8. Entitled

Firen had never imagined her first trip to the Halls might include being whisked into a darkened corner. Never thought that her mate would cage her between his arms, his dark wings shielding them further from view.

But then, she had never pictured herself here at all.

“Take a breath, Firen,” Lucian instructed, his face close to hers so that she could look at nothing but his pale eyes. “Another.”

She did.

Three, in fact.

She’d been tugging at the bond again. Because no matter how she wanted to deny it, she was nervous. Not at meeting someone new—there was nothing more natural than that after being raised in the market.

It was the consequences that worried her the most. That Lucian might go without... again. Because of her. And this time would be worse, because she could not control the manner of her birth, the status of her family. The placement of her home and the district it inhabited.

This would be because of how she talked. How she didn’t talk. If she clung too much to her mate, or if she remained too aloof. She’d slept little the night before. Not from lack of trying. Or from the fervent efforts of her mate to please her before he had settled into his side of the cots and found his rest. She did not begrudge him for it, and she tried to tell her mind to quiet so the bound wouldn’t press at him and wake him prematurely.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, although she could not recall doing so. It was suddenly just morning, and Lucian was dressing and had a great number of her clothes strewn about the room, eyeing them all with a critical eye.

It should have been insulting, but she found it all rather amusing in her tired state. She might have pulled the blankets higher about her, and answered his questions about if a particular piece was inner or outer wear, and his eyes grew more judgemental as they grew thinner with finer bits of lace about the edges. “For summers,” she’d murmured, watching his eyes widen and his eyes drift over her form. Not that there was anything to see, huddled as she was beneath the quilts.

But she liked to think he was imagining it. Imagining her in nothing but that shift, with bits of lace about her throat and at her elbows. There would have been at least another layer beneath, as well as bindings about her midsection, but he needn’t know that. Let him think she’d prance about in nothing but a gossamer shift and let him growl at her all he liked.

But he was focused, and he hadn’t pounced on her. Just muttered something under his breath that might have sounded a bit like a complaint, but she merely smiled and let him fret.

Only for her own fretting to creep in, no matter how unwelcome she insisted they were.

Which was precisely what she didn’t want. Didn’t want to be a hindrance, didn’t want him having to fuss and look after her because she was unconsciously nagging at him through their bond. “Just...” Firen hesitated, uncertain she should say anything at all.

He touched her cheek. Just once. Then leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you know how it feels? When you’re nervous?”

She would have given him an incredulous look if he was not so close to her. “Every instinct tells me to look out for what threatens you. It sets my teeth on edge. Makes me want to snap at anyone that even looks at you.” He pulled back, and she gave him a sheepish smile in apology.

“I’ll get control of myself. Promise.”

He hummed. Not in outright disbelief, but it did not sound full of confidence either.

She didn’t want to disappoint him. Didn’t want Vandran to reject him. Reject his offer of leaving. Not when it would mean so much for the both of them. Their more intimate moments aside, they needed something to go right. Needed this to go right.

She gripped his hand, and he took a step backwards. He watched her carefully, and she smoothed her clothes, determined to be better. She wouldn’t ask for reassurances. Wouldn’t pull him close and ask if he’d be truly cross with her if something went wrong. He needed her strength and her good manners, not to dissolve into a fledgling in need of care and attention. “Ready?” She asked brightly, and she was relieved that his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as he nodded to her. She could do this. Would do this.

He did not take her hand, nor her arm. But he tilted his head every so often to ensure that he kept pace with her, that she was not growing distracted and lost as they twined through the hallways. She’d never been here. Never had the need. She could recall only a few disputes over trade and payments gone wrong, and those were quickly overseen by the Proctor and never escalated further.

There were fewer people about than she might have expected. The hallways were lit by moonstones rather than torches, and she was resentful that it now reminded her more of her time in the tower than the festivals she’d loved as a girl. There were chambers built into the stone. Heavily riveted doors sealed the entrances, and she kept herself from pestering Lucian about what lay behind them. Books, she decided. Rooms full of them. To dwarf Oberon’s meagre offerings.

Could just anyone read them? Or were they only for the highest officials to study? She wondered that too, but didn’t ask it. She’d keep a list. All the things she could ask once they were tucked away in their beds again.

