Chapter 141 – Suspicious
(Lyra POV)
How.
How does a man go from "terrifying warlord, emotional disaster, occasional headpat dispenser" to "this is my daughter, call her Nyxa Milton" in under ten seconds.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling for a full minute after breakfast, replaying it.
His voice. Calm. Certain. No hesitation.
My daughter.
Nyxa Milton.
Adult woman. Veil. Weird aura. Clings to him like she's known him for years.
No pregnancy. No timeline. No explanation. Just boom: instant family.
Absolutely not.
I swung my legs off the bed, grabbed my cloak, and went looking for the only other person as terminally obsessed with him as me.
Julia.
I found her in her office, surrounded by reports, ink stains, and the kind of controlled tension that said she'd been holding it together with spreadsheets and spite.
"Julia," I said, shutting the door behind me.
She didn't look up.
"Lyra," she replied. "Unless the building is on fire, it can wait until I've finished recalculating the grain—"
"Do you think he's under mind control?" I blurted.
Her pen froze.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to mine.
"…Explain," she said.
"Nyxa," I said. "The Witch. Yesterday. 'She's my daughter. Call her Nyxa Milton.'" I mimicked his voice badly. "He's never even hinted at something like that before. Adult girl. Clinging. Instant family. Mind magic. It has to be."
Her expression pinched. For a second, hope flared in me—maybe we were on the same page.
Then she sighed.
"No," she said. "It's impossible."
"You're not even considering it," I protested.
"I did," she snapped. "For one heartbeat. Then I remembered who we're talking about."
Julia set the pen down with careful precision.
"His mental fortitude," she said, slipping into report-voice, "is stronger than anything I've seen. Mind-healers in the Academy tried to probe him and nearly broke themselves. Compulsion bounces off him. Charm doesn't stick. Illusions slide. If she attempted to rewrite him, I'd be more worried for her."
That… tracked.
I hated that it tracked.
"So you're saying he's sober and still said 'daughter'?" I asked.
"Yes."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
"This is worse," I muttered.
She exhaled slowly.
"It means there's context we don't have," she said. "Yet. And until we do, we proceed on the assumption that his judgment is intact."
"Even when it makes us feel like we've been replaced?" slipped out before I could stop it.
Something flickered in her eyes.
"We are not being replaced," she said. "We are being… reorganized."
"By who?"
She hesitated.
"Fate," she said eventually. "Him. The universe. Take your pick."
Great.
My least favorite trio.
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"We watch," Julia said. "We evaluate. We protect him if she turns out to be a threat. And in the meantime…" Her mouth flattened. "We treat her as what he called her."
"…Nyxa Milton," I said quietly.
The name felt heavy in my mouth.
"Exactly," Julia said. "We start there."
I left her office feeling only slightly less murderous and a lot more confused.
Mind magic would've been easier.
***
(Tamara)
Marion had been in a mood ever since Nyxa appeared.
We were in one of the inner courtyards, the "relaxation" space that mostly got used for light sparring and pretending we weren't all edge cases waiting to snap.
Today's entertainment: Marion and Nyxa trying to kill each other for fun.
"Well?" Marion said, shaking her arms out. "Again?"
She was grinning that feral grin that meant she was having a great time and also might accidentally rip someone's throat out.
Nyxa rolled her shoulders, veil loose, hair pulled up, simple training clothes instead of the usual Witch aesthetic. Up close, she looked… normal.
Right up until you looked at the shadows.
They didn't match her.
"Your footwork is trash," Nyxa said. "If I go again, I'm going to have to start charging for lessons."
"Oh no," Marion said, pressing a hand to her chest in fake distress. "Whatever will I do, the Witch wants money. I'm trembling."
"You should be," Nyxa replied. "You keep leading with your chin. One day someone less fond of you is going to remove it."
We'd started with wooden practice blades.
That had lasted about three minutes before Nyxa got bored and asked, very politely, if she could "use something closer to reality."
Now Marion had both her short swords out, and Nyxa fought with… nothing visible.
No weapon I could see.
Just little flicks of her fingers and the occasional lash of something that made the air twitch, like the world was being pinched.
Steel clanged. Marion lunged, spun, bounded off a low wall with a cackle. Nyxa ducked, stepped sideways in a way that didn't quite respect normal physics, and almost let Marion eat stone before catching her by the back of the shirt with a single hand.
