9. Market

Firen had expected a room. Perhaps furnished. But just a bed and room for their trunks, and that was all.

When she’d admitted that to Lucian, he’d given her a look. The one that suggested she was willing to put up with far too little, and he did not share her agreeable disposition.

Not just anything would do.

They were handed keys. And another map. This one with all the assurances that the names were accurate, few as they were.

Because others had family homes to move into. Others had...

It didn’t matter. So their neighbours would be few—that was not necessarily a bad thing. She had to work to keep from floating when she saw the Registrar add their names to the lodging paperwork.

It felt... official.

Not that it hadn’t been. Mating needed no confirmation. It was private and known, and that was all that was necessary.

But seeing their names put together, written in dark ink with promises that all other papers would be amended as quickly as possible to maintain the utmost in accuracy...

Her wings fluttered. She couldn’t help it. And her toes might have even lifted off the ground if Lucian hadn’t brought his hand to her shoulder and pushed downward, looking at her as if she was a fledgling he’d been given to mind.

She smiled at him, and she meant it to be an apology, but she was too excited for it to be anything but what it was. A grin. A flutter in the bond that she was happy and he should be too, and it didn’t matter what the room looked like, so long as it was theirs and his father couldn’t fuss about it.

But it wasn’t just a room.

They were rows of houses, all butted up together between the largest building that made up the Hall and the two towers that overlooked it on either side. Firen didn’t ask what those were for. She’d had her fill of towers and the wonder that used to accompany them. The tidy row of houses interested her far more, not dissimilar to the shops she’d seen. Maybe there would be one down below, and they’d have quarters up above. It could be noisy if it was one that sold foodstuffs, but it was exciting all the same.

Only Lucian’s continued hold on her shoulder kept from drifting off the ground.

He let her hold the keys, but only when she relented and gave him the maps to hold with all the papers. Like the change form to indicate where his allowance was now to be sent.

He did not bother to ask where it was being given before.

The only thing that dimmed Firen’s enthusiasm was that Oberon’s relinquishment of tutelage was not amongst Lucian’s files. But that was surely an oversight, and see, there was Vandran’s acceptance letter, and no apprentice was daft enough to take on two masters.

Which was all true and untrue at once.

And there were many hums as the Registrar looked over Vandran’s notations, and she added a provisional seal over the lot of it.

For review.

Which hung over Firen, niggling and warning that she should not grow too attached to anything at all, because she did not trust Oberon to be gracious in his defeat. It shouldn’t matter, she told herself. The allowance, the housing, it was all a part of his apprenticeship, regardless of who he studied under.

This would be home.

For good, this time.

She set aside the rest of it. She’d worry about it later. Probably late at night when sleep refused to come, and she could do nothing but lie on her side and watch Lucian’s back as it rose and fell and will him to wake so he’d hold her and distract her from all the anxieties that had bundled themselves up throughout the day.

Which he would. The bond that was funny that way.

But he’d grow and grouse and she’d feel guilty for it, and promise him she wouldn’t do it anymore.

A lie, and they both knew it.

Lucian had to lead them, as he had the map. But that was all right, because she was busy looking at everything else. The cobbles that were well maintained. There were no flowers in the window boxes, but there could be. They turned off the street, and he opened a gate. She’d thought it was nothing but an alley, but they passed into a courtyard. Where there were trees and even low benches to sit and enjoy the foliage. It was a bit overgrown, but just enough to suggest that it was by choice rather than neglect.

He shook his head and nudged her to keep moving, and she hurried after him. It reminded her vaguely of the courtyard outside his family tower, and yet... not.

This was bright with sunlight except for where the canopy of the trees grew too tightly, offering welcome shade in the hotter months. Instead of rigid lines of cobbles that gave stiff expectation of walkways to take throughout, there were twining paths of crushed stone, compacted with time and use. Flower borders were already beginning to bloom in yellows and deep purples, while sage-friend grew up the trunks of the trees in swathes of even deeper blue.

She hoped to spy a neighbour on one of the benches, but it was empty. Quiet, save their own footfalls along the fine gravel.

She’d lost sight of Lucian for a moment, and she turned her head back and forth, only to find him waiting for her in a doorway. Arched, like many were, but with a metal awning, rich with patina and age. “Do you intend to keep me locked out while you wander about?”

Firen flew over, too excited to keep to her feet. Two keys, and she could not immediately tell which was the one to use. Heavy in her hands, and it would be even weightier in her pocket, but she did not mind. She fumbled with it, partly from the thrill of it but also from the lack of practice. It was so rare that her house was empty growing up that they’d rarely made use of latches and bolts. She could not even recall the last time she’d needed a key to gain entrance.

But this was private. Where they had bolts and keys to keep out the rest of the world while they took to their rooms whenever responsibilities allowed it.

Firen fumbled once more, and she did not let Lucian’s sigh trouble her, not when it caught and turned and she could push open the door.

“Oh,” she breathed. “It’s like a proper house.”

Not just a bedroom for them to share. But it opened to a narrow entry, then a kitchen beckoned beyond. Doors were ajar, not locked to suggest they belonged to anybody else. There was a loft above—or perhaps an entire second storey? Where there were yet more rooms, and surely those were let by someone else.

She turned to glance at the map and no, there were not any other names.

It was all for them.

She laughed. A bright burst of relief and enthusiasm. “I thought it was just going to be a bedchamber!”

To which Lucian rolled his eyes and muttered just loudly enough that she could make out most of it. Most of which was about what sort of mate she thought him to be, how they were to take meals if there was no place to cook them, and did she imagine they’d be flying back to her mother’s kitchen whenever they wanted a crust of bread?

“Maybe,” she answered cheerfully, peeking into each room she passed. Furnished, but only just. A wooden bench in sore need of cushions to make it at all comfortable to sit upon. A wooden table in the kitchen, sanded smooth and utterly lacking in the nicks and dings that accompanied daily life. The floors were bare of rugs, the walls had no tapestries. But all that could be fixed. Would be fixed. Just as soon as they had coin enough to manage it.

She turned and thrust her arms about Lucian’s neck, her wings fluttering so that she was a little taller than him for once. “That would have been enough for me. If it had made you happy, for us just to have a room of our own and to trek all the way home for yes, just a crust of bread , I’d have made every flight cheerfully.” She kissed him full on the mouth. “Because we’d be together, and you’d be happy, and you wouldn’t have to live in my playroom.”

He glanced away from her, which was made even more obvious by their close proximities. “You should expect more for yourself.”