He stopped at one. It looked no different from any of the others, but she supposed if she squinted just right, she could make out some sort of runes etched into the stone arches above the doors. She could admit she’d spent little time studying how to read such things. It hadn’t seemed practical when she needed to know how to calculate figures and study the smithy books and old papers that littered the workshop. All of which were written in plain speech, only the margins were occasionally notated with something written so tightly they could have been mistaken for some of the scratchings that indicated this was the door they were meant to go through.

She would have liked to see the main Hall. To know where Lucian would sit—stand?—and if he had ever spoken before the magistrate. Or perhaps he was still too new in his profession for something of such importance. There was so much she’d like to ask, but caution stayed her. There was much to learn, not only in the little details of Lucian’s life, but also in how to talk to him. How and when to ask him about her many queries.

He did not knock. Instead, he pulled on a woven cord poking through a small hole bored through the heavy stone. It was tasselled, and reminded her of the one he’d pulled in his little bathing room that brought the hot water to the tap.

“What’s that do?” It left her mouth before she could remember to simply add it to her list for later, and she shook her head quickly when he glanced down at her. “Sorry.”

But he didn’t chide her. She even thought he meant to answer her, except that the door was unlatched and drawn open.

It was the man she remembered. Looking older, perhaps, than the last time she had seen him. His face was lined, and the markings at this cheekbone had faded and bled with age. A muted blue, she noted with some approval. Not quite like hers, but not so dissimilar, either.

He wasn’t smiling. Not exactly. He was not frowning either as he looked them both up and down. She didn’t fidget, didn’t lean closer into Lucian. Just waited calmly. He was the elder—he could speak when he wished it. They’d made that mistake in the tower, and she would not do it again here.

“You will make beautiful fledglings if they take after their mother.”

He waved them inside, and she smiled warmly at the compliment. “I don’t think they would be worth abandoning if they take after their father. But I suppose we shall have to wait to decide.”

Lucian snorted beside her. The room itself was lined with books, as she’d expected. There were the long tables filled with papers. Some scrolls. Others were books so small they would have fit nicely into her hands when she’d first sprouted her flight feathers. There was no hearth, so there was a distinct chill that was rather unpleasant, and the large window on the far end was shadowed by trees beyond.

It did not seem the sort of place a high-ranking lawmancer would have chosen for himself, but perhaps he liked it for other reasons.

He eased down into his chair and gestured for them to make use of the two seats across from him. There was a tray already laid out, with three cups and a plate full of baked goods that looked suspiciously like the ones from the shop Lucian favoured.

“Would you mind pouring?” Vandran asked, rubbing at the palm of one hand. It shook—not badly, but as she glanced at the surface of the desk, she could see it was affecting his penmanship.

Lucian reached for the pot—metal wrapped in carved wood. The handle had been covered in a knitted sleeve, protective and charming in a homey sort of way. “Did your mate make that?” she asked, pointing to the sleeve.

His eyes crinkled about the edges. “My daughter. When she was very young. I’d burned my hand rather badly—no, not on the pot. Just an incident with the hearth at home. She decided I could not be trusted with anything hot afterwards and set about making all sorts of things to help me. I had protested the gloves she made for me, so this was her next solution.”

“A tender-hearted girl,” Firen declared, thanking Lucian quietly as he passed her a cup. “She sounds lovely.”

His pride in her was obvious. “The very best. Matched only by her sister.”

As it should be. Her attention drifted toward Lucian, who offered Vandran one of the cups—not filled to the brim, she noted. A kindness, so he would not have to suffer the indignity of sloshing hot tea over the sides if his hand trembled. He seemed untroubled to hear of other families. Ones that loved each other and had no difficulty making it known to any that thought to ask.

“So. Firen, was it?”

She nodded, taking a sip of her tea. A light blend, a little cooler than she would have preferred given the coldness of the room, but perfectly pleasant.

“What did your mate tell you about our discussion?”

Her throat tightened, but only briefly. He reminded her a bit of Da’s father before he passed, and she regretted thinking poorly of him when he came through the market. He was proud of his family and of his accomplishments. That was all.

“You’re considering taking Lucian on as your pupil. To finish his apprenticeship.” She did not say more. She did not know how many details Lucian had thought necessary to give about Oberon and the rest of them, and she did not think it was her place to enlighten him.

“I did not say finish,” Lucian cut in. “It, of course, would be up to your discretion if I must return to the beginning of my studies.”

Firen’s own smile faltered, and she looked between both men worriedly.

Vandran took a long sip of his tea. “Lucian,” he began at last, setting down his cup and smiling at him. It wasn’t condescending, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant either. “Do you know why I wanted your mate to attend with you?”

