5.3

“Lucian,” she repeated, and she closed her eyes and tugged as hard as she could on a bond that felt like wisps within her mind, that was fluttering and pulsing but not as strong a tether as she had always imagined it might be. “Answer me, please.”

He did turn, then. Eyes full of fire, and she had to work hard not to flinch. “It doesn’t concern you.”

She nearly laughed. A breathless, hysterical bubble of anything but humour. “It sounds like it does.”

“You were quite right, Ellena. I do feel much better.” Oberon smirked at them from over his goblet, and Firen was ready to retreat. Just when she’d made up her mind to do so, Lucian’s hand reached out and grasped hold of her arm. Not hard. Certainly not enough to hurt, but a restraint all the same.

“It is not safe,” Lucian remarked, keeping hold of her but allowing his attention to drift back to his father. “You know this.”

Oberon frowned ever so slightly. “That is your priority? When I am providing a solution to this problem? You should thank me. Should have come to me and told me it was necessary. Not brought that girl into my home, pretending as if she would have a place here.”

Firen stood. Lucian could tug all he liked, but she was going to be sick if she stayed there a moment longer. “I am a woman grown,” she informed the room. Not that any of them cared. “Not a girl. And this talk is as close to blasphemy as ever I’ve heard.”

Bonds were sacred. Perhaps some couples had dared to admit they did not care for their partner, that they wished for another, but she did not know of it. “Please, excuse me.”

“Firen,” Lucian called, and he could continue doing so for all she cared.

She did not run. Her steps were unhurried and her head unbowed. The Maker had brought them together, and to talk of dissolving it, to sever it...

It was an amputation. An abomination.

She did not answer him. Not when it would be choked and surely mocked the moment she left the room.

And they let her go.

He let her go.

And she did not for a moment believe that he would fight for them, fight for her. He would sit and glare and nod when it was appropriate, and she would have to endure...

What exactly?

She could not bear to even indulge in a moment’s consideration of what it might feel like. For as often as she dallied with regrets, to know there would be no one else? That he was gone, living out his days in this wretched place with those horrid people, and find that preferable to the family they might make with one another.

She allowed the door to the dining hall to close behind her, then stood in the central hall feeling as despondent as she ever had. There was nowhere to go. Home, she supposed. With her parents and their understanding. But it made her ache all the more, because they had one another, and loved each other so. While she...

She swiped at her eyes and opened the main door. She did not want the street and the people. Not when they’d look and wonder at her. But she needed out. Needed air, and the skies were hers. They could evidently take much from her, but not that.

There was a niggling thought of the dress she wore. The hair she’d taken such care with, tucked away in Lucian’s bedchamber. Trying to feel pretty and herself, filling her head with fantasies that could not have been further from reality.

She wanted the sea. Wanted to dive and not come up again. Not until these feelings of betrayal were purged out of her. Until she could smile and forgive him, forgive them, and pretend that everything would be all right again.

She did not fly.

She walked instead. For all their talk of finery, there was little land that belonged to them. Da had a bigger lot, where he had his home and his workshop, and room for a garden beside.

They had a courtyard. Walled with yet more stone. Useless, as any could simply fly overtop if they’d a mind to it. But it wasn’t about that, was it? It was for privacy, for seclusion. So they could set themselves apart and think nothing of nodding to neighbours and being friendly.

There was even a fountain in the middle, and it might have been pretty if she was not in such a foul temper. There were trees, but they were cut into severe shapes. It was early yet for flowers, but there should have been evidence of their beginnings by now. Pushing through the cobbles beneath her feet, ignorant of how unwelcome they were in a garden with far too much stone.

It wasn’t useful. Ornamental. That was all.

With a bench with mosses creeping up its base, in hues of deep rose and brown. As if the stone itself was bleeding.

She sat.

Allowed herself to grieve. To cry. Because no one would come after her, she was well aware. She would be expected to go back, to apologise for her discourtesy, and they’d tell her it little mattered because they knew she would be uncouth and ill mannered, so why was she pretending to be otherwise?

What was happening to her? She used to have such a cheerful manner. Anyone and anything would be her friend, and she could forgive easily with a hug and a kind word, and everything was right again.

But there was a bitterness taking root, and she did not care for it. A resentment toward Lucian that would accomplish nothing. Beget nothing but heartache and misery, likely only for herself.

Because Lucian did not care.

