Page 45 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
"How do you feel about it?" she asks, and I can hear the vulnerability underneath the question. "I know we haven'ttalked about having more children, and with Taran still so young..."
I step forward and cup her face in my hands, careful not to jostle Taran, who's watching this entire exchange with the fascination of someone who knows something important is happening even if he can't understand what.
"How do I feel?" I repeat, letting all the joy and wonder and fierce protectiveness I'm experiencing show in my voice. "Soreya, I feel like the luckiest bastard who ever lived."
She laughs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Really? You're not worried about having two little ones underfoot? Because Taran's going to be walking properly soon, and if we have a newborn at the same time..."
"I grew up with Korrun," I remind her, brushing my thumb across her cheekbone. "Trust me, I know exactly how much chaos two kids can create. And I can't wait."
And I mean it. The thought of watching Taran become a big brother, of seeing Soreya grow round with our child, of having another little person to love and protect and teach about the world—it fills me with an anticipation that's almost overwhelming.
"Besides," I add, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, "Taran's going to need someone to boss around. It's tradition in the Thal family."
SOREYA
The firelight dances across Taran's face as he sits cross-legged on the worn rug, his amber eyes—so much like Korrun's—reflecting the flames. At nine, he's all sharp angles and growing limbs, his voice caught somewhere between boy and young man. When he laughs, which he does often, it's deeper now, richer, carrying hints of the man he'll become.
Beside him, Cai sprawls on her stomach, chin propped in her hands, dark curls escaping the braid I wove this morning. She's got Daegan's restless energy, always moving, always questioning, but right now she's still, sensing the weight of this moment even if she doesn't understand it yet.
The autumn air seeps through the windows despite the fire's warmth, carrying the scent of dying leaves and the promise of winter. Our first harvest festival of the season ended just yesterday, the orchard's bounty sold and celebrated, and now the trees stand bare against the darkening sky. It feels fitting somehow, this moment between seasons, between the life we've built and the truths we're finally ready to share.
Daegan settles into his chair across from me, the leather creaking under his weight. He's changed over the years too—stilllean and quick, still carrying himself with that seafarer's grace, but there's a settledness to him now that wasn't there when he first arrived. Lines bracket his sea-glass eyes, carved by years of laughter and sun, and his dark hair shows threads of silver at the temples. He looks like a man who's found exactly where he belongs.
"There's something we want to tell you both," I begin, my hands smoothing over my skirt. The words feel heavy on my tongue, not because they're painful anymore, but because they're important. Sacred, almost. "Something about our family that you should know now that you're old enough to understand."
Taran straightens, his attention sharpening. He's always been perceptive, my eldest, quick to notice when adults are dancing around something significant. Cai rolls onto her side, curling closer to the fire's warmth, but her dark eyes—Daegan's eyes—remain fixed on my face.
"You both know we've told you stories about Uncle Korrun," I continue, glancing at Daegan. He nods encouragingly, his expression gentle but serious. "About how brave he was, how kind. How much he loved his family."
"He was Dad's big brother," Cai pipes up, her voice still carrying that little-girl sweetness despite her seven years. "You said he was a Minotaur trainer in the colosseum!”
"That's right, little sailor," Daegan says, and I catch the slight roughness in his voice that always appears when we talk about Korrun. Not grief, not anymore, but something deeper. Love and loss and acceptance all tangled together. "He wrote me letters about a lot of things. But mostly, he wrote about how excited he was to be a father."
Taran's brow furrows, that serious expression he gets when he's working through a problem. "But I thought you said he died before we were born?"
I take a breath, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves that always comes when I'm about to say something that might change everything. But these are my children, and they deserve the truth. They deserve to know their history, all of it.
"He did die before you were born, sweetheart," I tell Taran gently. "But he didn't die before I got pregnant with you. Korrun was your father, Taran. Your biological father."
The words settle into the space between us like stones dropped into still water, creating ripples I can't predict or control. Taran blinks, his mouth opening slightly, and I watch him process this information with the careful attention he brings to everything.
"Korrun was my father?" he repeats slowly, testing the words. "But Dad is my father too."
"Yes," Daegan says firmly, leaning forward in his chair. "I am your father, Taran. In every way that matters. I've been your father since the day you were born, and I'll be your father until the day I die. But Korrun—my brother—he was the one who helped create you. Who loved you before you even existed."
I watch my son's face, searching for signs of confusion or hurt or anger, but all I see is curiosity and a kind of wonder. He's always been resilient, my Taran, able to adapt to new information without letting it shake his foundation.
"So Uncle Korrun was really my birth father," he says, nodding slowly. "And you're my... raising father?"
The simple distinction makes my chest tight with love for this boy who can take something complicated and find a way to make it fit into his understanding of the world.
"Something like that," Daegan agrees, his voice warm with pride and affection. "Your Uncle Korrun gave you life, but I got the privilege of watching you grow up. Of teaching you to tie knots and tend the orchard and make your mother laugh when she's having a difficult day."
Cai has gone very quiet beside me, her dark eyes moving between her father and brother. I can see the wheels turning in her quick mind, trying to understand what this means for her place in our family.
"What about me?" she asks finally, her voice smaller than usual. "Is Uncle Korrun my father too?"
"No, sweetheart," I tell her, reaching down to stroke her wild curls. "Your father is your dad, just like you've always known. You and Taran are brother and sister, but you have different birth fathers."