He settled back into his seat, his expression blank. “I should not like to say.”

Vandran tapped his finger against his cup. “Then I shall clarify what you will not. I did not want to assess her as your father would have done. I did not need to judge her quality. She is your mate, and that comes before else. Correcting her in front of a stranger is hurtful, did you know? I imagine it was common for you to witness in your younger years. It will not win you any affection, of that you may be certain.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “I thought we were going to discuss the terms of my employ.”

Vandran nodded slowly. “We are. But more than anything, I’d like to be certain you are of better stock than your progenitor.” His attention drifted toward Firen. “I hold no great fondness for Oberon. He thinks my position is unearned. Not of the blood, yes? As if the old stories matter.”

She did not look at her mate. She thought Vandran was a better ally than she might have ever imagined, and she leaned forward slightly. “They keep saying that,” Firen encouraged. “I’m not the right blood. My family isn’t old enough.”

Vandran chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “Origins of our kind. Old histories. I’ve books on them, if you’d care to read them. Hardly shared any longer. Not exactly pleasant, especially when it does not speak well of some of our founders. Better just to move on.” He spared Lucian a quick glance. “Others do not agree.”

“I have no complaint about my mate’s blood,” Lucian interjected. “And I am not my father.”

Vandran’s eyes narrowed. “You will have children by her, then?”

Firen’s throat tightened, and embarrassment crept through her, despite her efforts not to let it. It was a common enough question, although usually endured after a fresh mating on first market days, when well-meaning elders came and fussed and tried to decide if a fledgling was already settling in to nest.

They hadn’t discussed it. She’d... assumed.

Which was a mistake, and she knew it. Their whole trouble was tangled expectations. Of saying little and presuming much. She looked at her mate, trying to read him. And if she tugged at the bond, it was with no actual intent at doing so. But he turned his head and met her eye, and she felt a push of comfort back toward her. It was all right. Those talks were personal. Would certainly not be happening here.

She took a breath and held it. “Vandran, she began, keeping her voice gentle. “I do not think I’m comfortable with such talk.”

Lucian reached for her hand and took it. “Your point is made,” he affirmed. “And I’ll not deny that my priorities have been on securing our future rather than adding in...” he hesitated. And for one horrid moment, she thought he meant to call their future family a complication. But he didn’t. “Anyone else.”

So he hadn’t been trying. It didn’t hurt. It made sense. He had plans. Promises he meant to keep. But it made her wonder what would be different when they both were ready. What the books meant about wanting and trying.

Her eyes drifted over the many books lining the room, but she doubted any of them could answer it for her.

She’d experience it, eventually. She ached inside and felt him soothing her through the bond. Keep calm. They would talk. No need to fret, not about this...

“Fair enough,” Vandran allowed. He set down his cup and reached for a sheet of paper. It had been lined with what was meant to be neat columns, but the ink had smudged and wavered in places, leaving a distinct slant to all of the work. “And I did not intend to make you uncomfortable,” he directed to her. “I only wish to know that he is as he claims to be. You are to be treated with all the respect you are due, not dallied with.”

Not used. To go willingly into her mate’s bed, only to find that he had no intentions of creating a family with her. She did not mind waiting—there was wisdom in it, for certain. But she wanted to know his feelings on the matter. To know if the delay was for a time, or for the whole of their mating.

There were some couples that went without, but it was inappropriate to ask if it was by design or be some physical impediment.

More that no one had warned her about. More talks that would be difficult, and she was so tired of that.

She pushed it all aside. Lodging. Employment. Those were what mattered at the moment.

“I’ve drawn up a chart,” Vandran continued, turning the paper about so they could both look at it. “These are your entitlements.” Lucian took it, but kept it angled so that she could read it as well. “What I should like to make clear, simply because I can, is that these were allotted to you from the beginning of your apprenticeship. To all apprentices. That your father presumably did not make that known to you is...” Vandran picked up his cup again. “Unsurprising.”

There was a margin on salary. She did not know how many years Lucian had been apprenticed, but given his age, it must be at least his sixth cycle. Perhaps so far as his tenth if he started early. And if her figures were right, there should be enough for quite the comfortable living set aside.

If he’d had it.

Which the tightening of his jaw suggested he had not. His eyes skimmed over the page, his mouth forming a tight line as he continued to read. Quarters were supplied—and could be altered depending on where they needed to accommodate a mate or an entire family. Allowances for robes. For access to the Hall’s libraries.