She shook her head, but her smile did not fade. “All right. If you say so.”

He looked at her then. Full of all the seriousness she couldn’t seem to keep. “I don’t...” he groaned, and she settled her feet back on the floor. She wasn’t nervous, not then, but she didn’t like how he seemed to struggle with his words. How to talk to her.

Always their problem.

“Don’t what?” She nudged him, not playfully, but to prompt him.

“You shouldn’t be happy just because,” he blurted out. “You should have the important things. Like a home, and...” he gestured about the rooms. “Things you like. Which we will get,” he pressed on. As if reassuring himself as well as her. “You can want things.”

Her brow furrowed, and she tried to make sense of his tangent. “You don’t think I could be happy, just with you?”

Lucian rolled his eyes. “Do be serious.” He made to pull away, but she caught his hand—the other full of papers, hers still holding the keys to their new home.

“I am.”

He didn’t glare, but it was a near thing. “Well, I am certainly not enough. There should be food on the table, and proper beds to sleep in. There should be flowers in those boxes you said you liked. The one with the windows.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “All reasonable,” she soothed, smiling softly.

While he paced.

And she let him.

Because...

He saw the life he wanted. The one he wanted for her. And perhaps it overwhelmed him, for the moment. How far they had to go.

But she was patient. Could be patient. Would be. For all those little things that mattered to her.

Like the family she planned to have.

The fledglings that would look a little bit like her, and a lot a bit like him.

Or perhaps the other way around.

It was a strange sort of assurance. That he wasn’t being cruel, but rather... thoughtful. In his unusual manner, that was simply... Lucian.

“I don’t mind your aspirations,” Firen continued, because they were silent too long and she was itching to explore the rest of their new home. “I... like that you have ambitions. That you want to provide for me.” It was what a mate did, wasn’t it? Love and sacrifice, all mingled into one. A joy to be found in both. “But it doesn’t have to happen all at once. That’s all. It doesn’t mean I’m so silly to think that I’d be all right starving as long as you were doing it with me.” She reached for him and squeezed his arm and smiled at him even as his brow furrowed and he looked at her as if she just was that foolish. “Honest. See? I’ll even amend my list. I’ll be happy with you, so long as I have hot tea in the mornings, and a warm supper in the evenings, and plenty of quilts, so we needn’t share when we take to our bed.” Her smile grew cheeky. “Better?”

“Much,” he answered dryly, but his shoulders relaxed and he drew in a deep breath as his hand ran through his hair. Just the once. “Perhaps I am impatient.”

Firen drew closer now that he was calming. Set the keys on the table. Took the papers still in his hand and set those beside. Only after did she put her arms about him, and waited for him to return her embrace before she answered him. “You want to take care of me,” she murmured into his chest, and she said it so warmly that it could not be taken as anything but a compliment. Hoped he couldn’t.

His hand settled on the back of her head, and he leaned down to press his cheek against her hair. “I do not want you to leave.”

Her brow furrowed. She’d hoped—no, she’d thought they were beyond that. But perhaps those fears were too deeply ingrained to simply disappear with a single conversation. No matter how sincere the promises made had been. “I do not want you to want to leave,” he amended.

She sighed and nestled closer. “Quite a pair we make. So certain the other is only here by duress.”

He hummed, but did not correct her. “Are we supposed to do something about that?”

“Probably.”

But neither offered a solution, not when they were personal doubts that likely only ebb with time. With affection. With constantly choosing what the other needed. Some of what they wanted.

Lucian pulled away first, and she was sorry for it. Their first embrace in their own kitchen. Where she could kiss him if she wanted without fear that her mother would walk in. Where Lucian might actually return that kiss because it was theirs.

She grinned at him, but his back was to her, already heading back into the hallway.

Then toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, already thinking of heading up to the loft and investigating more of their new quarters.

“To your mother,” Lucian answered. She hadn’t noticed him swiping the keys until he dangled them from this forefinger. “To thank her for her help.”

Why that meant so much to her, she couldn’t begin to say. But it did. “Without me?” she posed, her wings drooping a little lower as she tried to look downcast. She wasn’t. She wanted to beam at him and thank him for being...

Well...

Who she’d hoped he’d be.

“You can come if you like, I suppose.” He rolled his shoulders and opened the door, as if he was perfectly willing to go off without her. Maybe he was. It was a visit he felt the need to make for his own sake, even if it was her family he would be seeing.

“I could be persuaded,” she called back, already hurrying down the hallway. “You’d make a mess of my trunk, anyway.”

He snorted as he shook his head and locked the door behind them. It was a lie, and they both knew it. His was all crisp folds and tidy edges. Hers was... just as she liked it. A contained chaos, her mother would say with a grim face and a tone of disapproval.

Eris was worse. She let the contents spill out onto the floor. And any other surface she could find, for that matter.

Firen could invite her over. Could invite any of them, any time she pleased.

She hesitated, catching hold of Lucian’s arm as he was about to ascend. “I can...” she swallowed and tried again. “My family can come here, yes? For suppers and visits?”

He must have seen something in her expression, because he did not tease her for her doubt. Just allowed his eyes to soften ever so slightly. “You are mistress here,” Lucian answered. “To invite whomever you please.”

“They should have a manual of some sort,” Firen complained, allowing him to pull her up behind him as they breached the boughs of the courtyard trees. “Rules about common areas and how many visitors we are allowed. That sort of thing.”

Lucian shook his head, and she wondered what was so silly about that. She wanted to be courteous. Although the map suggested there would be no one to share the courtyard, the other buildings standing tall and empty.

Which was a fine thing if one liked privacy. Which she did, occasionally. But she also liked neighbours to chat with, as she tended to the little mundane tasks that took up an entire day. Someone to hang the laundry with to warm in the suns.

That sort of thing.

She wondered what it meant. If the other workers in the Halls merely had other accommodations provided by their families—as was usual.

Expected.

Or...

She thought of Vandran’s daughters. Who had no interest in following their father into his trade. Of study and long days with books and cases. Anything else that made up the actual work to manage an entire city and its people.

Of his query, if she would care for employment, as well.

She’d dismissed it readily enough, for it had never occurred to want it. And perhaps...

Perhaps fewer did.

When there was coin enough to be made with small crafts. Or the trades outside the walls. Crops and livestock. Where days were managed by the weather rather than masters and books of governance so thick they had to make up multiple volumes.

“Could you see me as a lawmancer?”