"Careful," Nyxa said mildly. "You break your nose, Erynd's going to make me fill out reports."
"He already does," Marion laughed, twisting out of the grip. "He calls them 'incident logs.' I call them 'proof I had fun.'"
I sat on the edge of a planter, chin on my fist, watching them dance.
"You like her," I said when Marion staggered back toward me during a brief pause, sweat running down her temple.
Marion gulped water from a skin, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"She's insane," she said. "She fights like a glitch, Tamara. Like the world gets confused about where her body is. It's great."
"That's not an answer."
Marion shrugged.
"She's fun," she said. Then, lower: "And… I think she makes him less haunted."
That shut me up.
Nyxa sauntered over, not even breathing hard.
"Are you done pretending you have stamina?" she asked Marion.
"Round three," Marion shot back. "Unless you're tired, Nyxa Milton."
Nyxa's eye twitched at the full name, but she didn't deny it.
"Tired of bad technique," she said. "Not of hitting you."
She glanced at me.
"You want in?"
"Nope," I said cheerfully. "I like my organs where they are, thanks."
Nyxa snorted.
"Coward."
"Correct."
I watched them go back at it.
Two adult women beating the hell out of each other in the courtyard of a secret rebel organization, laughing like kids in a schoolyard.
The world was ending in slow motion and somehow this felt… right.
"Do you wanna eat this later?" I called when they finally called a truce, tossing Nyxa one of the wrapped buns I'd brought. "Cook put extra spice in them."
Nyxa caught it one-handed without looking.
Sniffed it.
Bit.
Her eyes went bright.
"Oh," she said. "That's good."
Marion grinned.
"Right?"
"Fine," Nyxa said. "You both get to live another day."
She turned away quickly, like the food offended her by being good.
I pretended not to notice the tiny smile.
***
(Noelle)
Nyxa made the hairs on my arms stand up.
Not in a "this person is evil" way.
More like standing too close to a storm.
You can feel power around Erynd, but it's… structured. Contained.
Around Nyxa, reality feels slightly… out of tune.
I watched her from the side of the chapel room while I lit candles, half-listening to the younger agents whispering prayers they weren't sure they believed in.
Nyxa stood near the back, hands in her pockets, head tilted as if she were listening to someone else entirely.
Vastriel's statue looked very calm about it.
I wasn't.
She must have felt me staring, because her eyes flicked over.
We held each other's gaze for a moment.
Then she shrugged, as if to say: Yes? Can I help you with something, priestess?
My heart did a weird little jump.
I forced my feet to move.
"Hello," I said, stopping a polite distance away.
"Hello," she replied.
Up close, she seemed younger and older at once. There was something ancient behind her eyes, but the way she shifted her weight screamed nineteen.
"I'm Noelle," I said. "You probably knew that already."
"Father talked about you," she said simply. "You cry a lot and pray loudly. In a good way."
Heat rushed to my face.
"I— He— That's not—" I sputtered.
Her mouth curved.
"Relax," she said. "He likes it. Says you make him feel like he's not crazy for caring."
That shut me up.
I fidgeted with a candle.
"I…" I took a breath. "I wanted to say… if he trusts you, I'll trust you. Even if I don't fully understand you yet."
Nyxa's expression flickered.
Something soft and startled crossed it.
"That's… fast," she said.
I shook my head.
"It's not," I said. "He almost died killing an Old God. He came back with you. He called you daughter. That means something. To him. So it has to mean something to me too."
The words echoed in my own chest.
Daughter.
If she was his daughter…
…then what did that make me?
My face burned hotter.
Oh gods.
Mother?
I could barely keep my own emotions sorted. A mother to an eldritch witch was…
Nyxa's brow furrowed.
"You're making a very complicated expression," she observed.
"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Just… adjusting."
Her gaze lingered on me another heartbeat.
Then she nodded, once.
"Thank you," she said. Quiet. Sincere. "For trusting him. Even when it makes your life more difficult."
I almost laughed.
"That's just loving him," I said. "It's always difficult."
She huffed.
"Tell me about it."
We stood there in companionable awkwardness for a moment.
Then she added, almost too soft to hear:
"If it helps… I don't want to take anything from you. I just… want to stay."
Something in my heart loosened.
"Then stay," I said. "We'll figure the rest out."
Vastriel's statue looked very approving.
I pretended that didn't make me feel any weirder.
***
(Julia)
Dinner was warfare.
Always had been.