“What cycle are you in?” Firen asked, not so quietly it was considered a whisper and rude to their host, but softly. Because it was an admission of more they had not discussed, and she did not know if that might embarrass him.

“I am in the middle of my ninth.”

Firen turned her head, feeling cold and uncertain. “And you were willing to start over?”

He met her eye, and it wasn’t a glare, but it was near to it. For questioning him? Or for doing it in front of Vandran? “Yes,” he answered simply. “If that was required of me.”

She wanted to say more. To speak to the unfairness if it all. To give a plea to Vandran and not have it bungle everything that was already too tangled and ridiculous to her.

Lucian continued to look over the list, and she looked to Vandran, mouth dry despite the tea she could have sipped. Lucian had given her no permission to ask anything like what had settled on the tip of her tongue and weighted on her stomach like a stone. But the lawmancers were trained in the service of their people, were they not? And she was people. Just the regular sort, not just Lucian’s mate.

“Vandran,” she began, not looking at Lucian. Keeping her voice calm and measured, and more importantly, the bond. She’d been sworn to no secrets. Had not been bribed or cajoled into silence. Perhaps they had thought Lucian would take care of such matters.

But he hadn’t.

“Hmm?” Vandran turned his attention to her, his eyes kind.

“Growing up,” she began, her thumb sliding over the rim of her cup, over and over. This wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be. “We were always told there were laws to protect the bond. The sacred nature of mating. That... that it was the highest offence to meddle with a pairing the Maker had put together.”

Lucian grew very still.

She couldn’t look at him. Could feel him pull at the bond, a warning? Or perhaps a caution. Was there a difference between the two? She didn’t know. He would.

“Is that true? Or is it just what’s said amongst...” she stumbled over her words, but caught herself quickly. “Just regular people.”

She didn’t like that it made it sound like members of the Hall or dwellers in high towers were special, but it couldn’t be helped.

Vandran leaned forward and kept his attention solely on her. “Have you been threatened, dear? You can tell me.” She did not know what to say. Hadn’t intended to prattle on about the entire wretched supper and his family and their twisted insinuations. But she could admit she was tempted. She cared for Lucian, not for them. And he hadn’t... he’d done no wrong in it. Not really. He’d taken care of her. Wanted to provide for her. And she did not want that jeopardised.

“I didn’t...” She clasped her hands tightly together. “I do not know how to answer that.”

His eyes slid toward Lucian. “Then perhaps you might.”

Lucian smoothed the paper down in his lap. “She is in no danger,” he declared firmly.

“You dislike my father. And perhaps that gives just cause to be mistrustful of me. Of how I might treat my mate.” He shifted, and she was certain he wanted to look her way, but he didn’t. “I honour our bond. What anyone else might find... troublesome about how it came to be, or the rightfulness of her pairing...” he leaned forward ever so slightly. “It is no longer any concern of ours.”

She wished that might be true. Felt the swell of hope that maybe she might have the whole of him, would never have to even think about his family ever again.

But then she thought of Orma. Of the friend she’d hoped to gain.

And she felt a whole new sort of guilt that she could so happily extricate herself and her mate, and leave her behind.

“I just need to know if it’s true,” Firen insisted. “Are these laws in place to protect the bond?”

Vandran frowned, glancing between the two of them for a moment before he answered. “They are,” he answered slowly. “I do wish, however, I had a better understanding of your intention. Is this about inheritance? There is some leeway given on selecting one child over another, but it is generally a matter of practicality.” He leaned back and rubbed at his chin. “If it is about the tower...”

Firen shook her head fervently. “I do not care about that. I mean...” she took a breath, and her hands tightened together. “I care for Lucian’s sake. I’m sorry about what he’s lost because of his father.” Because of her.

No. That was accepting blame that was not hers to shoulder.

“I was not of the understanding that you had any living siblings.”

Lucian answered calmly, as if it was a query he received every day. “I do not.”

“Then there are laws to protect you, should you wish to bring it before the Hall when the time comes.” His smile was thin, but genuine. “Not that it helps your current predicament.” He gestured toward the paper. “I am curious, Lucian. You never thought to look? To see your entitlements?”

Lucian placed the sheet back on the desk, but kept it facing the both of them. “It did not seem relevant at the time. I... placed my trust in error, or so it would appear.”

As if he was to blame for his father being... what he was.

