Page 44 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
Soreya's ahead of us, moving between the rows of fruit trees with the easy grace of someone who knows every inch of her land. She's got her hair braided back to keep it out of her face while she works, and she's wearing one of those practical dresses that somehow still manages to show off every curve I've memorized over the past months. The sight of her like this—confident, purposeful, completely in her element—never fails to make my chest tight with something that goes way beyond simple desire.
"Steady now," I tell Taran as he wobbles toward a particularly tempting low-hanging branch. The kid's got an explorer's heart, always reaching for things just beyond his grasp. Reminds me of someone I used to know. Shit, still know, when I look in the mirror.
The orchard's come back to life under our combined efforts. What started as Soreya's small collection of fruit trees has expanded into neat rows of tiphe trees heavy with nuts, plus the new berry bushes I convinced her to try. Fialon berries, mostly, but we've got some experimental patches of other varieties that the market vendors have been eager to get their hands on.
It's funny how life works out sometimes. Six months ago, I was running cargo between ports, sleeping in a different bed every few weeks, never staying anywhere long enough to call it home. Now I've got three merchant ships working trade routes while I stay here, checking in when they make port but never feeling the urge to climb aboard and sail away. This—watching Taran discover the world, helping Soreya build something lasting, having a place that's actually mine—this is better than any adventure I ever chased across the waves.
"Ma-ma-ma," Taran announces, pointing at Soreya with one chubby finger while maintaining his death grip on my hand with the other.
"That's right, that's your mama," I agree, guiding him around a root that's trying to trip up his unsteady feet. "Let's go see what she's up to."
Soreya's examining the latest crop of tizret fruit, her practiced hands testing for ripeness. She's got an eye for this kind of work that still amazes me—knowing exactly when something's ready for harvest, which fruits will last longestin transport, how to maximize both quality and profit. It's a different kind of navigation than reading wind and tide, but there's an art to it that I've come to appreciate.
The market vendors love her now. Not just because her fruit's consistently good, but because she's fair in her dealings and reliable as clockwork. She shows up when she says she will, with exactly what she promised, and she doesn't try to pass off inferior goods as premium stock. It's built her a reputation that extends beyond just the vendors she used to work with.
"How's our crop looking?" I ask as Taran and I finally catch up to her.
She straightens, brushing her hands off on her apron. "Better than expected. The new fertilizer mix you suggested is working wonders on the berry bushes. We'll have enough for the regular orders plus extra for the festival market next week."
There's satisfaction in her voice, the kind that comes from work well done and plans coming together. It's one of the things I love most about her—how she throws herself completely into whatever she's doing, whether it's tending the orchard, caring for Taran, or driving me half-crazy with want in the middle of the night.
Taran chooses that moment to let go of my hand and attempt a solo journey toward his mother. He makes it exactly three steps before his legs give out and he sits down hard on his padded bottom, looking surprised by this sudden change in altitude.
"Oh, brave boy!" Soreya laughs, crouching down to his level. "You're getting so good at walking. Soon you'll be running all over the orchard and driving us both to distraction."
She scoops him up, settling him on her hip with the practiced ease of someone who's been doing this for months. Taran immediately starts babbling at her in his own private language,his hands patting her cheeks like he's trying to tell her something incredibly important.
"Is that so?" she responds seriously, as if she understands every word. "And what did you think about the tizret trees? Should we harvest them tomorrow or wait another day?"
The sight of them together like this—Soreya's complete attention focused on our son, Taran's obvious adoration for his mother—hits me with the same overwhelming gratitude that's become a constant companion these days. I never expected this when I came back to Milthar. Never imagined I'd find a family, a purpose, a reason to stay in one place longer than a few weeks.
Shit, I never imagined I'd be content to let other people sail my ships while I stayed home playing father to a kid who calls me "Dah-gah" and helping a woman I love more than my next breath build the life she deserves.
"Speaking of the market," Soreya says, bouncing Taran gently to keep him entertained, "I have something to tell you."
There's something in her tone that makes me pay closer attention. Not worry, exactly, but a kind of careful excitement that puts me on alert. She's got that look she gets when she's nervous about how I'll react to something—the same expression she wore when she first told me she loved me.
"What's on your mind?" I ask, moving closer so I can catch Taran if he decides to launch himself out of her arms. The kid's got no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.
"Yesterday, when I was at the market, I stopped by to see Mirath." Her fingers comb through Taran's dark hair, the gesture both affectionate and slightly anxious. "I've been feeling... different lately. Tired in the mornings, but not sick exactly. And I realized I was late."
My heart does something complicated in my chest, hope and certainty colliding in a way that makes it hard to breathe. I knowwhere this is going, can see it in the way she's watching my face, but I need to hear her say it.
"Late for what?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.
"My bleeding," she says simply. "Three weeks overdue. So I asked Mirath to examine me, and..." She takes a breath, her eyes searching my face. "I'm pregnant, Dae. We're having a baby."
The words hit me like a rogue wave, sudden and overwhelming and absolutely perfect. For a moment, I can't do anything but stare at her, this incredible woman who's already given me more than I ever dared to hope for and is now offering me something I didn't even know I wanted.
A baby. Our baby. A sibling for Taran, who's going to be the best big brother in the history of big brothers if I have anything to say about it.
"You're sure?" I manage to ask, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
"Mirath's sure. She says I'm probably about three weeks along, which means..." She pauses, doing the mental calculation. "It would have happened right around the time we planted the new berry bushes."
I remember that night. We'd worked in the orchard until sunset, both of us dirty and tired and satisfied with what we'd accomplished. Taran had fallen asleep early, exhausted from "helping" by crawling around and getting into everything. We'd barely made it inside before I had her pressed against the kitchen wall, both of us too desperate for each other to make it to the bedroom.
The thought that our second child might have been conceived that night, in the midst of building this life together, feels absolutely right.