She knew better than to try to talk in the air. Lucian knew she’d spoken, but his quizzical look made it clear he hadn’t made out the words. Which was fine. It was a question for herself more than for him.

She hated to study. Wanted a life much like her mother’s. With children and a place in the market. With people all about her that she knew and knew her in return.

She did not want to be locked away with books and men like Oberon.

Maybe that made her a coward. Made her like all the rest that chose other pursuits over the noble—and necessary—rule of law.

She’d have to be like Vandran. Trust that Lucian would look out for her. For the people like her.

Which did not seem so daunting a prospect as it once had.

◆◆◆

She found him in their new bed.

She hadn’t meant to take so long. She’d merely grown distracted by deciding where to put the plates in the cupboard. Not that there were so many options, as it was of a modest size, but every time she had decided, she stood back and considered and tried again.

Maybe she’d have Mama come tomorrow. Give her opinion.

Which then led to many more considerations, like should she make something to welcome her? Or let it be simple since they were still settling in?

Da could come, but he did not know what to do with himself when he did not have some metalwork to tinker with. She was not certain she was ready for her new dining table to be covered in shavings and dust so soon.

That led to delving into her trunk for linens. Ones she’d made longer ago than she cared to admit. One corner was not sewn as well, her skill improving as she continued. She could make out which flower had been stitched first, as its petals were not nearly as symmetrical as the ones she had completed last. But she spread it out anyway, proud of her younger self, and the woman she was now, because at last she had a table to use it on, with a mate upstairs that she probably had left for longer than was reasonable.

She did not expect to see him stretched out on top of the bedclothes. On a bed he’d made himself, she thought with a guilty sort of pang. But she pushed it away as firmly as she could. He could make their bed, and she could set up their kitchen. Not everything must be done together.

“Sorry,” she murmured, taking in the state of the room. There were wardrobes. Two of them. To hang clothes rather than keep them in trunks. Which spoke of permanence. No longer at the ready to be whisked away by a mate to a new home. She could unpack and...

Her eyes narrowed.

“Did you unpack my things?”

She went to her trunk and lifted the lid. Most were still in place, and when she opened the wardrobe, only her newest dress was hanging upon a peg. Just to look at it sent a knot into her stomach, her emotions so terribly conflicted about a bit of fabric. She liked the memory of the tailor well enough. Of Lucian helping her to make her selection. Of him wanting to provide her something nice—even indulgent.

But then there was the rest of it. The afterward. Of a wretched supper and horrible threats, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to purge those feelings from a dress that had done nothing wrong, had only wanted to flutter and clothe her.

“I started,” Lucian began absently from his place on the bed. “Then I couldn’t decide if you’d be cross having your things gone through.”

He turned a page of the book he’d propped on his chest. “Oh.” Cross was too strong a word. But she would have been sorry not to move her things herself. To fuss and place them just so. Full of confidence that they would not be packed away again for a long time to come. “You could have,” she assured him. “Though I probably would have changed things about a little.”

He hummed, and she went to the bed, wondering at his manner. A little too detached, a little too disinterested in her.

Had she hurt him somehow? She hadn’t meant to. Maybe it was all the talk with her parents about settling in. That she could talk with her parents about it. To share their excitement, to make promises about suppers and tours and the like.

It prompted her to cross to her side of the bed. To sprawl out beside him, her back propped against the pillows.

Taken from home. The mattress had been supplied, as well as the frame, but all the linens had been stripped and flown over from home.

She didn’t mind. Preferred it, actually.

“Lucian,” she began, her voice low with sympathy. “Is something...” Her attention went from his face to the page he was reading.

Her mouth dropped open.

And she reached for it with nothing but outrage, compassion utterly forgotten.

“What are you doing with my book?”

It wasn’t a screech. It wasn’t. But it was nearer than was proper, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not when she was flushed all over with mortification as he was looking at the very diagrams she had studied in her earlier days. When she’d grown curious and insistent that she wanted to know the way of men and women. When Mama’s explanations had led only to more confusion, so Da had presented her with that book and no reason at all.

Left her to blush and hide it amongst her belongings, pulling it out only when she was certain Eris was fully asleep.

Not that it was wrong. It was only knowledge, after all. It held other topics, as well. Small healing, with recipes for tinctures and salves that could help small household ailments. She’d read it all, but yes, she’d focused on just the page Lucian now held open, shameless and bold as he studied the pictures.

Held fast as she clutched and tried to pull it back toward her.

To shove back into her trunk where he’d never find it.

Or burn it.

No, not that. It meant something to her, despite the mortification that shivered through her. “I expect an answer!” she insisted, huffing away from him as he refused to relinquish it.

“I started on your trunk,” Lucian amended. “And then I found this. And I’ve read all the books in my trunk, so I thought I would simply... peruse.” His eyes drifted toward her, and she really was outraged, and he really was a wretch, because he should have put it back when he realised it was of a personal nature.

Was it, though? When it delved into his anatomy just as thoroughly as it did hers.

“See what floats about in that head of yours,” he continued, as if... as if that should be anything shocking given what they enjoyed doing with one another.

It didn’t make it any different if it was written on a page. Or if it was... drawn.

They were not people . Not exactly. Just... parts. And their functions.

All reasonable in one’s education.

“You are being terribly unfair,” Firen complained. “You’re making it seem... sordid.”

He turned his head, his thumb in the pages even as he closed them. As if he actually intended on completing his perusal despite her upset. “Sordid,” he repeated.

She fidgeted, smoothing down her tunic. She should change, and perhaps she would. Slowly, and with no care for just how much skin Lucian would see while she did it. Then she would put on her thickest nightdress and keep to her side of the bed, and wait to see what his apology might be for embarrassing her.

“Did it displease you?” she asked tightly. “That I had some knowledge of... of intimacies before you had your way with me?”

Lucian rolled his eyes and did close the book then.

Handed it back to her.

“I have quite a different recollection of that night,” he answered, and she’d hurt him along the way. Which was not what she’d wanted, and yet she’d been careless and it happened, anyway. “Mostly that you were intent on having me .”

She must be careful. He’d already expressed his concerns that she indulged him rather than was an equal participant in their affections. Old wounds. Worries that came from a world she did not care to know.

She rubbed at the spine of her book, old and cracked. It could use with rebinding, but she couldn’t bear the thought of it. “I didn’t...” she huffed out a breath. Held it back out to him. “I might have overreacted.”

He hummed. Took it back. Opened it to much the same place he had been, although he had to thumb through three pages to get the exact spot. “Have I ever given any objection to your knowledge?”