“I’ll not make you begin again,” Vandran offered, bringing out a pen and one of the small books cluttered about the desk’s surface. “I find your willingness admirable, but I will amend your cycle if I find your education lacking in other facets.”

It wasn’t anger she felt from Lucian. It wasn’t embarrassment either. But it was uncomfortable all the same. He did not like being seen as inadequate. Lacking. And she could well imagine why, given his upbringing. But he offered no defence, no assurance. Just sat and nodded and took whatever Vandran attributed to his name.

She did not need to defend him, either. He was clever—had to have been, to have survived so long. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t comfort him, even if it was only to place her hand on his arm and squeeze it just once, retreating with a little smile when he glanced her way.

“You’ll be brilliant,” she murmured, and he rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the bond warmed and he wasn’t angry with her for touching him in view of someone else.

“And what of you?” Vandran asked. “Will you be joining our ranks in the law? You would have to begin at the start. No skipping years just because of your mate.”

It pleased her that his offer was sincere, and for one fleeting moment, she actually wondered if she might accept him. To work and learn beside her mate. To study the laws for herself so she knew what protections existed besides what she was simply told through rumour and histories.

“I like to work with my hands,” Firen answered with an apologetic tone. She held them out and wiggled her fingers, hoping he would not be insulted by her preference.

“A pity,” Vandran added with a sigh. “My daughters were much the same. “Too many years, they said. Favoured their mother’s side. I’ll not protest the fine cheeses that come through my doors. Only that I could not convince at least one of them this was a worthwhile pursuit.”

Firen reached for the pot and refilled their cups. “They must have trusted you to protect their interests.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s true. But they expect me to live forever. And as much as I’d like to, I don’t think that will be possible.”

He grew more sombre and pulled his cup back toward him. “My seat will be empty sooner than I would hope. And I’d like to ensure there is one to fill it that cares about the regular people, as you put it.” He looked at Lucian, his expression as serious as she’d yet seen it. “Will that be you?”

She would not make light of it. Not when it was of such importance to the both of them. Wouldn’t tease and nudge at his shoulder and ask him herself.

But she did shift. Did turn her head so she could look at him properly, because...

Had that not been part of her concern, as well? That she would be the exception. That he was gracious to her family simply because they were hers, and not because he knew to be kind to all peoples.

Not just the ones that filled coffers. That could buy influence and ancestral homes in equal turn.

He sat very straight and looked Vandran in the eye, although there was something in the bond that said he was truly speaking to her. “It will.”

That was all. No eloquent speeches denouncing his father and his prejudice. No prolonged promises.

Just one.

And she was absurdly proud of him for it, and it took everything in her not to throw her arms about his neck and hug him to her, as she whispered out her thanks that he was the man she’d hoped he’d be after all.

“Excellent,” Vandran declared, and he did not seem to mind when Firen beamed at her mate and took his hand and gripped it for just a moment, before settling back into her cup. Something had gone right. For once.

She’d not bungled everything. Lucian hadn’t either.

Vandran stood, moving toward one cabinet on the far wall. There were shelves laden with books—just as there were everywhere. But there were drawers at hip height, and he opened one, then another, evidently looking for something. “Here we are,” he declared, after rummaging through a stack of papers. He could use some help with his organisation. Or perhaps he was one that found order in the mess. Where everything had a place, even if it made no sense to anybody else.

Da would have been like that. If Mama didn’t come through often and remind him that his children also had to use the workroom, and wouldn’t it be nice if they knew where to find the tools and supplies?

The sheet was folded and worn about the edges, marked on both sides. A diagram of some sort? “I might be lacking in some areas,” Lucian added dryly, “but not so much that I require a map of the facilities.”

“No,” Vandran agreed. “But your mate is. And this will be her home now, too.”

He handed the paper to Firen, and it unfolded into a much larger sheet than she might have imagined.

Everything was labelled. The rooms—crossed out and reordered, presumably when new people claimed old offices. “I cannot promise they are all accurate any longer. I’m afraid I stopped updating it a long while ago. But it should help, all the same.”

“Thank you,” Firen breathed, finding her eyes welling in the most absurd fashion. “Truly. I...” She swallowed, and she tried her best to refold the map as cleanly as possible. “I hope you are wrong. About your health. I hope your daughters are right and you will live for a very long time. You are most kind.”

He waved off her words, but he smiled at her softly. “You’ll be all right,” he promised. “You’ll need to see the registrar. Perhaps update where your allowance is being sent.” That was added with a sharper look in Lucian’s direction. “You cannot afford to pander to your father any longer. I want a man of strong conviction. I will hold you to your promises.”

