then immediately looks like she wishes she hadn't. There's something in her expression—regret, maybe, or embarrassment at the personal observation.
But I file the comment away, another small piece of information about the woman sitting beside me. BecauseI'm learning Liora all over again, cataloging the ways she's changed and the ways she's stayed exactly the same. The new wariness in her eyes and the familiar way she tilts her head when she's thinking. The careful distance she maintains and the unconscious smile that appears whenever she watches her daughter's antics.
"She's lucky to have you," I say quietly, meaning it completely. "A mother who loves her that fiercely."
Liora's breath catches slightly, and when I glance at her, there are tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She blinks them back quickly, but not before I catch the raw emotion there.