Her cheeks burned, and she plucked at the bedding beneath her, abashed. “No.”

“Do you think I did not have similar books?”

Her mouth grew dry.

“More than one?”

He turned, and there was a glimmer in his eye that spoke of mischief. “A library can be full of many things. And I intended to put what I learned to good use.” He smoothed his finger down the page. The one on... on female anatomy. With its tight script and arrows that seemed so impersonal before, but not felt almost lewd for him to touch it so.

Her breath caught, and this was ridiculous. It was just a book. And it was just a long, elegant finger.

It shouldn’t make her squirm. Shouldn’t make her think... anything at all.

But it did.

Which must have been his aim, because he glanced at her.

And smirked.

Which was absolutely intolerable. This was not a game she was prepared for, did not know how to win. If victory came at the denial, or if it came from conquest. Her bond suggested the latter. Suggested it with a sudden flare of warmth that spread and thrummed with such ferocity it left her breathless.

“Is this because I left you alone to tend to the kitchen?” She plucked the book out of his hands because if he was going to touch something, it would be her. She did not throw it, but shoved it under her pillows, then turned her attention back to her mate. “Is this what I am to look forward to when you miss me?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked entirely too at ease while she...

Wanted.

“Perhaps.”

Insufferable.

That’s what he was.

Teasing when he should be apologising.

Looking at her if he might simply lie there while she would push herself over him and do as she pleased.

Not tonight.

That would be her compromise. They might love, but he did not get to lie there and be lazy while she took her fill.

He could pursue her.

Whisper sweet words into her skin if that’s what he wanted from her.

Not be wretched and then lie there waiting for her to take her fill. Be the one to seduce and...

She got out of the bed. Wasn’t cross. Honest. Not about the book, and not about talk of their first night. Of his feelings when hers mattered as well. And there was far more to object to about that night than who began the first seduction.

She unbuttoned her tunic. Negotiated it about wings and arms, and tried not to be frustrated by either. It wasn’t in any sort of alluring way, just the shucking of cloth that most certainly needed a good soak. The cabinets had been grubby, but she’d seen to that. Seen to much more than that. And if he missed her like she suspected he did, he might have come down to help rather than poke about in her private things, making her think of private things when she was not in the mood to do anything about them.

Movement caught her eye, and she saw Lucian had also removed his shirt.

Then eased back against the bedclothes.

Calm.

Waiting.

Her mouth twisted, and she saw to the bindings about her breasts, unwrapping the loosely pinned cloth and adding it to her pile.

Let him look. He certainly would not touch them. That would mean getting off the bed and fetching her, and he seemed content to lie there and stare. Which really was infuriating.

She should take to the washroom and deprive him the view. But she’d already washed her face and hands and tended to her teeth, so it seemed far too much bother for a simple tiff between them.

Her hands moved to her waistband, the little drawstring that held them in place. Not her finest clothing, by far, but practical. She pulled at the string, and she could not account for why she did so, but her eyes shifted just enough to see that Lucian mimicked that motion as well. The pull of the cord. The graceless yank and pull as she allowed them to drop—while he looked even more ridiculous as he shimmied free while still in his reclined position.

“What are you doing?” she asked, utterly exasperated.

“Preparing for bed,” Lucian answered easily. They were down to their small-clothes, and she wondered if he would shed that as well if she did.

“How exactly do you imagine your sleep clothes will reach you from over there?” she asked, quirking her brow. “Or have you some talents you have not cared to share with me?”

She hadn’t heard him move. Which was unsettling, to say the least. Made her jump when his hands were suddenly at her waist, when he could bring his mouth toward her ear.

She shrieked, her hand coming to her chest, and she had to suppress the urge to smack his arm in reprimand.

But his grip held her fast, and his chin came to settle on her shoulder. “Why are we quarrelling?” he asked, his hand coming to spread against her middle, bringing her back fully against him.

She wanted him to touch her all over. Wanted him to kiss her, to turn her about, to lead her back to their new bed and love her.

“I want to be seduced,” Firen blurted out. As if he hadn’t. As if she had always been the one to instigate their affection. Which was a lie, surely. But suddenly felt a weighty truth as she grabbed hold of his arm and held him there. “You don’t get to just... be over there and expect me to do all the work.”

He chuckled lowly, and his hold on her tightened. His lips found her neck, and he... nibbled.

Which was the oddest sort of sensation. Tickling and warming her all at the same time. “Not doing my part, am I?” Lucian asked, not shifting in his hold, not straying to any of the parts of her that thrummed with awareness.

Firen did not argue with him. Did not make allowances and apologies that she’d reacted too strongly. Again. But she confessed the little niggling voice that kept her from simply sinking back against him. To letting him do as he pleased and being swept up in the pleasure of it. “I get to be immodest with you,” she murmured. “And I get to want you. And to seduce when it pleases me.” She swallowed. “And that does not make me a poor mate.”

Lucian stilled. “Some would argue,” he answered seriously. “That would make you an excellent mate.”

She turned her head as best she could so she could look at him with wide, entreating eyes. “Would you?”

He didn’t sigh. Didn’t tell her she was being ridiculous. Didn’t ask where she was getting such foolish ideas.

She could not even name where they had come from. Perhaps it was how little she understood of his world. She tried to imagine Orma undressing freely. Climbing on top of the mate she loved and whispering her intentions into the dark of their shared room.

And she couldn’t.

They seemed... more proper than that. As if all the joy and fun of it was stripped away, leaving only a perfunctory act when the bond urged them together.

He turned her around. Gently cupped her face in his hands as he leaned forward. Kissed her once. Twice. Just a brush of warmth, a glimmer of how much more there could be. Had been.

And there was the temptation to clutch at him. To pull him back and hold him there. To forget the rest and indulge. Because she was being silly, and everything was fine. They were fine. They could have this and not... and wouldn’t...

He pulled back, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You are magnificent,” Lucian stated, nothing in his eyes suggesting it was an exaggeration merely to pamper her vanity. “And I would defy anyone— have defied anyone that would suggest you are anything but mine.” He kissed her then. With a bit more force, with his hand cupping the back of her head, keeping her to him.

And then...

He purred.

A rumble of sound that turned her muscles to liquid, and left her helpless against him. Made her trouble, her doubts, seem so terribly unimportant. He turned her around again so she could feel it for herself, feel the subtle vibrations against her spine.

“What do you think I was doing?” Lucian continued, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Allowed his hands to creep up to her uncovered breasts. “But seducing you?”