Lucian bowed his head and touched his hand to his chest. “Of course.”

Firen clutched her map in her hands and followed Lucian as he rose. “One more paper,” Vandran insisted, handing that one to Lucian. “Your schedule. It might seem rigorous, in the beginning,” he offered as a warning to Firen rather than to his new apprentice. “Only have to test him on a few things first.”

Firen stood on tiptoe, trying to peer at the schedule and just how offensive it might seem to a newly mated pair. There was quite a lot written on it, but some of the times were slanted so far that she could not make out their meaning with only a glance.

“I’m grateful,” she said instead. “And I’ll remind myself of that when I miss him.”

Lucian was quiet beside her as they left. Firen did not mind. She had her new map to study. It was easier to read, as it had obviously been filled in when Vandran’s hands were steady and properly able to hold the pen. She whispered the name of the offices as they passed. And if they were out of date, as Vandran had suggested, Lucian did not correct her.

“Do all these people really work here?” she asked finally, when names began to blur and she thought it hopeless she’d remember them all. It grew more exciting when they passed the large doors that made up one of the several audience chambers. The archways were well ornamented, with shells and driftwoods, and even what presumably made up a tangle of seaweed. Maybe how it was beneath the surf, because she was far more used to it washing up in giant briny clumps of bright red and burnt orange.

“No,” Lucian answered, looking absently toward her map. She waited for him to expound—to give some explanation as to where they might have gone or why their positions had not been filled. But he didn’t.

One of the large doors opened and she caught a glimpse inside. All too brief, and just enough to make her wish she could sneak inside and look her fill. There were people seated. More than she’d expected. Whether they worked in the Hall or were there on important business, she couldn’t tell, but she paused, hoping it would open again.

A man had exited, and he nodded toward Lucian once before he went on his way.

“Come along,” Lucian urged, taking her by the elbow and leading her away. She peeked at her map again. Registrar. An entire office just for that. Did that include receiving a permit for a market stall? Or was the position solely for managing the workers of the Hall?

Her list was growing too long for one night of questions. Better to make it a week’s worth. So as not to overwhelm him.

“Did you mean it?” he asked as they passed through the outer doors. Which is not the way she would have thought to go, as the map made it appear as if the office was connected on the inside, but she would trust Lucian’s judgement.

For now. Although she was the one with the map.

He had only his years of knowledge that evidently had not included a trip to this very person.

“Did I mean what?” she asked, following with her finger as they followed the row of buildings butting up to the half-tower that made up the Hall itself.

“That you would miss me,” Lucian answered stiffly. “When I was working.”

Her steps wavered, and she drifted her attention from her map so she could look at him, her brow furrowed. “You know I do. That’s why we had to have that talk about tugging at the bond. You said it was unnecessary and distracting.”

He shifted, not quite looking at her. “I maintain that both are true. Most particularly because you were doing it because you thought I would not come back.”

She ducked her head, rubbing her finger against old parchment before she rolled her shoulders. It was accurate enough, although she did not like it spoke of so plainly. “So,” he pressed. “Was it true?”

It seemed such a silly thing to need to hear. So blatantly obvious that she might have thought he was teasing her if his eyes were not so earnest in the way they tried fervently not to look at her.

She took a step closer to him and grasped his arm with her free one. “I miss you when you are gone,” she declared, as sincerely as she was able. “And I always want you to come back to me.”

Something calmed. Something that had been raw and ragged between them, although she hadn’t realised it until that moment.

A doubt he’d carried. Worried over. That she hadn’t really wanted him.

Which... was absurd.

Except when it wasn’t.

Because she’d thought it, hadn’t she? When the regrets had gone so deep that it had burned through her. Made her think things... feel things...

That shamed her now.

“All right,” Lucian answered, and she huffed out a laugh.

“You will not say it back? That you long to be back with me when you have to go away? That there’s nowhere else you’d rather be?” She did nudge at him, because she was his mate and she could touch him even if there was a chance someone would stop long enough to pay attention to them.

He quirked a brow at her, but his eyes were soft, even his expression was hard. “Do you need me to?”

She shook her head, exasperated with him, but it was only in play. “No. But maybe I’d like you to. Keep things fair.”

She made to move on, her attention back on her map. They really should have kept to the interior, because this meant they’d have to...

