Page 38 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
I shove through the door without bothering to unlock it properly, the latch giving way under my shoulder with a crack of splintering wood. "Soreya?"
The scene that greets me stops me cold.
Taran's cradle sits abandoned near the kitchen table, rocking slightly as if someone just stepped away. But my nephew isn't in it—his cries are coming from somewhere else entirely. And Soreya...
By the Lady, Soreya.
She's curled up on the hearth rug like something broken, knees drawn to her chest, shoulders shaking with sobs that compete with Taran's wails for sheer heartbreak. Her long hair spills around her in a dark curtain, hiding her face, but I can see the way her whole body trembles with each ragged breath.
The sight hits me harder than Garruk ever did. This isn't the controlled grief I've watched her work through over the past months, the careful way she compartmentalized her painto function day by day. This is raw anguish, the kind that strips away all pretense and leaves nothing but bleeding wounds.
My footsteps on the wooden floor make her head snap up, and the devastation in her hazel eyes nearly brings me to my knees.
Her face is blotchy with tears, eyes swollen and red-rimmed from what must have been hours of crying. Streaks of salt water have carved pale tracks through the dust on her cheeks—she's been here on the floor long enough for the ashes from the hearth to settle on her skin. When she sees me standing in the doorway, her expression cycles through disbelief, hope, and something that looks dangerously close to fury.
"You're alive." The words come out cracked and hoarse, like she's been screaming.
Taran's cries finally register fully through my shock, and I follow the sound to find him on the sofa, red-faced and furious, tiny fists waving as he voices his displeasure with the world. His swaddling cloth has come loose, and he's managed to work one arm free to flail dramatically while he vents his feelings.
"Hey there, little man." I scoop him up, automatically checking for obvious problems while muscle memory takes over the soothing motions. "What's all this fuss about?"
He's not hungry—his cries don't have that particular desperate edge that means an empty belly. His swaddling is dry, so it's not discomfort from being soiled. This is pure emotional distress, the kind babies get when their world turns upside down and the adults they depend on can't hold it together.
I settle him against my chest, one large hand supporting his tiny head while I rock him in the gentle rhythm that usually calms him down. "Shh, you're all right. Uncle Dae's here now."
My voice does what Soreya's tears couldn't—Taran's wails begin to subside into hiccupping sobs, then gradually into the snuffling sounds that mean he's considering whether thissituation might be tolerable after all. His small body relaxes against mine, warm and solid and perfectly alive.
But before I can fully process the relief of having him calm, Soreya launches herself at me.
She hits my free side like a storm wave, arms wrapping around my ribs with desperate strength while her face buries itself against the fur of my chest. Her fingers dig into my back hard enough to leave marks, clutching at me with the kind of grip that says she's not planning to let go anytime soon.
The impact staggers me—not from her weight, but from the sheer emotional force behind it. This isn't a casual embrace or even the careful hugs we've shared while navigating the boundaries of whatever we're becoming. This is the desperate hold of someone who's already mourned my loss, who's spent hours convinced they'd never feel my arms around them again.
I pull her closer with my free arm, careful not to jostle Taran but unwilling to put any distance between us. She fits against my side like she was designed for this exact spot, her curves molding to the planes of my torso while her hair tickles my chin. The scent of her—honey and herbs and something uniquely Soreya—fills my nostrils and settles the last of my frayed nerves.
"I thought..." Her voice is muffled against my chest, but I can feel each word vibrate through her body. "When you didn't come home, I thought Garruk had... I thought I'd lost you too."
The broken way she says it—like she's admitting to something shameful—makes my throat tighten. She cares. Not just as someone grateful for help with the baby or comfortable with my presence, but genuinely cares about what happens to me. Enough to fall apart when she thought I might be gone forever.
The realization floods through me like warm ale on a cold night, loosening muscles I didn't realize I'd been holding tense. She wants me here. Maybe not in the same way she wantedKorrun, maybe not with the same intensity or certainty, but enough to grieve when she thought I was dead.
It's more than I'd dared hope for and exactly what I needed to hear.
"I'm here," I murmur against the top of her head, tightening my hold until there's no space left between us. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her grip on me intensifies, fingernails finding purchase through my shirt to press against skin like she needs to feel proof that I'm solid and real. The desperation in her touch mirrors something deep in my own chest—the bone-deep need to hold and be held by someone who matters more than breathing.
Taran makes a soft sound against my shoulder, content now that his world has righted itself. One tiny hand has worked free of his swaddling to curl around a lock of my fur, his grip surprisingly strong for something so small. Between his warm weight and Soreya's fierce embrace, I feel more anchored than I have since the day I received word of Korrun's death.
This is what I came home for. Not just the house or the familiar routine or even the promise of family, but this exact moment—holding the two people who've become my entire world while they hold me back with equal intensity.
The cuts from Garruk still sting along my forearms, and I can taste blood from my split lip. But none of that matters now. What matters is the way Soreya's breathing gradually evens out against my chest, the way Taran's fist tightens around my fur like he's claiming me, the way this ramshackle little house feels more like home than any ship I've ever sailed.
Her voice comes out cracked and hoarse, like she's been screaming into the void for hours. "I sat there watching the door, telling myself you'd just gone for a walk or to the market. But when the sun went down and you still weren't back..." She shudders against me, her fingers digging deeper into the fabricof my shirt. "I knew something was wrong. You wouldn't have left without telling me, not me and Taran."
The raw honesty in her words cuts through me like a blade. She knows me well enough to recognize my patterns, to understand that I wouldn't abandon them without explanation. That kind of trust—the quiet certainty that I'd keep my word—settles something restless in my chest that I hadn't even realized was still prowling around like a caged animal.
"And then I heard you’d been taken." Her voice drops to barely above a whisper, but I catch every syllable. "That Garruk got you and I thought… I thought…"