“Oh,” she managed to breathe out. She thought he’d done rather a terrible job of it if that had been his intention, but she didn’t say that. Maybe she’d simply mucked up receiving it. “Well.”

He chuckled at her. A warm breath of sound that interrupted his purr, and she did not like that so much, but she did like to hear him laugh. Even if it was slightly at her expense. “Are you pleased with your kitchen?” he asked, and it was such an odd turn to their conversation, yet filled her with such excitement that she could hardly complain. Most especially because he was still touching her. Still moving his thumbs against that particularly sensitive spot against her breast, still pressing his lips to her throat, her cheek, her temple.

Waiting for her to answer him.

“Very pleased,” she murmured. “Although I’m going to have Mama come look and see if I’ve got things just right.”

He hummed, which was an entirely novel sensation when it pressed against her from behind, when his lips were still pressed against her skin. “A fine idea,” he agreed.

She swallowed, trying not to simply lose herself. “I thought so,” she demurred, and tried her best to keep still and not start squirming. She’d wanted this, hadn’t she? To let him lead in this dance, and it would hardly be right for her to give him only a few moments before she tired of it and took over. “You did a very nice job with the bed,” she added, because she should compliment his other efforts as well as his more... physical accomplishments. She could be pleased in many ways, whether it was little domestic tasks, or how well he loved her.

He snorted, his head shaking as he glanced at it. “It is hardly the first bed I have made, nor will it be the last.” She eased back against him, allowing herself to simply enjoy him. Enjoy what he was doing to her.

With her.

“Not so spoiled, then.” A declaration. A tease. She knew just how well he could scrub, as she’d watched him with much appreciation as he’d helped her conquer the soot in their loft room. He was no stranger to hard labour in the pursuit of cleanliness, and she found herself glad of it. For those tasks not to seem beneath him, most especially when eventually it was the washroom and laundry that needed their attention.

She liked it even more when she thought of their future fledglings. When messes were a daily sacrifice. When order was exchanged for tiny wings and bright smiles.

“Lucian,” she asked, not wanting to pose it at all. Needing to. Now they were alone. Now that the thought had taken root in her mind. “I’m not asking for it now. Promise. But... will you want a child with me? Someday?”

She needed him to say yes. Needed for it not to come from obligation. Not even because of his care of her—an indulgence, and nothing more. But she supposed she could not dictate such things. Could not make him want something he didn’t, not even to please her.

“You can tell me no,” she added, heart breaking just a little, but knowing it needed to be said. She would not trap him into any sort of vow. Would not push and wheedle and try to change his mind. He had choices, just as she did. “I’ll be all right.”

His hands stilled in their ministrations, but just for a moment. His mouth worked sooner, smoothing against her throat just the once as he seemed to struggle with his answer. “I want to want to,” he admitted. As if... as if that made any sense at all. “It is not you. Not your family that gives me pause.”

Her heart ached, but not with disappointment.

Well, perhaps a little.

“Yours?” she asked, so gently that she hoped it could not hurt him.

He gave it no voice, but she felt his nod, and when his grasp tightened it no longer felt quite the seduction it had a moment before. Comfort, instead, and she was breathless from the intimacy in it. There could be passion—oh yes, there could be that. But there could also be tender touches, the only change coming from the emotions behind them. The need for security, for solidarity. That they were together and would remain that way, even when the foes were shadows of past wrongs.

“Someday,” he murmured, so quietly that she almost did not hear it at all. But it made her heart swell, made her soften all over toward him.

“All right, then,” Firen declared, needing nothing more of him.

Not true.

She needed more.

But it was action more than words.

“I’m quite patient, you know,” she added, luxuriating against him when his hands became to move back toward her more intimate places. “Known for it, in fact.”

He snorted, and she caught at her smile by biting at her lip, not wanting him to see how his disbelief amused her. Never mind that he could feel it for himself. This was a game she was happy to play. “You do not believe me?” she asked, tilting her head, her eyes wide.

And Lucian knew just how to play also, for he brought his face toward hers, close enough that her eyes closed of their own accord. “Not in the least.”

She smiled, unable to help herself. “Then I am in good company, for I do not think patience is your finest attribute either.”

His hands smoothed down her back, settling on the waist of the last of her clothing. “And what is that, I wonder? My finest attribute.”

There were a great many things she could say. Should have said.

But he was nibbling at her again, and his purr was the faintest rumble to her ears, and it turned her thoughts in a direction that...

Well...

She reached up and cupped his cheek, her thumb coming to the corner of her mouth.

And he kissed it.

Just the flat of a digit that she had no idea might like to be kissed. “Your mouth,” she blurted, and watched his brow furrow as he pulled back just a bit.

“My mouth,” he repeated, as if that response was the farthest possibility from his mind.

“Your kisses,” she amended. “Which is probably a shame because it means I’m going to be selfish and hoard them all to myself, so no one will know just how fine you are at it.” She smiled at him. A little sweet, a little coy. “Just me.”

He did not seem to have an answer for her, whether an objection or an acquiescence of her praise.

Instead, he picked her up, the movement so sudden that she startled.

Only to be placed into their new bed. On quilts that were familiar, even if their surroundings were not.

He covered her, not with more blankets, but with himself. As he kissed her thoroughly, until there were no other thoughts in her head but him. Of the pulse that quickened and quieted in turn, of the thrum of her skin, desperate for more sensations.

He moved downward and placed a single kiss in the dip between her breasts, and it felt so intimate a gesture that it took everything in her to keep still, to let him lead, to see what he might do next.

She did not expect for him to sink down beside her. For his arm to come about her middle as he pulled her back into him. “I do not think I deserve you,” he confessed, his voice so tight, so small, that it made her ache just to hear it. His hold tightened. “But I want to keep you.”

She wriggled around so she might face him. Might take his face in her hands and kiss both his cheeks. His temple. Brush her thumb at the lines at the corner of his eyes where he held such tension. “Thankfully, the Maker disagreed with you. Because here I am.” Another kiss, this time to his mouth. The one she loved, most particularly now that it was not quite so prone to grimacing at her. “And I am not leaving you.” The ache, the pull in her heart, the one that was an offer she did not want to make, but needed to. “Even if you had told me you could not offer someday. I would stay. And love you anyway.”

His eyes darted about, as if he was afraid for them to settle on her. Afraid for her to look and see. To know how deeply she affected him.

But the bond told her. Made her burrow closer and hold him to her. To press skin against skin until his breath calmed.

