Vesuva slithered after me, her long body weaving across the stone in smooth arcs. Bater fell into step at my side, unusually quiet.
“You did not tell me who,” I said softly as we moved through the corridors.
“I thought you might prefer to see for yourself.”
The walk to the outer gate felt longer than it ever had before. The air grew cooler as we approached the entrance carved into the city’s outer wall. My pulse thundered as hope warred with caution.
Talon stood just inside the threshold. The gate had been opened slightly—just enough for conversation without fully breaching the defenses. He turned as I approached, and I saw a look in his eyes that had the hope in my chest blossoming.
Beyond the threshold, standing on the stone bridge, were four familiar figures.
My mother stood closest to the gate, her hands white-knuckled around the handle of a woven picnic basket. My father stood beside her, straighter than I had seen him in a long while.And behind them, shifting from foot to foot, were Lyra and Theron.
I did not remember crossing the remaining distance.
One moment I stood at Talon’s side, the next, I was at the threshold, my hand lifting to my mouth as tears blurred everything before me.
“Kaelia,” my mother breathed.
“I thought—” My voice fractured. “I did not know if you would ever—”
My mother set the basket down and closed the distance between us, her arms wrapping around me. She smelled like home—flour, rosemary, and the faint soap she had always used.
“I would cross any bridge for you,” she whispered into my hair.
My father joined the embrace, his large hands settling on my shoulders. Lyra threw her arms around all of us, laughter and choked sobs tangling together in the cool night air. When at last we drew apart, my mother cupped my face.
“You look well,” she said softly.
“I am,” I replied, my voice still trembling. “I truly am.”
My father cleared his throat, emotion thickening his voice. “We have heard stories.”
“Not all of them flattering,” Lyra added, wiping her eyes.
A small laugh escaped me. “I imagine not.”
My mother bent to retrieve the basket she had dropped, holding it up between us.
“I did not know what you eat here,” she admitted. “But I remembered what you loved.”
She opened the lid. The scent hit me instantly—fresh bread, honey cakes, and berry preserves.
“You carried this all the way here?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said simply.
“We were afraid, at first,” my father said quietly. “We did not understand. We thought we had lost you.”
“You did not,” I said, glancing briefly over my shoulder toward Talon before looking back at them. “I found something here. Something worth standing for.”
My mother’s eyes followed my gaze.
“He is watching,” she observed softly.
“He always is.”
“And he has not taken his eyes off you.”