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Kaelin, spotting her grandmother, lets out a shriek of delight and lunges toward her. I barely catch the squirming bundle before she topples from my arms.
"Maybe she recognizes a fellow troublemaker," Jackie mutters, earning a sharp look from my mother that doesn't quite hide her amusement.
"Give her here," Murris commands, setting down her elaborate cloak and holding out her arms. "I want to see if she's grown into her horns yet."
I transfer my daughter carefully, watching as my formidable mother transforms into someone almost gentle, cooing at Kaelin in a voice I've never heard her use.
"No bumps yet," Trinity replies, moving to stand beside me as we watch the interaction. "But she's got your temper." She slips her hand into mine, squeezing lightly. "Thank you," she whispers, "for what you did for those women."
I bring our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I promised you, didn't I?"
And I don't have to say it. I'd do anything for Trinity and she knows it.
My mother stays for dinner, surprising all of us by offering to feed Liora while Trinity and I catch our breath. Jackie prepares a feast of roasted tuskram with herbs from Donna's garden, the rich aroma filling our home as night falls. By the time my mother departs—with a promise to return in three days' time for what she calls "proper grandmother duties"—both twins are drowsy, their tiny eyelids drooping.
"I'll put them down," Trinity offers, gathering Liora from my arms. "You just got back. Relax for a minute."
I watch her retreat down the hallway, Kaelin already asleep against her shoulder, Liora blinking sleepily over it. The sight of them together still knocks the wind from my lungs sometimes.
I'm pouring myself a glass of amerinth when a sharp rap sounds at the front door. The sound is too purposeful to be Jackie or Donna returning from their cottage on the property.
"What now?" I mutter, setting down the glass and stalking to the entrance.
The courier standing on my doorstep is reed-thin with ashen gray skin several shades lighter than mine—a half-demon, likely. His horns are small, curved tight against his skull, and he shifts nervously from foot to foot when I fill the doorway.
"Vaelrix Rennick?" His voice cracks slightly. My reputation precedes me, clearly.
"Who's asking?" I lean against the doorframe, intentionally blocking his view into my home. Years of being hunted and hunting others have left me with habits I can't break—protecting what's mine tops the list.
He fumbles with a leather satchel, producing a sealed document. "I have a commission for you from Lord Kaz'Turoth of New Solas."
I recognize the seal immediately—one of the wealthiest merchants in the xaphan territories, known for paying extremely well. In my previous life, I'd have snatched the scroll without hesitation.
"What's the bounty?" I ask, not reaching for it.
The courier looks relieved to stick to familiar territory. "A smuggler who's stolen several artifacts from Lord Kaz'Turoth's private collection. He's believed to be hiding in Vesnios among the gorgons." He clears his throat. "The payment is fifteen novas upon delivery, dead or alive."
My eyebrows rise despite myself. Fifteen novas is enough to live comfortably for several years. Before Trinity, before the twins, I'd have been packed and halfway to Vesnios by morning.
The sound of soft humming drifts down the hallway—Trinity singing the lullaby she reserves for the girls. The one she claims she made up on the spot but I know she practiced for weeks when she thought I wasn't listening.
"I appreciate the offer," I say, straightening to my full height, "but I'm not available for hire right now."
The courier blinks, clearly thrown. "But... Lord Kaz'Turoth specifically requested you. Your tracking skills are unparalleled across?—"
"I'm aware of my reputation," I cut him off, not unkindly. "But my priorities have shifted. I have young children and a mate who need me here."
"The lord is prepared to offer twenty novas," he tries, desperation creeping into his voice.
I shake my head. "There's no sum that would take me across the continent right now. But—" I hold up a hand as his face falls, "—I can recommend someone nearly as good."
Relief flashes across his features. "Who?"
"Domno Vrath'Sarrin," I say, picturing my old hunting partner's scarred face. "He's ruthless, efficient, and discreet. Tell him I sent you, and he'll give you fair terms."
"Where can I find this Domno?"
"The Bleeding Heart tavern in Sarziroch. He's there most evenings, corner table with his back to the wall. Mention my name and show him the novas up front."