It was an ungracious thought, one that made her tears pour all the harder. Because she feared it was too near the truth.

She could feel him, even now. Feel the anger that festered, and she wondered how much of it was truly directed at her. For existing. For not being of high enough quality.

She tucked her arms more firmly about herself, the dress she’d felt so pretty in now feeling silly and absurd. As if it could cover the faults that were so outside of her control, yet were determined to make her responsibility.

“Would you mind if I sat with you?”

Her head popped up, hands already coming to swipe at her eyes as she saw Orma standing in the courtyard’s entrance. She looked truly poorly, and even if Firen wished to remain alone, she would not have been able to deny a sick woman the use of the bench.

“Yes, of course.” Then paused as she watched her move closer. Which was rude. To watch the shuffle, the uneven gait. To wonder if it was some defect from her birth, or some injury that even now seemed to cause her pain. “They won’t wonder why you went after me?”

Orma smiled, a weary quirk of her lips that held nothing resembling good humour. “They notice little when they are yelling at one another. I’ll go back soon enough.” She sat, sighing a little as she eased down onto the unyielding bench beneath her. “I am sorry.”

Firen snorted a little, shaking her head and staring out at the tree circled in stone. Its roots pushed some of the cobbles out of alignment. A little rebellion. She loved it for that. “Why did you send me there? Why were you even there?”

She had not meant her voice to sharpen, and she stifled her urge to apologise.

Orma didn’t look at her. Just stared at the garden wall, a little frown upon her face. “I like to see the bonds. They’re real for me. Tendrils between people. In all sorts of different colours. And yours was so bright, so strong. And it seemed a shame to watch you wasting your time.”

She sighed and turned her head so she could look at Firen properly. “And maybe I was selfish. And when I saw your colour, and it resembled Lucian’s...” She glanced down at her lap. “Maybe I wanted someone kind within our family.”

The tension in Firen’s shoulders left her, and she felt suddenly... wilted. “A fellow prisoner,” Firen offered—a jest that was too near to being not a jape at all.

Orma did not agree, but she did not correct her either. “I like Lucian,” Orma murmured after a time. “He just wants his father to be proud of him. And I don’t think he’s ready to admit that it will never happen.”

Orma glanced at Firen. Then, with a hand that shook just a little, she placed it on Firen’s arm. A whisper more than a touch. “Forgive me. Please. I don’t... I can’t bear to think that I...” She swallowed, her hand pulling away, back to sit miserably in a tangle with her other. “He needs you. And you were so vivid.”

She said this as if it meant something. As if it was natural to see the bonds that were so deeply ingrained, so personal that the mere thought of that was near a violation.

But Orma spoke of it with a wistful sort of reverence. Something beautiful that only she could see.

“I haven’t heard of that sort of ability,” Firen admitted. “If you set up a stall at the market, you could amass quite the fortune, directing people to their pairing.”

Orma laughed. A soft, gentle sound that lightened the lines on her face, the weight she carried. “Wouldn’t that horrify them?” Nothing in her tone suggested that might be a bad thing. “I’d even have to talk to people.”

There was quiet between them for a moment. Each lost in their own thoughts. Firen to her troubles, Orma perhaps as mistress of her own stall, with coins to call her own and a home besides.

“Orma,” Firen asked, not wanting the answer, but needing it. “You can’t actually sever a bond, can you?”

Orma turned her head, eyes grim. “They can try. And that should frighten you more than if they actually succeeded.”

Firen’s throat grew tight. “How?”

“Potions, to begin. Herbs from books so old they’re hardly books at all. Horrible tinctures that sting at your nostrils, that burn and curdle. And when that does not work, then they’ll try to burn. And when that does not work, they will try to cut. Because it’s physical, isn’t it?” She reached out, two fingers tapping at Firen’s chest where the bond settled. “And if they can find it, pluck it out, then you’re just a person. Broken, to be sure, but you could go back home, and they could settle their son with a widow of their choosing, and pretend like you had never happened at all.”

Firen tried to keep the horror from her face, but she doubted she was the least bit successful. “Did they do that to you?” Surely not. Not when they were kin. But... her mate...

Orma sighed, her hand dropping away. “You asked, and I answered,” she chided softly. “Do not let them.”

Firen took a breath, her heart racing. She was certain that Lucian would feel fear trickling through the bond if he was paying the least bit of attention, and she tried to stifle it as best she could. She did not want to see him. To see any of them.

