Chapter 1

Mirath

The morning sun filters through Soreya's kitchen window as I settle my healer's bag on the worn wooden table. The familiar scents of dried herbs and warm bread fill the space, but underneath it all, I catch that distinct sweetness that comes with pregnancy—something most people miss, but my nose picks up every time.

"You're glowing," I tell Soreya as she moves around the kitchen, one hand instinctively resting on the gentle curve of her belly. At four months, she's showing just enough that her usual tunics strain slightly at the waist.

"I'm sweating." She pushes a strand of deep-brown hair away from her face, the red undertones catching the light. "There's a difference."

"Both can be true." I pull out my supplies, arranging them with practiced efficiency. "Sit. Let me check on both of you."

Daegan appears in the doorway, Taran balanced on his hip. The toddler's sable-brown fur has grown thicker over the past few months, and his tiny horn buds are more pronounced now—still soft, but definitely there. He babbles something unintelligible and reaches for Soreya with chubby fingers.

"Someone wants his mama," Daegan says, his sea-glass green eyes bright with amusement. The silver hoop in his ear catches the light as he hands Taran over.

I watch Soreya's face soften as she cradles her son. The transformation is immediate—the tiredness melts away, replaced by that fierce tenderness she reserves for her children. Taran settles against her, his amber-flecked eyes studying me with that unnervingly intense gaze he's had since birth.

"How are you feeling today?" I ask, pulling my chair closer. "Any nausea? Dizziness?"

"Better than yesterday." Soreya shifts Taran to her other arm. "The mornings are still rough, but it passes quicker now."

Daegan hovers nearby, and I catch him stealing glances at Soreya's belly every few seconds. The man can't contain his excitement—it radiates off him like heat from a forge. His whole face lights up when he looks at her, just like it did the day he first held Taran.

"You're like a kid waiting for festival day," I tell him dryly. "Sit down before you wear a hole in the floor."

"Can't help it." He grins, settling into the chair across from us. "Never thought I'd get to experience this. The whole thing, from the beginning."

The contrast hits me then—how different this pregnancy is from Soreya's first. Last time, she was drowning in grief, carrying Taran while mourning Korrun. Every milestone felt like another step away from the life she'd planned. Now, with Daegan beside her, she's actually enjoying it. The way she unconsciously leans into his touch when he reaches for her hand. The small smile that appears when he talks about the baby.

"Let me see how everyone's doing in there." I place my hands on Soreya's belly, closing my eyes to focus. The magic flows through my fingertips—not much, just enough to sense the life growing inside. Strong heartbeat. Good positioning. The baby's essence feels warm and bright, with traces of both parents woven through it.

"Everything feels perfect," I murmur, opening my eyes. "The baby's growing well. Strong. Healthy."

Daegan exhales like he's been holding his breath. "And Soreya?"

I check her pulse, examine her eyes, run my hands along her neck to feel for any swelling. "You're doing great. Better than great, actually. Your body knows what it's doing this time."

"Thank the gods." Soreya adjusts Taran again as he starts to fuss. "I was so sick with him the first few months. Couldn't keep anything down."

"Grief will do that." I pack my supplies back into the bag. "Your body was fighting two battles then—growing a baby and processing loss. This time, you're just growing a baby."

Taran chooses that moment to grab a fistful of Soreya's hair and tug. Hard.

"Ow! Taran, no." She gently extracts his fingers from her hair. "He's getting stronger every day. Look at those hands."

I study the toddler's grip as he reaches for her hair again. His fingers are definitely more dexterous than they were a month ago, and there's real strength behind them. "He's going to be tall like his father. And his uncle."

Daegan reaches over to tickle Taran's belly, earning a delighted squeal. "Aren't you, little man? Going to be big and strong."

The easy affection between them still catches me off guard sometimes. Daegan stepped into Taran's life when the boy was barely a day old, and now they're inseparable. Taran reaches for Daegan almost as much as he does for Soreya, and Daegan treats him like his own blood.

"Speaking of strong minotaur," Daegan says, his expression shifting to something more serious. "I need to head down to the docks today. Got a shipment coming in that needs my personal attention."

Soreya's face falls slightly. "Today? I was hoping you could help me with the pruning in the back orchard."

"I know, sweetheart. But this cargo's been delayed twice already, and if I don't handle it myself—"

"You'll lose the contract," Soreya finishes. "I understand."

But I can see the disappointment in her eyes, and the way she shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her energy feels off today—not sick, exactly, but drained.

"I could go for you," I offer, surprising myself with the words. "Handle the shipment, I mean."

Both of them stare at me. Daegan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline.

"You?" he asks. "No offense, Mirath, but dealing with dock workers and cargo manifest disputes isn't exactly—"

"What? Not exactly what?" I cross my arms. "Not exactly something a woman can handle? Not exactly something a healer would know about?"

"That's not what I meant." He raises his hands in surrender. "I just meant it can get rough down there. People try to cheat, or claim damages that don't exist, or—"

"I've dealt with plenty of cheats and liars." I stand, checking that my healer's bag is secure. "Probably more than you have. Only difference is when someone tries to swindle me over herb prices, they don't usually threaten to throw me in the harbor."

"They absolutely do threaten that," Soreya says quietly. "That's exactly what they threaten."

I wave a dismissive hand. "Empty threats. Besides, I know enough about trade goods to spot obvious problems. What's the cargo?"

Daegan looks uncertain. "Spices from the eastern settlements. Saffron, mainly, but some rare salts and preserved fruits. The manifest should list everything."

"See? I work with herbs and preservatives all the time. I'll know if something's off." I move toward the door, then pause. "What's the ship's name?"

"The Siren's Call. Harrow is captaining the ship. Tell him you're there for the Thal account, and that I sent you. He's honest, but his crew..." Daegan shrugs. "Mixed bag."

"Aren't they all." I look back at Soreya, noting the relief in her posture now that she won't have to spend the day alone with a restless toddler while feeling poorly. "You rest today. Let Taran nap when he wants to, and don't worry about the orchard work. It'll keep."

"Thank you." Soreya's smile is genuine and warm. "I owe you."

"You owe me nothing." I adjust my bag's strap. "Just take care of yourself and that baby."

Taran chooses that moment to babble something that sounds almost like words, waving his tiny fist in my direction. I find myself smiling despite my usual gruff demeanor.

"You too, little man. Keep an eye on your mama while I'm gone."

Daegan stands, moving to kiss Soreya's forehead. "Are you sure about this, Mirath? I can reschedule—"

"Don't be ridiculous." I'm already halfway to the door. "I've been dealing with difficult people since before you were born. A few dock workers won't be the end of me."

But as I step outside into the morning air, I catch Daegan's worried expression through the window. The man cares about his business, but he cares about his family more. Good thing someone around here has practical sense.

Behind me, I hear Taran's delighted laughter floating through the open window, followed by Daegan's deeper chuckle. The sound makes something warm unfurl in my chest—a feeling I'm not entirely comfortable with but can't quite dismiss.

They're good together, the three of them. Soon to be four. And despite my general policy of avoiding sentimentality, I find myself looking forward to meeting this new addition to their little family.

Even if I'll never have my own.