Until his eyes were dry.

Not that she would ever tease him about that. It was a private moment, shared and experienced between the two of them. “I love that you try,” Firen added. “That you want to be different. And I think...” she nuzzled into his chest and felt the bond pull and warm. Settle more deeply than it had before, and it felt so right that she could not suppress her sigh. “I think you love me, too.”

He hadn’t said it, but he’d shown it. Bit by bit. When he’d chosen her. When he’d put her first. When he’d respected her mother, when he’d listened to her father’s stories.

If it wasn’t love, she wasn’t certain she needed to know any other kind.

“I am a poor seducer,” Lucian complained, as she reached out and tried to grapple with the edge of a quilt to bring it over top of them. She failed, but Lucian didn’t, and he covered the both of them well enough.

“Really? Because I’m rather enjoying myself,” Firen assured him, rubbing little patterns into his chest. Runes she’d seen on doorways, that meant nothing and yet... did now. Because it was a place shared with him. A language of her people that she had not learned, but perhaps she would.

“We still could,” Lucian offered, but it was half-hearted. A concession to her needs. Quiet though they’d gone as they lay there. He could rouse them easily enough if he tried, but there was something nice in this, too. The lying together. The knowledge they could come together in the morning without thinking of her father at work downstairs. Of having to dress properly in order to use the facilities in the main house.

Perhaps it was not quite how she’d imagined spending her first night in her new home, but she found she had no complaints.

“Maybe part of the seduction is waiting for daylight,” Firen teased. Kissed him once on his bare chest, just because she could. “I told you I’m patient.”

Another chuckle, softer this time. Full of fondness.

“I do love you,” he told her, so quietly that if she had not felt the words against her ear, she might have doubted he spoke them at all.

She hummed. Pulled the quilt higher on her shoulder and enjoyed being nestled against him while it lasted. He’d roll away, eventually. When he thought she was sleeping and would not notice.

But for now, she had him pinned. Made all the better when she brought her leg on top of one of his. “You’ve nothing to say?” Lucian asked, his fingers finding the tidy ribbon at the end of her plait, pulling it free. She should stop him. It would be a mess come morning if she didn’t.

Maybe she would have him comb it, after they loved in the morning. Since it would be his fault when it tangled. “Oh,” she mumbled, turning her head so she could glance at him. “I already knew. But thank you for telling me.” She smiled at him, and even tilted her chin to indicate she would like a kiss, but that only earned an eye roll from her mate.

“Such a romantic, you are.”

But he did kiss her.

And she sighed happily as her head dropped back down to his chest.

“I have to be at the Hall early.” His fingers were stroking through her hair, skimming across the bare skin of her back. Over and over. “Vandran’s schedule is... rigorous.”

Her eyes opened.

“Oh. Well. Then I suppose we should do this now.”

She popped up, leaning over him as he watched her try to cover him as best she could with herself. “I thought you were resting,” Lucian laughed at her, tangling his hands in her hair and pulling her down to him.

“And I thought we could have a leisurely morning. We can both be wrong.”

And when he touched her, there was nothing half-hearted about it at all.

◆◆◆

Firen sat in the garden.

Then the kitchen.

Then aired out their room in the loft and cleaned it.

Again.

The laundry was hanging on a line. There was an entirely separate space dedicated just to the craft, down in what she thought was a root cellar. But no, there was the cauldron on its great hearth, the scrubbing boards and wringer.

The colourful quilts moved gently from the state of the breeze, but Firen was restless.

Lucian was under tutelage with Vandran until almost supper, and he’d asked her to please refrain from indulging her threat of refreshment until he’d at least settled a week with the man.

There were things to do. A great many of them if she wanted to fuss and make lists of it all.

But it was too quiet about her. Too few people. No one to share anything with.

She went back into the house and changed out of her work clothes. Smoothed her hair and tried not to look like a laundress. The looking glass was small and speckled, but she was satisfied with her appearance when she went out the back door. Out the gate that creaked just a little as she exited the courtyard.

Then hurried back in both when she recalled she’d locked nothing and had not even remembered the keys to do it. Also, her coin purse. That was rather important as well.

This time she made it beyond the gate before she hurried back again, suddenly worried what might happen if Lucian came home early and found her gone, the house locked and empty. The second key was in possession, but he might worry, and she didn’t want that.

She scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment and debated where she might leave it. Why he’d take to their bed she didn’t know, so she decided against his pillow.

There was the small room on the lower floor that they’d discussed making a workroom. Books and study for him, a place to tinker for her.

It would spare the kitchen being subjected to either fancy, and the disorder that would surely accompany either pursuit.

Satisfied, she actually made it away from the Hall. She might have circled a few times, just to see if she could spy Lucian, but that felt a little desperate, even to her own judgement.

So on she went.

Away from the towers. Away from all that was new, and back to what she knew far better.

She would make new friends, eventually. Befriend shopkeepers and the like as she braved doing her shopping in a building rather than a stall.

But that could be another day.

She smiled broadly as the market came into view. The lines of fluttering pennants, the wooden tops of the stalls painted in varying shades of white. She knew the routes so well, and she would have landed early to walk and mingle as she pleased, but she waited until almost the last moment, her approach so quick that she earned the startled gasp from her mother when suddenly she was simply there.

“Was that necessary?” she scolded, with a hand on her chest and a scowl on her face.

“Yes,” Firen answered sweetly before wrapping her arms about her and sighing just a little.

A bit of normalcy.

“Surely you have better things to do,” Mama countered, eyeing Firen over. It had only been a few days since they’d seen one another last, so there was nothing truly to see. But she supposed that was to be expected. Age and mating did not change a mother’s love.

“Probably. But I wanted to be here.” Everything was arranged a little differently, which she should have expected. Mama hadn’t worked in the stall for a long while. Not since Firen had come of age and taken over. “We didn’t talk about this part,” Firen observed. She sat on the second stool, the one that more often than not, she’d filled with a friend. But now it was just her and Mama, and it felt like her younger days. When she couldn’t keep still, and Mama would threaten to tie her to that same stool if she didn’t stop fluttering about like that.

Mama brought a flask to her lips and took a deep pull. Water, surely, for the day was warm, and the breeze was calm. Even so, Firen peered a little closer, trying to make out the contents.

Mama shoved her away with a playful hand. “I’ve not turned to strong drink in your absence, Firen,” she chided. “And what do you mean we did not talk? Talk of what?”

Firen gestured to the stall before them. “About this. You don’t like it here.”