“Would Lucian?” she asked, voice hoarse and heart numb. “Let them?”

Because somehow that mattered more. She’d never had to consider if there were evil people in the world. So wrapped up in their own selfishness that they’d hurt others and be glad of the outcome.

But Lucian was meant to be more than that. He was supposed to love her. Keep her safe. Keep their family safe.

Orma reached for her again. Just the brushing of their hands, but a touch all the same.

“You’ve little faith in him,” Orma answered, and if it was supposed to be a chastisement, it was so gently given that Firen did not hear it as one. “I thought he knew better than to model after Oberon. Was I wrong?” She turned her head, looking Firen over more carefully. “Does he hurt you?”

That it was even a question soured her stomach.

Her feelings? Most certainly. But his hands were careful of her, his manners were dour, but he tried, when she asked it of him. He’d put her on his lap and stroke her hair. He’d hold her close and treat her gently.

If only in private.

The bond flared, hot and biting, and Firen had to stifle her gasp as she rubbed at her chest, trying to soothe the spot that seared and twisted.

Orma’s hand withdrew, and Firen tried to smile, but something was wrong, and she did not know what to do about it. Stay calm. That was important. Don’t let fear mingle with anger. They would only fuel each other. Coiling tighter and tighter until Firen could not breathe, and it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

And then he was there.

Scowling and glaring, his form taking up too much of the courtyard’s archway as he stared at them both just briefly enough to confirm their presence.

Then he was stalking forward.

If he made to grab her, she would scamper away. His temper was too volatile, and there was that horrible, niggling suspicion that his loyalty was to those wretched people in there, and he meant to bring her back to them. To lay her out as some sort of sacrifice, to let them do their worst as they tried to pluck the bond from her chest while her supposed mate stood by and allowed it to happen.

But he didn’t.

He paced, instead.

Back and forth. Over and over.

“Lucian,” Orma murmured, and he paused, just long enough to settle his eyes on her. “If I leave, will Firen be safe?”

Because Firen hadn’t answered, had she?

And there it was again. The flare, the burn, and she rubbed harder at the spot, although it did not seem to soothe anything at all.

“Why would she not be?” he retorted, jaw tight and his hands curling into fists. “You think that of me? Truly?”

Orma rolled her shoulders and stood. “I do not wish to. But we come from strange stock, you and I. Better to be careful.”

Firen did not watch her leave. Instead, her focus remained on her mate. As he glared up at the sky. The first sun had already set, and the second was sending out rays of purple and green into the skies. The clouds turned grey and mottled, and it was a rather dismal display. Pinks were prettier. The blues and rich oranges that accompanied the first.

But perhaps it was appropriate.

“I dislike them,” Firen declared. “I do not think I’ve ever truly disliked anyone before.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She should be gracious toward the people he loved, even if they were horrid. But she wanted to be honest with him, and that was the most truthful thing she had to offer.

He snorted, shaking his head and stilling, if only for a moment. “The feeling is, sadly, mutual.”

She’d known that—they’d made it abundantly clear, so why did it still hurt?

She pulled at her skirt and smoothed it out again. She wanted her own clothes. Or... wanted to go somewhere else. To be someone else. Where she could dance. Seduce her own mate. Do all the things that were natural and right without that itching feeling coming under her skin, that everything wasn’t.

Couldn’t be.

She wiped at her eyes again, but the tears hadn’t started.

She wanted him to sit with her. Wanted him to keep his distance. And both were in equal measure, pushing and pulling at her until she feared she would go mad.

Her mouth was dry, the sips of dry vint doing nothing to help quench her sudden thirst. The trickling sound of the fountain only added to her distress, and she suppressed the urge to laugh until she cried anew. Because she did not even know where to fetch herself a cup of water, and every pull drew her back home.

Where she’d have to go, alone.

“Are you going to let them do that to me?” she asked him at last, because that seemed of greatest importance. To know if she should hold him amongst the rest. To allow that resentment to linger into something that felt a little too near to hate.

He took a step nearer to her.

“No.”

She could breathe, but only just. Everything was too much of a tangle in her heart and stomach, leaving little room for anything like comfort or relief.

She released a breath and looked at him. Wanted to gesture for him to sit beside her, but didn’t. Couldn’t. “Why?”

He blinked at her, his brow furrowing. “You ask me that?”

