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A perfume seems to waft through the whole of Westruun, refreshing like morning dew, like a breeze of the coast. Or maybe it’s just that the city is void of the grit of the mines of Kymal, the sands of Ank’Harel, that Kaylie’s body is unnerved by truly clean air, and it works harder just to breathe, unsure of what do when there is no extra filth needed to be filtered of her.
Or maybe Kaylie is just being a little dramatic. Visiting her dad has gotten easier, but the doubts never leave her completely, particularly on this one stretch of road before cresting the hill.
What if he’s left again?
What if he died?
Did they fight last time? What were his last memories of her?
If that’s the case, what will her last memories of him be?
She spits in the dirt, hefting her pack on her shoulders; her fiddle case bumping into the back of her thighs. Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder is a liar. Absence, in Kaylie’s experience, makes you hate someone, and when they’re no longer absent, you learn how to love them, which is nice, until you nearly worry yourself out of your mind because of them.
She presses her hands to her head and squeezes her eyes shut tight, feeling her new haircut, an ombre of peach and cinnamon, long enough on top where she has her outgrown bangs back with a band of leather, buzzed short on the sides. She breathes the obnoxiously clean air, and jogs up and over the hill.
“Strongjaw!” Her legs carry her down the path, outpacing her anxious thoughts. Grog sits outside of the cottage in the garden, somehow nimbly weaving together weeds in his massive fingers. “What the hell are you outside for? You’re not a dog.”
“Muscles! Look at you!” Grog grins, knocking his knuckle against her extended fist. “S’my choice.” He inclines his head towards the house. “Can’t be squishing the babies.”
“Fair enough.” She thumps his shin. “Let me say hi to Pike and my old man, okay? Then maybe we can spar a little, away from the babies.” Grog whoops his approval.
“Don’t tell Scanlan, but you’re my favorite of his.”
“And what should I tell Pike?”
“Well—” Grog frowns, verging on a pout. He tries to make his voice as delicate as possible. “You’re not one of Pike’s kiddos.”
“I know, I know.” She teases, and continues along; she nearly lets the weight of her pack topple her over when she, prepared to knock, is caught by Pike in the entryway. Pike, holding a dark-haired infant to her chest, effortlessly beautiful with her white hair curled into twin buns, even when one side has started to unspool, the apples of her cheeks pink, her eyes, though lightly bruised underneath, are that brilliant shade of blue, already starting to crinkle at the edges when she smiles at Kaylie.
“...Hi.”
“Hi, Kaylie,” Pike beams, folding her into a hug with one arm; Kaylie tries to return the gesture, genuinely, though she’s incredibly aware of the tiny baby being pincered between them. “Welcome home.” Kaylie sighs, and relaxes against Pike, the weight of everything dropping away.
“Thanks for making it feel like one.”
She jumps when the baby wriggles.
“Sorry! Sorry,” She breathes, hands held up in apology. They’re just so…tiny.”
“Yeah.” Pike kisses her baby’s head, like she could marvel at the creature uninterrupted for hours, before taking Kaylie’s hand, her voice laden with sweetness. “Come inside before her brother tries to escape, please.”
“Huh?”
Kaylie barely has time to process the sentence before being swept indoors, Pike latching the lock behind her. At once, she understands—there is a small, platinum-blond haired child in a shirt and diaper toddling towards her on step by step on chubby legs, arms outstretched to steady himself—though they are separated by a barrier, wood covered by cloth, that stands between the tiles of the kitchen and the central carpeted room he is contained in.
“So anything hard, any weapons, coins have to stay in your room, but the kitchen is fine for now.” Pike lists the items off, trying not to sound harried. “Um, what else. We have a guest room upstairs, though I can’t guarantee you’ll sleep through the night, because of,” She touches her chin to the baby’s head on her shoulder. “primarily this one. She’s been getting better, but sometimes she sets her brother off, so.” Pike waves her hand. “Grog has made his own place in the barn, and it’s actually pretty cozy! His snoring is probably easier to sleep through. There are cats. We have options!”
“Yeah, no worries. You know I’ve spent plenty of time sleeping above taverns, so…” Kaylie swallows. “My letter arrived in time, right? Please tell me I’m not totally barging in unannounced.”
“Oh, no, it arrived in time! It’s just, well, with two kids, and with everyone being busy…we’re a little out of practice when it comes to hosting guests.” Pike answers, a tiny bit breathless.
Kaylie is about to ask where the hell her dad is when the toddler on the other side of the room stumbles and sits down hard. “Oh, buddy,” Pike coos, right before the baby looks at them with glassy, ocean-blue eyes, the whole of him wobbling with the threat of a wail. Pike opens the gate, offering the baby in her arms to Kaylie out of instinct; Kaylie is standing there, and probably looks as helpless as she feels. She starts shucking her belongings, boots, bracers, and Pike calls up the stairs.
“Scanlan!” A beat. “They have your lungs!”
“Coming, I’m coming!” comes the response, and footsteps, quicker than Kaylie would have anticipated. Scanlan rushes downstairs, taking the proffered baby from Pike’s arms into his own with ease, his hair a little wild, eyes similarly bruised with a lack of sleep. “What’s up?”
“Will fell, and Junie’s practically dozing, I just—try to keep her calm?” Pike scoops their child up from the floor, cooing and murmuring to him; Scanlan rocks the baby in his arms, and starts to croon:
Junie, my Juniper, my babe born in summer / your eyes, like those berries, so beautiful in color
Kaylie can’t help but feel a pang; that should have been—that could have been her, she corrects herself. She can picture it, but it’s vague, like looking through water. Scanlan wouldn’t have been mature enough to handle it. She’s made her peace with him; she would have rearranged his guts if he had left them after she was born.