His arm crept about her middle, pulling her back against him as he leaned close so his lips were at her ear. “I long to be back with you when we are parted,” he breathed out, so gently she might have missed it if the words had not been her own. “There is nowhere I would rather be. No one I would rather be with.”

He did not even kiss her. Did not press his lips to her cheek, her temple, her neck, and yet she felt her skin tingle as if he had. It was not fair to say such things when it would be less than appropriate for her to turn about in his hold and kiss him until she was breathless. If she was keeping a list of questions for when they were in private, he surely could keep a list of wonderfully romantic encouragements that he could offer one by one. Until she was warm all over and wanted him. Needed him.

“You think you can talk to me that way and not take me home after?” She gripped her map and warred with herself, wanting nothing more than to tuck it away and be with him, which was... a thoroughly distracting development. They had things to do. And it was quite unfair of him to get her all bothered.

Even more so when he chuckled near her ear. “That is what I am attempting to do.”

Then he made to pluck the map from her, but she gripped it to her chest and did not allow him to have it. “You have your own,” she insisted. “This one is mine.”

He snorted, but released her as well as his hold on her parchment. “Mine is buried in a stack of first year papers back in the tower. I doubt I will see it again.”

She felt a sudden pang at that, but she refused any guilt. She’d done nothing wrong. But she could be sorry and held it out just a bit so he could see. “We should have stayed inside.”

He hummed, tapping a portion of the page. “There is an outer door, which, as I recall, is their preference.”

Firen squinted, trying to see mention of that, but could make out nothing but the two slashes along the wall that indicated a doorway. “Oh. Well, that should be written down. What if I go to visit someone and there’s another door that I’m really supposed to use, and I end up offending them?”

He glanced at her as they moved on toward the correct door. “Who exactly would you be visiting?”

“Friends. Because I’ll make them, you know. You’ll see. Or maybe I’ll start helping you at your job, and I’ll have to deliver papers. Or fresh bread if your meetings run too long.”

Lucian stopped in his stride. “You’re not a servant,” he reminded her tightly. “You are not a scrollward. It is not your responsibility to fetch and carry.”

Firen turned back so she might face him fully. “I know that,” she answered gently. Because she wouldn’t be insulted. Wouldn’t assume he meant he did not want her about or to know his business and his trade. “But if your hours are to be as long as Vandran warns, then it is possible I shall miss you, and if the only way I might see you during the day is to bring you some refreshment, then I hardly think that too humble a task.” She gave him a rather pointed look. “Do you?”

There was that expression again. The glimmer in his eye that suggested he did not know what to do with her. Wanted very much to believe she was genuine—that she cared for him, that she wanted him. Missed him in equal measure when they were not together. But there was room for doubt. That pressed and settled in his jaw and the thin line that formed between his brows as he studied her sincerity.

That was all right. They had their whole lives together for all this to become common. Expected.

She was going to say something. Or... offer something. Not pity, because she feared that would not be any sort of comfort to him. But a touch, maybe. To remind him she was his mate, and she would not leave him.

But movement caught her eye. The tall, elegant frame. The pause. The glare that looked far too much like her mate as he noted the pair of them.

Lucian must have seen the change in her expression, for he turned, his own posture stiffening as he stood a little straighter.

Oberon was not close, but they were within speaking distance. Even Mama would say it wouldn’t be rude to give a greeting, although a young Firen had often pushed that particular boundary, calling to anyone she deemed close enough to beckon to come speak with her, regardless of their intent to make a purchase.

She did not move. Did not even consider approaching. Good manners might have been to bow her head and lower her wings, but she did neither. Instead, she turned her attention to her mate, waiting for him to act first.

He didn’t.

Oberon approached, his steps measured. Thoughtful. The day seemed to darken about them, and she had to remind herself firmly that Oberon held no such power over the clouds and the suns, and it was only her own nerves that made the breeze feel colder. “And what could possibly bring you to my domain, I wonder?”

Firen prickled inside, because he might have a seat in the Halls, but that did not make them his . Words were quick on her tongue—dismissive offerings. About how they need not fear his meddling any longer. Lucian had a new master now. One she was confident would be good and proper, unlike what he had known for the entirety of his years thus far.

But she didn’t say any of it. Let Lucian place himself between the two of them. “Father,” he greeted, and she was proud of the way he managed to keep most of the tightness from his tone. “You have objections to our use of a public pathway?”