And if it had been anyone else, she’d have understood. The insult was extreme. But this was Lucian. Born into... that family. With ties and desires that she was only beginning to comprehend.

“I do,” Firen affirmed, sitting as calmly as she could. As if... as if something was not breaking inside. The doubt too strong. The uncertainty. “Because you accepted me against your will, and please don’t pretend otherwise. And they’re offering you a way out. Even if... even if Orma tells me it would be rather...” She struggled to find a word that seemed adequate. They were all too small for so brutal, so horrible an experiment.

He stalked toward her. His eyes were bright and angry as he moved closer, not stopping until...

He did not grasp her shoulders. Did not pull her up to meet him, to shake her as his expression suggested was to be his aim.

Instead, he knelt. Pushing his way between her legs and she forgot to tell him to be careful of her skirts and the fabric. Could not think of anything at all but the look in his eyes, the way he cupped her face between his palms, ensuring she see nothing but him.

“Do you dislike me as well?” he asked, his voice tight. She could feel his battle for control through the bond, felt the tension and the wrestling just as she experienced it for herself.

She did not know how to answer him. A fervent no rested on her lips, but there was more. All that she did not know. All that she was afraid to know. And yes, she would dislike him as much as the others—perhaps even more so. Her disappointment in him would be so acute if he sided with them. If any part of him could embrace that sort of...

Evil.

That’s what it was.

There were laws about this. Everyone said so. Even if... even if she could recite none of them.

Was that on purpose?

“I want you to be mine,” Firen answered instead. “I want you to want to be. I want you to be as disgusted by your father’s solution as I am.” Her own anger flared, and she had to pause before she lost control of it. “I want it to be so unthinkable that you would...” She stopped herself. She could not command his actions. Just because her temper insisted that she leave when situations grew too heated for anything useful to come of them, that did not mean that she must insist that Lucian do the same.

But she could hope. Could conjure all sorts of fantasies. Of Lucian denouncing the entire lot of them. Of claiming his mate and taking her into his arms and flying her back home where they could be safe and happy.

Those pictures came easily.

What to do with this man—the whole of him. Real and damaged, even if neither of them knew precisely how badly.

That was not so easy.

“I am not safe here,” Firen said instead. Lucian rolled his eyes and his hands fell away from her, but he did not move from his position crouched before her. “I... I admit I thought you dramatic. Before. But I think you were perhaps a little too careful with how much I’d be despised.” She could say it so calmly, even though her heart raced, and she saw him flinch. And she hadn’t meant to cause that.

It made it easier to reach for him. To touch his cheek and offer a moment’s comfort for them both. “I’ll not stay here,” she finished. “I know you won’t follow. And that hurts more than I care to admit. But Lucian...”

She did not want to say it. They were family. He loved his mother. But Firen could see little better in her side of it than her mate’s.

“I don’t belong here. They will not let me. So I will go home. Where I am safe. With parents that would do anything within their power to help our bond. Help us. And maybe...” her throat burned. Her heart raced within her chest, and the bond heaved and tugged because... because she was leaving. And it knew.

Knew more that he would let her.

That he would not choose her.

“Maybe someday you’ll come to appreciate just how good we could have it.” She leaned forward and placed a kiss upon his cheek, and she couldn’t breathe, but that was all right. She’d be flying soon. With all the freedom she missed. And all the pain that seemed to be her new companion.

“You know where to find me,” Firen murmured, and she stood. An awkward thing to attempt when he was crouched so close, but she managed it.

She’d fetch her trunk. It was not so large or so heavy she could not take it home with her again.

She couldn’t look at him. Not when it would only lead to weeping—on her part alone, she was certain. But if he would not care for her, would not protect her, she would go to those who would.

“You know where to find me,” she choked out, turning and preparing herself to fly upward. To his room. Where she would not linger. Would not spare the time to imagine the night they’d shared there. How... perfect it had been. For a little while. “When you’re ready.”

When the bond made him find her. When pain and urgency overtook everything else.

Unless he allowed his family to do that procedure on him.

To be rid of her.

The thought left her cold. Left her shaking. Made her leap upward a stunted effort that would set any fledgling to shame.

But it did not matter, anyway.

Not when he was plucking her from what little air she’d found.

When his arms clasped around her, bringing her back against his front as his lips found her ear. “How many times,” Lucian growled, low with frustration. “Must I ask you to stop trying to leave me?”