Mama frowned, shaking her head slightly. “I never said that.”

Firen snorted out a laugh. “You did not have to. Hip high, all of us could see how grumpy you got on market days.” It was all right that Mama laughed. Ask any of her siblings and they would tell her just the same. “It’s true!”

“In the height of summer, I’ll grant you. Or when I was growing a child, I did not much care for it, then. These stools are hardly comfortable on the best of days.” Firen gave her a dubious look, for she could remember her mother’s weary sighs more often than that. “You do not believe me?”

Firen tilted her chin, smiling as someone walked by. Their eyes drifted over the wares, but their feet did not slow, and their attention flickered away just as quickly. She could bring them back, bring them in, but it would be a stilted sort of exchange, and not worth the effort. “I do not... not believe you,” Firen assured her. “I just remember it differently.”

Mama rolled her shoulders and fiddled with one of the anklets Da had finished. “You love the people,” she mused. “You light up when someone comes near, and I will admit that I’m relieved a little when someone walks on. Not with having fewer coins, mind. But...” she turned her attention back to Firen. “This is my trade. Mine and your fathers. And I’d not have any of my children bound to it simply because of our choices. So what are you here for, Firen? Truly. Not some sense of obligation, I hope.”

Firen sighed. She had not come here to complain. Lucian was working hard, and she loved their home. Loved that she could be as affectionate as she pleased. Loved...

When he was there.

Then it became a house. With her things in it, to be sure, but it felt so desperately empty when it was just her.

“How did you stand it?” Firen blurted. “When it was just you and Da and he was in the workroom, and you were all by yourself?”

Mama smiled at her as she reached out and patted her shoulder. “I was not alone for long, remember? Your brother came soon after. And it was different for us. He came in throughout the day. And if I was lonesome, I could go out and see him.”

Firen slouched a little further in her seat, plucking at a stray thread on her tunic. “I think I should start working with Da again. Or be... here. On market days, I mean. We’re... waiting. A bit. For our children.” She sat a little straighter because she’d allowed something too close to discontent to seep into her tone. “And we’re in agreement, so I’m not complaining. Just... nothing is how I imagined.” Her smile grew a little thinner. “Some ways it’s better. And then there’s... others.”

“Where you’re still lonely, and you thought having a mate would fix that forever and ever, and you wouldn’t need another living soul.” Mama said it all so dryly that Firen knew she found her ridiculous.

Chastened, she nodded.

“I tried to tell you,” she continued, which was a bit too close to a quip that Firen tried not to bristle. And she saw, because she was her mother, and she pulled her into an embrace. “Oh Firen,” she breathed. “You can work with us for as long as it pleases you. You can find your own employment if you’d rather. But I hope you’re not afraid to make new friends where you live, or that the old ones will be offended if you do so.”

Her throat burned. “Why wouldn’t they? I belong here. In my district. With all my lovely people.”

“True,” Mama agreed. “And you belong in towers, or in Halls, or anywhere else the Maker puts you. Because you are my lovely daughter, and it is a pleasure to know you. She kissed her temple before she pulled back just a little. “Is someone making you feel you do not belong?”

It was a question gently given, yet it was enough to cause her stomach to knot with dread. “You know there are.”

“Yes,” Mama agreed. Their rendition of the supper with Lucian’s family had been truthful, but carefully moderated. The overview more than the details.

She wasn’t protecting them. She’d promised herself that was not her responsibility. But she did want to protect Lucian. To ensure he was given grace even... even when she had struggled with that in the beginning.

“Have you seen them again?”

Firen rubbed at her wrist and suppressed another sigh. “No. And maybe that’s why I feel so guilty.”

Mama snorted, and then there was a customer, so she sat quietly and piped in only when it seemed important for the sale. A mate there to celebrate with a gift for a wife. A healthy girl, had they heard? A necklace. No, not just that. A bracelet would be better, wouldn’t it? Or maybe rings for her toes, or...

On it went.

And it was so delightfully normal that Firen forgot the rest of it for a while, and that was better still.

She watched Mama tuck the large coins into her purse and settled back onto her stool, her eyes drifting back to her daughter all too soon.

“Why do you feel guilty?”

Firen’s wings drooped, and she’d rather hoped Mama had been distracted enough to forget what she’d said. “Because he loves them. Loves them even now. And I don’t blame myself for being me, and I know he doesn’t either. But I wonder if I should... try. Or...” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Has he said he misses them?”

Firen’s shoulders dropped further. “No. He’s tired. Says he isn’t, but I don’t believe him.” She glanced toward her mother. “I’m fussing about nothing, aren’t I?”

Her mother’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Maybe. Or maybe you had in that head of yours all the people you’d get to love after you found your mate, and now you’re disappointed when they aren’t there.”

Firen’s throat hurt.

“When did you last see your sister?”

Firen couldn’t look at her.

Which was evidently answer enough.

“Well. Then maybe you ought to start with your own family instead of feeling guilty about Lucian’s.”

“I suppose,” she mumbled, and Mama reached out and grasped her hand tightly.

“Jealousy does not become you,” she offered gently, but firmly. “Eris did nothing wrong, and neither did you. Just because her mating went a little easier, does not mean it was a wound against you.”

Not a wound, no. But an irritant. That was unjust and unbecoming, and Firen felt dreadful for it at once. “I suppose,” she drew out with a long sigh, but turned her head so her mother could see her begrudging smile. “You just want to be rid of me. Admit it.”

“Yes, that’s certainly it,” Mama confirmed with a rueful look. “Now go make nice so I can tend to my patrons.”

She did not have to shove at Firen lightly, but she did so anyway. Who, in return, did not have to make an exaggerated expression of hurt, but did it just because.

But a customer was approaching the stall, so the game had to end, and Firen felt a momentary pang to see it. She shouldn’t. She was welcome—Mama had said so.

But it wasn’t expected any longer. Wasn’t a simple fact that market days meant what they always had before. And what had once seemed an exciting venture, full of possibility and newness, now left her feeling like an outsider.

Where once she’d belonged so completely, there were bits of her that were meant to be somewhere else. Not just to sleep and reside.

Would her children know what it meant to grow up in these same stalls? To fly about and learn so many names and trades, it was almost dizzying to recite them all.

And if Eris was with child and she was not...

She shoved that thought away as hard as she could.

She would be more than pleased to welcome another of her sibling’s children into the family. There would be no room for envy. Not in the least.