Both of the parents’ shoulders sag with relief when the threat of their children’s sonic boom seems to pass; Kaylie exhales the breath she was holding. Scanlan’s head snaps up.
“Oh, hey!”
Kaylie lifts a hand.
“Don’t be a stranger.” He jerks his head at her. “Come meet your siblings.”
“It kind of feels weird to call them that,” Kaylie ekes out, squeezing herself through the tiniest possible gap she can make in the baby gate. “I can’t believe you named one of your kids Wilhand, plus a few more letters. Kids are gonna get smart one day and start calling him Willy, or Handy—”
“It’s a family name!” Scanlan protests, then winces at his own pitch.
“There’s Ian, or Danny…but lately we just call him Wild, because he’s a little monsta!” Pike gnashes her teeth and tickles the toddler, who giggles and kicks his feet.” And it is a family name, on my side.” Kaylie jabs a finger in Scanlan’s direction.
“He’s why I’m like this.”
“Well, yes,” Scanlan acknowledges, making his way down the last few steps, slipping past another gate at the stairs. “But you’re an adult making an inappropriate joke; the kids have to think of it first. And being raised in this house, he’ll either have a killer comeback prepared, or he’ll kill them with kindness.” He bumps Kaylie’s shoulder with his own. “Do you want to hold your sister?”
His eyebrows are so eagerly raised, and he’s so goddamn proud. Kaylie’s voice is barely above a whisper.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just—”
“It’s okay,” He reassures her, his palm planted firmly on her back, guiding her to sit down. She tries to not lean too far back into the fabric, her tunic still damp with sweat from her travels. “Your fiddle probably weighs more than her. Just put your arms like this, almost like you’re holding a mandolin, make sure to support her neck, and…” Scanlan steps away with a flourish. “Magic.”
“...I can feel you using Mage Hand. Wait!” Her voice wavers. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”
She holds her sister. Juniper. It’s a good name. Both of them have great names. She wants to spoil the wild one next; she kind of never wants to let go, and thinks, maybe, this is how her mom survived without ever hating Scanlan.
“Hey, Pike? Are you allowed to drink yet?”
“Oh, well…I just nursed her, and there’s milk in the cold box for him. This early in the day…I could probably get away with a tankard, if you’re offering.” Kaylie shifts her sister back into Scanlan’s arms.
“Pops. You can watch the homestead for an hour or two while I take your angel here and Grog out for a little enrichment, can’t you?”
“I can,” Scanlan answers. “Though both of us tend to stay at home unless it’s an emergency.” She had expected him to be silently communicating with Pike, but his eyes never left hers.
Fuck. She’s going to break her dad’s heart over a beer.
“...Tomorrow, Pike.” She promises. “Tomorrow will be better. I should bathe and get my room together so I’m not stinking up your whole house.”
“Well, if one of us is tired, I might as well put Junie down for a nap.”
Kaylie gathers up all her belongings, then follows him upstairs. She guesses her bedroom isn’t the one painted in pastel colors, and sets her stuff down in a room that looks like it’s been recently dusted, or at least the sheets have been changed; it’s practically luxury. She shuts the door, and finds her dad watching over Juniper in the master bedroom, his forearms resting along the top of her crib.
“You could’ve used a word better than ‘beautiful’,” Kaylie says, her voice just above a whisper. “Vibrant, maybe?” She leans her head on his shoulder; the wood of the crib doesn’t threaten to creak like she momentarily fears, and she stays there.
“You haven’t even seen her eyes,” Scanlan needles back, and he wriggles an arm out so her cheek mushes into his chest; he combs through her hair. “I can’t say I’m at the top of my improv game these days.”
“Still godly enough to coax your own kid out of a temper tantrum.” She laughs through her nose. “Which is doing wonders for your ego, I bet.”
“Nah, they keep me humble. Like—” Scanlan holds his breath. “You probably looked like her.”
“Dad, don’t.”
“I try not to.” He heaves a sigh. “I’ve just missed you, you know?”
“You made it almost painfully obvious, so yeah, I know.” She blinks hard, and slips her arms around him, giving him a squeeze. “I missed you too. I miss you a lot.” She scrunches her nose. “Almost always. It’s kind of terrible.” He grins.
“How’s the family business?”
“Profitable. I was going to coax you back, but. Things seem nice here. Good for you.”
“I’m still a traveler at heart; give it a few more years. We’ll figure it out.” Scanlan smiles at her. “So am I missing anything else? Boyfriend, girlfriend? Something entirely different?”
“No one I’m going to tell you about.” Kaylie snorts. “Yet.”
“Yet.” Scanlan raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I have something for you!” Kaylie follows him as he pads lightly to the nursery, ruffling around in a pile of plush toys until he pulls out a scroll of parchment. “Noise-wise, I can only really sing and play guitar lately, and I know you’re old enough to write your own songs, but when we got your letter…I whipped up a little something for the flute. You probably don’t need it, but. In case you need some new material for the road.” Kaylie unrolls the first part of the scroll to read the notes; she lets it roll back up, saving the rest for later.
“Damn it, Dad.” She sniffs. “You’re going to make all of your kids cry.”
“I can only make you cry. The other two can’t help it.”
“Ass.”
“I know.”
“Love you.”
“And I’m going to make you cry.” Scanlan pulls her into his arms. “Pike’s probably already told Grog to draw up that bath for you, so, enjoy it, okay? You stink.”
In the tub, Kaylie pulls the parchment out of her pile of dirty clothes. She sinks down into the steaming water, and starts to whistle.