A flicker in Oberon’s eye betrayed his anger, although his expression remained the very picture of neutrality. “I do when it leads you to a building where I know you’ve no assignment. One might consider it loitering. To linger where one has no business.” His lip curled in condescension. “Is that what you’ve become? A common beggar?”

Anger flared, hot and biting, and it took everything in her not to step out from around Lucian and fling back their purposes. Ones that were most certainly legitimate.

But she didn’t.

Took a deep breath instead and closed her eyes and sent as much comfort and affection as she could to her mate. Because the insults were his, and so was the hurt, because this was his father. Who should have loved him, should have cared for him, and... didn’t.

She would. For all her days. She would make sure he knew what it felt like to be wanted, whether he worked in the Hall, or joined one of the fishing boats and they took to the seas.

Well. She would fly. Never cared much for boats. And she’d seen some of the anglers, their attire quite different from what they would wear in the city, and she could well imagine how fine Lucian might look, glistening from the sea-mists and bright suns...

“A student of law and governance,” Lucian answered tightly. “I do not believe I’ve ever heard that reduced to beggar before, but you know far more than I do.”

“A student,” Oberon repeated. “Under which master? Because I have not seen you shadow my door. I have not seen you come to me for lessons or assignments.” He leaned forward, expression dark. “So yes, I call you beggar.”

She could sense the tension in her mate. Could see the way his fingers twitched in want of a fist, yet he did not allow it to form. “I always thought nothing occurred in the Hall without your knowledge. It seems I am to be proved wrong in more ways than I anticipated.” He bowed his head and turned his back to his father. Respect and disrespect, all in seamless motion. “Come along,” he urged her, and she nodded.

“You have not been discharged,” Oberon called, and she could hear the hobnails of his boots against the cobbles as he came nearer to them. “Not from my tutelage. You, therefore, cannot seek another master until I have done so.”

Lucian turned his head, his steps slowing, but not quite ceasing. “You’ll forgive me,” Lucian answered, the space between them necessitating a louder voice, but he did not give it. “I have become rather shaken of late. It seems not everything you have told me has been... accurate. I have a master willing to teach me. And if you wish to bring our family squabbles before the Hall, I, of course, will have to answer. But until then...” He kept moving.

And Firen could well feel the glares that followed them, the threats that Oberon longed to make but could not—not when there were others about that might hear them. Would hear. If he lost his temper as he had and hurled each word with all the force of his displeasure.

They turned the corner. And Lucian stopped, leaning against the stone wall for support as he closed his eyes and looked thoroughly pained.

Firen did not hesitate. She didn’t ask if he was all right, did not ask if he wanted to go back and smooth things between them. Instead, she wrapped her arms about him and held him as tightly as she could, until his breath levelled and he held her in return. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, because she was. Not for anything she’d done, but because of who his father was. And neither of them could help that.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered, but there was a catch in his throat, and there was a shudder through him that betrayed just how much of a lie it was.

She didn’t correct him. Just laid her head against his chest until he stopped shaking, and let him be the one to stand straighter. To pat her shoulder as if she was the one he’d been indulging, and she let him do that, too.

“Registrar,” he reminded her, tapping the map still clutched in one hand. “You were leading us.” She hadn’t been, but she smiled anyway, and did her best to embrace the excitement she’d felt earlier.

She smoothed her map and her skirt, and wiped briefly at her eyes in case she had shed any of the tears that Lucian wouldn’t. “Right.” She hesitated, knowing he wanted to get moving. To set it all aside. “Lucian,” she murmured, because she was going to let it go. She wasn’t going to pester and would simply add all this to the top of her list to talk about when they were home again together.

“Firen,” Lucian sighed, and she shook her head firmly before he could put her off.

“Just one thing. Then I’ll leave it.”

He grunted once, and looked at her as if he fully expected some chastisement, and she hated it. Hoped that came from a lifetime before and not what she’d done since they’d known one another. “I’m proud of you. Very much so. I just... needed you to know that.”

He opened his mouth once then closed it again, too surprised at the turn of her thoughts to offer anything he’d already decided upon. Which was all right. She’d keep her kisses and the rest of her thoughts to herself. There was always later. With privacy and tangled limbs to make it all the easier to talk.

“Registrar,” she repeated, and it took five steps before Lucian caught up behind her.

Took another two before he placed his arm about her waist to keep her close as they walked.

Just because.

And if the Registrar thought her smile too wide or her manner too agreeable, she kept those complaints to herself.

So that was all right, too.