"Where—" Heidi starts to speak, but I cut her off with a look.
"Save your breath. You'll need it for screaming later." Something I'm sure she'll do plenty of when she starts cursing me.
Her mouth snaps shut, but the fire in her eyes burns brighter. Good. Anger I can work with. Fear makes people unpredictable.
The guest room door stands open, revealing a space I haven't thought about in months. Dark wood furniture, deep burgundy curtains, a fireplace that hasn't seen use since the last time I entertained business associates who required overnight accommodations. It's comfortable enough without being welcoming—exactly what I need for an unwanted houseguest.
I deposit Heidi in the center of the room with less ceremony than I used to carry her up here. She stumbles slightly as her feet hit the carpet, catching herself against the foot of the bed before whirling to face me with murder in her expression.
"You can't just?—"
"Stay put." The words are sharp, edged with the authority I use to run Vestige and everything else in my life that requires absolute obedience. "Don't test me tonight, little thief. I'm not in the mood for games."
She opens her mouth to argue, but I'm already moving toward the door. My hand hovers over the handle as I reach for the magic woven into this house's foundation, calling up wards I haven't used since Irida was a toddler prone to midnight wandering.
Golden fire flows from my fingers into the door frame, sealing the wood with magic that will hold against anything short of another xaphan's power. The lock engages with a soft click that sounds like a death knell in the quiet room.
"Let me out!" Heidi's voice rises to something close to panic as she realizes what I've done. Her fists pound against the door, the sound muffled by the ward's dampening effect. "You can't keep me here!"
And now the screaming has begun.
What she doesn't understand is that I can keep her here. I will. At least until I figure out what the hell the gods want from this impossible situation.
"Thera," I call as I descend the stairs, knowing my voice will carry through the house's acoustics to wherever the cook has stationed herself. "Post one of the guards on the second floor. The... guest... is not to leave her room."
"Understood." Thera's response comes from the direction of the kitchen, professionally neutral despite whatever questions she must have about my sudden acquisition of a prisoner. She's been with my household long enough to know when not to ask for explanations.
The familiar scent of smoke and cedar fills my lungs as I make my way through the hall toward Irida's room. My daughter's quarters sit in the house's safest section, surrounded by wards and protective enchantments that would make a temple jealous. Nothing gets to her without going through me first.
Which is exactly how I prefer it.
I ease her door open, moving with the careful quiet I've perfected over six years of late-night returns from Vestige. The amber lighting dims automatically as I enter, responding to my presence with magic keyed to recognize when stealth is required.
Irida lies curled in her carved wooden bed, one small hand clutching the stuffed fire-likar I commissioned from a Nashai craftsman for her fourth birthday. Her dark curls spill across the pillow like spilled ink, and her tiny wings are folded neatly against her back even in sleep. The sight of her—safe, warm, completely trusting in my ability to protect her—settles something restless in my chest.
This is why I do everything I do. Why I built Vestige into an empire, why I maintain carefully balanced alliances withcreatures that could destroy New Solas if the mood struck them, why I carry weapons even in my own home. All of it serves one purpose: keeping my daughter safe in a world that would devour her innocence without a second thought.
Her eyes flutter open as I approach the bed, molten gold brightening as she recognizes my familiar silhouette in the dim light.
"Dad?" Her voice carries the sleepy confusion of a child woken from peaceful dreams. "You're home."
"I'm home, little flame." I perch carefully on the edge of her bed, mindful of my weight on the delicate frame. "Go back to sleep."
Instead of obeying, she pushes herself upright and reaches for me with both arms extended. The universal gesture of a child who wants to be held, as irresistible now as it was when she was barely walking.
I gather her against my chest, her small body fitting perfectly in the space between my arms. She's warm the way all xaphan children are warm, her natural heat complementing mine until we're wrapped in our own private sanctuary of comfort.
"Did you have meetings tonight?" she asks, her voice muffled against my shirt.
"Some meetings, yes." I smooth her curls back from her face, marveling as I always do at how something so perfect came from the wreckage of my previous life. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"I'm not worried." She pulls back enough to look at me with eyes that mirror my own, serious beyond her years despite the childish roundness of her face. "You always come home."
The simple faith in her voice hits harder than any blade. She has no idea how many enemies circle our family like predators, how many nights I've returned with blood under my fingernails and death clinging to my clothes. To her, I'm simply her dad—the one who makes her favorite breakfast, reads bedtime stories, and ensures her world remains bright enough to chase away any shadows.
"Will you stay for a little while?" she asks, settling back against my chest with the easy presumption of a child who has never been denied anything she truly wanted. "Please? I had the flying dream again."
"The one where you're racing the Black Pitters?" I know all her dreams by now, catalogued and categorized like everything else important in my life.
