Page 47 of Returned to the Vissigroth (The Vissigroths of Leander #6)

W e left soon after breakfast. We still had a full day's ride ahead of us to reach Bantahar, but the time passed quickly.

I rode beside Thalia and Oksana, the three of us cloaked in sunshine and dust, exchanging stories and jokes as the landscape shifted from rocky terrain to gentler hills of blue-leafed trees and yellow grasses.

The air smelled of warm spice and sun-baked stone.

It was the most peaceful stretch of road I'd experienced since my return.

“Wait until you see them,” Thalia said, her eyes already soft with anticipation. “Kaelric and Vaelen—gods, they’re wild. Darryck says he’s raising warriors. I think they’re raising him. ”

Oksana snorted. “Last time I saw them, one had a stick in each hand and was threatening to duel Myccael for the last honey cake. And the other was eating said cake behind his brother’s back.”

“They’re two and a half,” Thalia added, laughter slipping into her voice. “But they act like they’re twice that. And Zara—my little Zara—she’s just starting to babble.”

Something about the way she said their names, the joy layered with awe and disbelief, made my chest ache in a good way. Like this life she’d built still surprised her with its beauty.

“They're waiting for you?” I asked.

“Zyn,” she nodded. “Obviously, they’ve never met you, but they’ve heard your name. Kaelric already tried to name the moon after you once. He insists Daphee is a warrior word.”

I laughed to disguise the ache in my chest. An ache of longing. I couldn't wait to meet all three of them. My grandkids. I still had a hard time getting used to the idea of me being a grandma. I didn't feel a day over thirty. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

As the sun began its slow descent behind the ridge and the first moon became visible in the sky, the silhouette of Bantahar appeared on the horizon.

At first, it shimmered like a mirage, low golden domes, latticed towers, and tiered terraces spilling down the hillside like a layered cloak.

The buildings caught the amber light and glowed as though lit from within.

The closer we came, the more the city revealed itself, unfolding like a sacred tapestry.

A wide moat of steaming quagmire circled the entire outer wall, releasing thin ribbons of mist that curled into the sky like breathing dragons.

The scent of minerals and heat clung to the air.

It looked natural, protective, but also quietly ominous.

A massive drawbridge spanned the moat at the main gate, its stone slats reinforced with metal and etched with old warding sigils.

The outer gates loomed ahead, flanked by colossal pillars carved with the sigils of the dragon god.

Above them, ornate banners rippled in the wind, proclaiming the presence of several houses.

The House of the Icelands, Darryck's, and Hoerst’s were among several others.

The gathering of vissigroths had already begun.

Myccael must have issued the summons before leaving camp.

White stone buildings with turquoise-tiled roofs gleamed in the fading light.

Walkways were lined with flutes of glowing glass, casting long shadows across the cobblestones.

I caught glimpses of children darting between columns, their laughter echoing, and elders seated beneath arched pavilions, watching the road with quiet, knowing eyes.

“I’ve never seen a city like this,” I said quietly.

“Because there isn’t one,” Oksana said. “Bantahar wasn’t just built. It was forged . ”

“And now,” Thalia added, her hand brushing mine, “you’re coming home to it.”

We crossed the drawbridge slowly, and the nictas’ hooves echoed against the stone, rhythmic and grounding.

Steam from the moat curled upward in delicate threads, casting ghostly wisps into the cooling air.

The gates of Bantahar stood tall before us, colossal, immovable, yet somehow welcoming, as though they'd been waiting all this time to open just for me.

As we passed beneath the archway, people began to appear, first in ones and twos along the glowing walkways, then dozens more, spilling out onto the stepped terraces and balconies. Heads turned. Voices hushed. A wave of awareness swept the crowd like wind through a field.

Whispers floated through the air.

“Is it really her?”

“It can’t be…”

“Vissy Daphne.”

The first voice spoke my name in disbelief.

The second in wonder.

The third—louder—rang out with certainty.

“Vissy Daphne!”

And then came a surge. Voices lifted in unison, calling my name over and over, a chant rising with impossible speed. It wasn’t rehearsed, but it was powerful. The city remembered.

“Vissy Daphne!”

They were cheering. For me .

I reeled under the weight of it: joy, disbelief, grief, awe. My chest ached with it, as if my body didn’t know how to contain this kind of welcome. It felt too big. Too sacred. Too real.

A figure emerged beside me. I didn’t need to look to know it was him: Mallack.

