Page 31 of The Minotaur’s Little Peach

T he firelight dances across Taran's face as he sits cross-legged on the worn rug, his amber eyes—so much like Korrun's—reflecting the flames.

At nine, he's all sharp angles and growing limbs, his voice caught somewhere between boy and young man.

When he laughs, which he does often, it's deeper now, richer, carrying hints of the man he'll become.

Beside him, Cai sprawls on her stomach, chin propped in her hands, dark curls escaping the braid I wove this morning. She's got Daegan's restless energy, always moving, always questioning, but right now she's still, sensing the weight of this moment even if she doesn't understand it yet.

The autumn air seeps through the windows despite the fire's warmth, carrying the scent of dying leaves and the promise of winter.

Our first harvest festival of the season ended just yesterday, the orchard's bounty sold and celebrated, and now the trees stand bare against the darkening sky.

It feels fitting somehow, this moment between seasons, between the life we've built and the truths we're finally ready to share.

Daegan settles into his chair across from me, the leather creaking under his weight.

He's changed over the years too—still lean and quick, still carrying himself with that seafarer's grace, but there's a settledness to him now that wasn't there when he first arrived.

Lines bracket his sea-glass eyes, carved by years of laughter and sun, and his dark hair shows threads of silver at the temples.

He looks like a man who's found exactly where he belongs.

"There's something we want to tell you both," I begin, my hands smoothing over my skirt. The words feel heavy on my tongue, not because they're painful anymore, but because they're important. Sacred, almost. "Something about our family that you should know now that you're old enough to understand."

Taran straightens, his attention sharpening. He's always been perceptive, my eldest, quick to notice when adults are dancing around something significant. Cai rolls onto her side, curling closer to the fire's warmth, but her dark eyes—Daegan's eyes—remain fixed on my face.

"You both know we've told you stories about Uncle Korrun," I continue, glancing at Daegan. He nods encouragingly, his expression gentle but serious. "About how brave he was, how kind. How much he loved his family."

"He was Dad's big brother," Cai pipes up, her voice still carrying that little-girl sweetness despite her seven years. "You said he was a Minotaur trainer in the colosseum!”

"That's right, little sailor," Daegan says, and I catch the slight roughness in his voice that always appears when we talk about Korrun.

Not grief, not anymore, but something deeper.

Love and loss and acceptance all tangled together.

"He wrote me letters about a lot of things.

But mostly, he wrote about how excited he was to be a father. "

Taran's brow furrows, that serious expression he gets when he's working through a problem. "But I thought you said he died before we were born?"

I take a breath, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves that always comes when I'm about to say something that might change everything. But these are my children, and they deserve the truth. They deserve to know their history, all of it.

"He did die before you were born, sweetheart," I tell Taran gently. "But he didn't die before I got pregnant with you. Korrun was your father, Taran. Your biological father."

The words settle into the space between us like stones dropped into still water, creating ripples I can't predict or control. Taran blinks, his mouth opening slightly, and I watch him process this information with the careful attention he brings to everything.

"Korrun was my father?" he repeats slowly, testing the words. "But Dad is my father too."

"Yes," Daegan says firmly, leaning forward in his chair.

"I am your father, Taran. In every way that matters.

I've been your father since the day you were born, and I'll be your father until the day I die.

But Korrun—my brother—he was the one who helped create you. Who loved you before you even existed."

I watch my son's face, searching for signs of confusion or hurt or anger, but all I see is curiosity and a kind of wonder. He's always been resilient, my Taran, able to adapt to new information without letting it shake his foundation.

"So Uncle Korrun was really my birth father," he says, nodding slowly. "And you're my... raising father?"

The simple distinction makes my chest tight with love for this boy who can take something complicated and find a way to make it fit into his understanding of the world.

"Something like that," Daegan agrees, his voice warm with pride and affection. "Your Uncle Korrun gave you life, but I got the privilege of watching you grow up. Of teaching you to tie knots and tend the orchard and make your mother laugh when she's having a difficult day."

Cai has gone very quiet beside me, her dark eyes moving between her father and brother. I can see the wheels turning in her quick mind, trying to understand what this means for her place in our family.

"What about me?" she asks finally, her voice smaller than usual. "Is Uncle Korrun my father too?"

"No, sweetheart," I tell her, reaching down to stroke her wild curls. "Your father is your dad, just like you've always known. You and Taran are brother and sister, but you have different birth fathers."

She considers this for a moment, then shrugs with the easy acceptance of childhood. "Okay. But we're still a family, right? All of us together?"

"Always," Daegan and I say at the same time, and the certainty in our voices makes both children smile.

Taran is quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. When he finally speaks, his voice carries a maturity that sometimes catches me off guard.

"Can you tell me more about him? About Korrun? About what he was like?"

My heart clenches with love for this boy who wants to know his history, who's brave enough to ask for stories about a father he'll never meet but who loved him completely.

"He was stubborn," Daegan says with a laugh that holds no pain anymore, only fondness. "Stubborn as a taura and twice as protective. He could never back down from a fight, especially if someone he cared about was threatened."

"Sounds familiar," I murmur, glancing pointedly at Taran, who has the grace to look sheepish. Just last week, he'd gotten into trouble at the market for defending a younger boy from some bullies.

"He was gentle too," I add, my voice soft with memory. "So careful with things that were precious to him. He used to worry that his hands were too big, too rough, but they were perfect for taking care of others. For helping with the trees when we planted the orchard together."

"Did he want me?" Taran asks, and the vulnerability in the question makes my throat tight.

"Oh, sweetheart," I breathe, reaching for his hand. "He wanted you more than anything in the world. He used to talk to you when you were still in my belly, telling you stories about the places he'd been. He had so many plans for when you were born, so many things he wanted to teach you."

"He would have loved you fiercely," Daegan adds, his voice steady and sure. "Just like I do. Just like your mother does. Just like he loved all of us."

Cai pushes herself up and crawls into my lap, settling against my chest with the boneless trust of a child who has never doubted her place in the world. Her warmth seeps through my dress, solid and real and infinitely precious.

"I'm glad Uncle Korrun was Taran's first father," she announces with the matter-of-fact wisdom that children sometimes possess. "Because that means Taran has extra love. And I'm glad Dad is both our father now, because that means we're really family."

Taran nods thoughtfully, then looks at Daegan with those amber eyes that carry traces of a man he'll never meet but whose love shaped his very existence.

"Will you tell me more stories about him? About Uncle Korrun?"

"As many as you want," Daegan promises. "Every letter he wrote, every memory I have. He was your father first, Taran, and he deserves to be remembered. To be part of who you become."

The fire crackles and settles, sending sparks up the chimney as the autumn wind rattles the windows. But inside our small home, wrapped in warmth and truth and the unshakeable certainty of our love for each other, everything feels exactly as it should be.

I catch Daegan's gaze across the hearth, seeing my own contentment reflected in his sea-glass eyes.

There is no grief there anymore, no shadow of loss or uncertainty.

Only love—deep, steady, and enduring. Only gratitude for the life we've built together, for the children who call us home, for the quiet miracle of finding happiness in the most unexpected places.

And I'd never take any of it for granted. Not when I've been far more blessed than I ever deserved.