Too many strong personalities around one table, too much shared history, not enough chairs between us and meltdown.
I'd learned to treat it like any battlefield: control information, control tempo, control myself.
Tonight, none of that was working.
Because Nyxa Milton was sitting on his lap.
Again.
At the head of the table.
Like she'd grown there.
I would have called it indecent if there wasn't absolutely nothing sexual in the way they sat. It was worse. It was… familiar.
She leaned back against his chest, legs tucked to one side, veil off. Erynd's left arm rested around her middle, relaxed, his other hand occupied with the spoon and small bowl of something rich and dark.
"This is intolerable," Lyra muttered under her breath to my left.
"Eat your food," I murmured back.
"I am eating my rage," she hissed.
Across the table, Noelle was trying to look calm and achieving something closer to "quietly melting down." Tamara was watching the whole thing like it was her favorite play. Edward and Yara had the shell-shocked expressions of people who'd walked into the wrong theater.
Erynd held up the spoon.
"Nyxa," he said. "Say ah."
She opened her mouth without shame.
"Ahhh."
He fed her.
She chewed, eyes drifting shut in pleasure.
"That," she said, "is very good. What is it?"
"Kurma sauce," he replied, sounding faintly smug. "Took a long time to get the spices right. It's expensive, so don't waste it."
He reached up and patted her head.
Something in my chest clenched hard enough I nearly snapped my pen.
Down the table, I saw Tamara's hand twitch up to touch her own hair, then stop halfway, like she'd remembered herself. Noelle's fingers drifted to her own crown, hesitated, lowered. Lyra glared at Erynd's hand like she wanted to bite it.
We were pathetic.
We were very, very in love.
Nyxa swallowed, then made a satisfied little sound.
"More gimme more," she demanded.
"Greedy," he said. But he was smiling as he gave her another spoonful.
I wanted that too.
The headpat.
The casual attention.
The way he looked at her like she was his responsibility and his relief at the same time.
Problem: I was Jarl of Administration, not a child.
Worse problem: I suddenly wasn't sure the roles were as separate as I'd convinced myself.
Erynd glanced down the table.
"Julia," he said.
My spine straightened automatically.
"Yes, my Lord?"
He raised the spoon toward me this time.
"Try," he said.
It took an embarrassing half-second for my brain to catch up to what was happening.
Then I leaned forward, careful, and accepted the bite.
Heat bloomed on my tongue, complex and sharp.
"It's good," I said, unable to keep the genuine approval out of my voice.
His mouth quirked.
"Of course it is," he said. "I made it."
Nyxa snorted.
"Arrogant," she muttered.
"Accurate," I replied before I could stop myself.
The tension at the table cracked.
Tamara laughed openly. Lyra rolled her eyes. Noelle smiled into her cup. Even Edward snorted.
Nyxa relaxed a fraction more against him.
Jealousy didn't leave.
But it changed shape.
Less "intruder," more… "new column on the ledger."
This was a problem I could work with.
Nyxa finished the bowl eventually, eyelids beginning to droop.
Erynd watched her for a moment, then set the spoon down.
"That's enough," he said. "You're falling asleep."
"I'm not," she lied, slurring the word.
"You're drooling," he countered.
She huffed, trying to sit straighter and failing.
He shifted her easily, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.
"Don't stay up too late," he said to the rest of us as he stood. "We start early."
Then he left.
Nyxa's head tucked under his chin, eyes already closing, hand fisted weakly in his shirt.
Silence settled in his wake.
A long, awkward, heavy silence.
Then:
"So," Tamara said. "Anyone else just realize we all want to be parents now, or is that just me?"
Lyra made a strangled noise.
"I am not— I don't— I'm not maternal," she protested.
"You're extremely maternal," Tamara said. "You just express it with knives."
Noelle hid her red face in her hands.
"I thought it for like half a second," she whispered. "Then I panicked."
Edward stared at us like we'd all grown extra heads.
"You're talking about being mothers to a Witch," he said weakly.
"And?" I said.
"And that's insane," he replied.
Yara patted his arm.
"Welcome to Yggdrasil," she said.
I picked up my pen again and, in the margin of my current report, very calmly wrote:
New Household Variable: Nyxa Milton (status: daughter, Witch).
Jarl adaptation required.
I underlined it twice.
Then I closed the file.
"We'll adjust," I said quietly. Mostly to myself.
We always did.
Even when it hurt.
Especially when it was him.