He rode up quietly, regal and steady, the way only he could be when everything around us was trembling with emotion. His mount slowed to match mine, and without hesitation, he stretched out his hand. I reached back for it.

His fingers wrapped around mine with familiar strength, warm and reassuring. Our palms met like puzzle pieces that had been waiting too long to be whole.

“They’re welcoming you home, my vissy,” he said, his voice low, raw, proud.

I turned my head and met his gaze. His smile was quiet but radiant, carved from devotion and battle and something eternal. The kind of smile that only came from surviving the impossible.

All around us, people gathered, children sat on shoulders, elders with their hands clasped to their chests, warriors standing at attention but blinking back tears. Banners waved, drums began to beat in the deeper layers of the city, and still the chorus rose.

“Vissy Daphne.”

The chorus rose again, louder, swelling like a wave rolling through the city’s bones.

I scanned the crowd beyond the gates, and there, standing atop the marble stairs that led to the palace, stood several vissigroths.

Next to one of them stood a stunning human seffy, who smiled benignly at me.

Mallack squeezed my hand, as if sensing I was getting overwhelmed.

"Vissy Daphne, it's an honor to see you again," another vissigroth said, the first to approach me.

" Vissigroth Byron," Mallack replied, sparing me the embarrassment of not recognizing the male. With a flourished bow, Byron took my hand and kissed it.

Others moved forward, but Mallack steered me unfailingly forward until we were at least inside the large antechamber.

Before I had time to take in its splendor, I was assaulted with a flurry of introductions.

Myles, the Vissigroth of Oceanus, and his human vissy, Niara.

Garwayn, also mated to a human, Brynn. Duncayn the Vissigroth of Marsh, and so many more, I knew I wouldn't be able to remember.

“Come on, let’s go meet your grandkids,” Thalia said, grasping my free hand.

Without mercy—or a single backward glance—she pulled me up one of the stairways, dragging me away from the grand assembly of vissigroths and their mates.

I tossed a helpless, apologetic look over my shoulder at the dignitaries I hadn’t yet greeted, but Thalia was relentless. I had no choice but to follow her.

Mallack trailed close behind, a quiet force at my back.

Darryck stayed behind, offering bows and calm words to smooth over the diplomatic wake we were leaving in our path. He didn’t look the least bit bothered. If anything, he looked amused.

We moved through wide hallways lined with polished stone and sculpted archways. Everything smelled faintly of cedar and warmed spices. The scent curled around my lungs like memory and home, long forgotten, yet known just the same.

Thalia’s chambers were on the second floor, just off a large sun gallery. She pushed the door open without knocking.

“Boys?” she called.

From inside, I heard a thud, a clatter, and what sounded like a startled squawk from someone decidedly not a child.

“Careful, Zara's napping,” a seffy hissed as we entered.

Two small figures appeared from behind a tall tapestry, wide-eyed, disheveled, and vaguely suspicious. They had their mother’s eyes. One of them had a feather sticking out of his hair.

“Who’s that?” the taller one asked, pointing at me bluntly.

“She looks like a lady,” the other whispered, not very quietly.

Thalia smiled. “This is your grandmother. Daphne.”

They stared at me.

I stared at them.

Then, without thinking, I dropped to my knees, eye level with both.

“Hi,” I said softly, my voice catching.

They didn’t rush me. They didn’t squeal or shout. They just walked forward slowly, cautiously, the way children do when something feels big but not frightening. The taller one—Vaelen, I thought I remembered Thalia saying—touched my arm with his fingertips.

“You don’t look like a grandma,” he said seriously.

“I get that a lot,” I whispered, blinking hard.

Kaelric tilted his head. “Can we hug you?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

They moved as one, two warm little bodies pressing into my arms. I wrapped them both close, burying my face in their hair. They smelled like sunshine and grass. My heart cracked open and spilled all over the polished floor.

Then, just as quickly, they squirmed free, because they’d spotted someone even more interesting behind me.

“Grandfather!” they cried in unison.

Before Mallack could brace himself, both boys lunged at his legs. He staggered dramatically back half a step with a grunt, catching them against his thighs with practiced hands. His eyes widened briefly, then softened.

“I—” he started, glancing at me with a helpless shrug. “They’ve only seen paintings.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Thalia apologized.

“They're... perfect,” I murmured, watching as Mallack hoisted one boy onto each hip, their arms already draped around his neck like ivy.