Page 48 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
"It does." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Perfect sense."
She smiles then, bright and beautiful, and I have to kiss her. Just once, soft and quick, because the alternative is crushing her against me and never letting go.
When I pull back, she's still smiling. "How long will it take to get there?"
"A few days by carriage. Maybe a week if we take it slow."
"Then we should start preparing." There's excitement in her voice now, eagerness that makes her whole face light up. "I want to see our home."
Ourhome. The words hit me like a physical blow, sweet and devastating all at once.
I leave for the nearest trading city that morning, taking one of the village zarryn to make the journey faster. The creature is as temperamental as its breed is known for, snorting and tossingits silver-maned head every time I adjust the reins. But it's quick, and I need speed more than comfort right now.
The city is a bustling trade hub perched where three mountain roads converge. I find what I need at a transportation yard on the outskirts—a sturdy travel carriage with reinforced wheels and weather-resistant panels, plus a pair of zarryn bred for long-distance hauling.
The beasts are magnificent creatures, their silver coats gleaming in the afternoon sun and their dual tails switching with barely contained energy. The handler warns me they're moody, but they're also the strongest and fastest he has available.
"They'll get you where you need to go," he says, pocketing the handful of nodals I've given him. "Just don't expect them to be happy about it."
The negotiations take most of the day, but by evening I'm heading back to Veylowe with our transportation secured. The zarryn follow behind, their harness bells chiming softly with each step.
I return to find Kaleen has already begun packing. She moves through the small cottage with methodical efficiency, sorting through the few possessions she's accumulated during her time here. Most of it stays behind—simple village clothes, worn household items, things that belong to this life she's ready to leave.
"I kept this," she says, holding up a small wooden toy horse that I recognize as Braylon's favorite. "And a few of his clothes that still fit."
Our son is sitting on the floor nearby, playing with blocks that Callen carved for him. He seems oblivious to the significance of the packing, focused entirely on building an elaborate tower that defies all architectural logic.
"Papa fly?" he asks suddenly, looking up at me with those distinctive pale silver eyes ringed in amber.
"Soon," I tell him, ruffling his dark hair with its telltale gold glints. "We're going to take a trip first."
He considers this gravely, then returns to his blocks. At eighteen months, Braylon accepts change with the easy adaptability of the very young. As long as Kaleen and I are with him, he's content.
That night, as we lie together in the narrow bed one last time, Kaleen traces the line of my jaw with gentle fingers.
"Are you happy?" she asks. "About leaving, I mean. Going back."
"More than happy," I murmur against her palm. "I've been waiting two years to take you both home."
Her smile in response is radiant, full of anticipation and something that looks remarkably like joy.
The morningof our departure dawns clear and bright. The zarryn stamp impatiently as I secure the last of our things in the carriage, their breath forming silver clouds in the cool air. The vehicle is well-appointed but practical—cushioned seats, storage compartments, and heavy curtains to block wind and weather.
One by one, the villagers gather to say goodbye. Marnai comes first, her iron-gray braids neat despite the early hour. She embraces Kaleen with surprising warmth, whispering something I can't hear that makes Kaleen's eyes bright with unshed tears.
Tolle appears next, gruff and uncomfortable as always but carrying a small pouch of herbs "for the journey." He nods curtly at me, still clearly uncertain about my presence but no longer actively hostile.
Derri arrives with a leather-bound journal, pressing it into Kaleen's hands. "Stories," she says simply. "Ones I thought you might want to remember."
Even Jorren Thorne shows up, though he keeps his distance from me and focuses his attention entirely on Kaleen and Braylon. The few words he speaks are kind but stiff, like a man fulfilling an obligation he's not entirely comfortable with. Though I suppose for a little while, Kaleen and Braylon were a part of his family with how close his son was to them.
But it's Pez and Nomi who affect Braylon most. The siblings appear at the last minute, both looking unusually subdued. Braylon immediately abandons the wooden blocks he's been playing with and toddles toward them with outstretched arms.
"Up!" he demands, and Nomi obliges, lifting him easily despite her slight frame.
"You be good for your mama and papa," she tells him seriously, her usual knife-edge wariness softened into something almost tender. "And don't forget us, yeah?"
Pez reaches over to ruffle Braylon's hair, his gap-toothed grin more subdued than usual. "We'll miss you, little prince."
