Page 10 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
I pull out a fresh sheet of parchment and uncork my ink, but the words don't come immediately. How do you respond to news that changes everything? How do you congratulate someone on a joy you're not sure you understand but desperately want to share?
The ship rocks gently beneath me, the familiar motion that's been home for more years than I've spent on solid ground. But for the first time in memory, the movement feels less likefreedom and more like distance—an ocean's worth of water between me and the people who matter most.
Korrun,I finally write,Uncle Dae. I like the sound of that.
I've read your letter so many times the crew probably thinks I've lost my mind. Harrow caught me grinning at nothing yesterday and threatened to check my rum supply for tampering. When I told him I was going to be an uncle, he bought the first round.
A baby. Our family is growing, and I'm out here chasing favorable winds like some restless ghost. Part of me wants to turn the ship around right now and sail straight home, but we've got cargo contracts to honor first. Give me six months, and I'll be back in Karona with gifts from half a dozen ports and stories that'll put the little one to sleep for years.
Tell Soreya I'm already practicing my lullabies. Fair warning—they're mostly sea shanties, and some of them aren't entirely appropriate for young ears. We'll work on that.
I'm proud of you, brother. Proud of the life you've built, the love you've found, the father you're going to be. That baby is lucky to have you both.
The letter feels inadequate somehow, too small to contain the rush of joy and longing and fierce protectiveness that Korrun's news has awakened. But it's a start—a bridge across the water that separates us, carrying love and congratulations and promises I intend to keep.
Outside, I hear Tam calling course corrections, the steady creak of rigging under strain, the eternal whisper of wind across water. The sounds that have been my lullaby for years, but tonight they feel different somehow. Tonight they sound less like home and more like the space between me and where I want to be.
It'll probably be six months. Maybe a few more. Long enough to finish this run, settle the crew's contracts, make arrangementsfor the ship's management in my absence. Long enough to plan a proper homecoming for a brother who's about to discover that love makes everything—including fear—exponentially larger. But I should be there before the baby is born, and I can be part of their life.
I seal the letter carefully, already planning its route to Milthar. Then I spread my charts across the desk, tracing familiar shipping lanes with new purpose. For the first time in years, I'm not just planning the next port of call.
I'm planning the journey home.
4
SOREYA
The morning starts like any other—kaffo steaming in my cup, the scent of warm bread drifting through our open windows from the market stalls below. Korrun left before dawn, as always, pressing a kiss to my forehead while I pretended to still be asleep. The familiar rhythm of our life, predictable and precious in its simplicity.
I'm arranging the last of our fijus harvest in baskets when the door bursts open hard enough to rattle the hinges.
"Soreya." Mirath's voice cuts through the morning quiet, sharp with something that makes my blood freeze. Her healer's robes are streaked with dust and something darker, her usually neat curls wild around her face.
The basket slips from my hands, fijus scattering across the floor in purple bruises of fruit.
"Mir?" The word comes out smaller than I intend, already knowing I don't want to hear whatever brought her here looking like death itself.
She crosses the room in three quick strides, her hands finding my shoulders with a grip that would bruise if I could feel anything beyond the sudden roar of blood in my ears.
"There's been a fight at the colosseum." Her dark eyes search my face like she's memorizing it. "One of the prisoners—Varkas—he had a concealed blade. Lashed out during training."
The world tilts sideways. I can't breathe, can't think past the thunder of my heartbeat echoing in my skull.
"Korrun stopped him," she continues, her voice breaking on his name. "Killed the bastard, but?—"
"But what?" The words tear from my throat, raw and desperate.
Mirath's face crumples. "The blade found its mark first, Soreya. I'm so sorry."
I don't remember moving. Don't remember pushing past her or stumbling through the door or running down the narrow stone streets that suddenly feel like they're closing in around me. My skirts tangle around my legs, threatening to send me sprawling, but I can't slow down. Can't stop. Can't do anything but run toward the colosseum with Mirath's words echoing in my head like a curse.
The blade found its mark.
The colosseum gates loom ahead, ancient stone stained with the sweat and blood of countless fighters. A crowd has gathered—trainers, officials, spectators drawn by the commotion. They part before me like water, their faces blurring into meaningless shapes as I push through.
That's when I see them.
Four men carrying a stretcher, moving with the careful reverence reserved for the dead. The massive frame on it is unmistakably Korrun—too broad, too tall to be anyone else. Dark fur matted with blood, those beautiful amber eyes I've stared into a thousand mornings now fixed and staring at nothing.