◆◆◆

Firen had never been in a fishing cottage. Had never quite experienced what it meant to be so near the docks where barrels of catch were dunked and processed.

The smell was strong. Almost overpowering.

Eris was at the far end, but it did not mean when the wind caught, she wasn’t subjected to another waft of brine and... other odours.

Nets stretched out along the beaches, pinned down and drying in the suns. Men and women alike worked at mending them, backs hunched, wings outstretched to provide some shade from the heat.

She did not expect to see her sister as one of them. She’d expected her to be bustling about in her home, fully prepared to inform Firen of just how perfect her new life was, and how much better a roommate Varrel made than she did.

Eris stood almost immediately, wiping her hands on an apron that had once held some sort of pattern to it, but had bleached near-white from the suns. “What are you doing here?”

Not an accusation, but close to one.

“Mama kicked me out of the stall,” Firen answered truthfully. “Said I had not been attending to my sisterly duties.”

Eris snorted, moving away from the net and coming toward her. “I suppose you haven’t.” She needn’t have agreed. Someone else might have offered a gracious reminder that Firen was busy as well. That their lives had altered quickly, and what mattered most was to make time for one another now they’d settled.

But not Eris.

Firen would not prickle. Would not give back a reminder that Eris had made little attempt at contact, either.

Firen was the older. An example. How many times had Mama said that growing up?

“Well,” she countered briskly. “I’m here to make amends. Can I help in some way? You’d have to show me what needs doing, but I’m happy to try.”

Eris’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot pay you.”

Firen fought the urge to take offense—either at the implication that Lucian could not provide enough coin that Firen was here begging for employ, or that she would not offer help without some promise of compensation.

“Eris,” Firen sighed out. “I’m your sister. You are working hard. I would have asked if you wanted help to scrub your kitchen floor if that’s what you were doing when I came.” And just because she was perhaps a tiny bit perturbed, she added, “I wouldn’t ask for coin for that, either.”

Eris’s lips thinned. “It’s harder than it looks.”

Firen stepped closer, trying to assess that for herself. “Then I will be bad at it, at first. And you can correct me all you like.” And she would, of that Firen was certain.

Eris glanced down at the net and truly seemed to consider the offer. But then she stood a little straighter and shook her head. “Nets can wait. Come inside and talk with me. Isn’t that what mated women do? Exchange stories?”

Tension eased out of Firen to hear her sister acknowledge her new status, and she smiled far more easily. “That sounds lovely.”

And it was true. Just as the little cottage was lovely. Wood rather than stone. White-washed, with shutters softened by long curtains. A table with a pitcher filled with flowers plucked from the sea-fields. Eris had no great fondness for flying over the open water, so Firen suspected they were a gift from Varrel.

It was all one room, the bed—made, to Firen’s surprise—was partitioned with yet more gauze.

“It’s beautiful, Eris. Truly.”

Her sister looked at her for longer than was necessary, obviously trying to judge her sincerity. Had she truly been so harsh with her in their growing up? She couldn’t recall. “Thank you. It was a bit of a disaster when we moved in, but I like what we’ve done with it.” She had no stove, only a large hearth and a hook to move the cauldron closer or further from the flames. Then there was the metal stand where she could fry in a pan if she so chose.

“Did Da make that?”

Eris’ smile grew less guarded. “Yes. Came the next day with it. Just until we can afford a stove.” There was the look again, as if waiting for Firen’s disapproval. Or maybe... “Do you have one? A stove, that is.”

There it was. Firen could not recall when their relationship had become a competition, but she desperately wanted to put an end to it. “Now, yes. We’ve moved into the lodging provided by the Hall for their workers. But we were just in the workroom loft before that.”

Eris had moved to the hearth to swing the kettle above the low fire. “Shouldn’t you be in a tower? Mama said you had a lofty mate. Very important. ”

Firen swallowed, gesturing toward the table with a questioning look, and Eris nodded with a look that suggested Firen was being ridiculous for having to ask. “He’s important to me,” Firen soothed. “Just as Varrel is to you.”

Just the mention of his name was enough to soften some of Eris’s expression, and Firen was glad of it. There would be no quarrelling—not to day. Hopefully not for months to come.

“So,” Eris asked, pulling mugs down from a hook on the wall. “If I wanted to host a supper, he’d come? Here?”

Firen smoothed her hands against the tabletop. It had been well sanded, and her sister added a cloth of bright blue to soften it further. “He is your family too,” Firen answered quietly. “As am I. I am sorry if...” she swallowed. Tried again. “I am sorry I envied you. I am sorry I got caught up in how lonely I felt. I neglected you along the way, and I cannot take that back.” She folded her hands and leaned in as close as she could. “I should have been here before now. And anything you wish to host, we will attend.” She did not remind her that Eris had been the one to reject the invitation to their parents’ home. That her brothers had come, and she had not, and there had been hurt in the rejection.

Eris shifted slightly, evidently hearing all that Firen had not said. “We would have come. To the... to meet him. But Varrel got delayed and I...” she looked at her sister, her eyes too wide. “I did not want to go alone.”

Firen got up from her seat and crossed to her sister, pulling her close. They were not overly affectionate with one another—not since their youngest years. But perhaps that had been a mistake on her part as well. “Perfectly understandable,” Firen assured her. Because it was. Even now, she felt a part of herself was missing. Present through the bond, but it was not at all the same as having him near enough to touch. To glance across a room and find him watching her. For him to press little teasing emotions through the bond just to remind her he cared.

Eris pulled away first, and that was all right. And when she gestured for Firen to sit back down and told her to let her work, she sounded so much like Mama that Firen could not help but smile.

Mama had been right. She’d put this off too long, and now that it was done, she could not pretend it had not been weighing on her.

She did not stay over-long. Eris had chores to finish, she said, ducking her head as if there was something wrong with having tasks that needed doing. Those were matters to sort out on a different day. It was enough they had a pleasant visit, mostly filled with Eris sighing out Varrel’s virtues while Firen nodded and prompted her to continue every so often.

Which was more than all right.

And while there was a tug to go back to her own home, she knew she needed to go back to Mama first. Thank her for her prompting and allow her that brief glimmer in her eye that was a too near to pride at being right.

Again.

Earned, Firen supposed. But difficult to swallow depending on the circumstances.

Besides. She wanted to pick up food for their supper. Something beyond her ability to cook. With spices from across the sea, with flavours that were familiar to Firen only because Da liked to take them all and choose one special stall to patronise each market.

Her mouth watered just a little at the memory of spiced nutmeats and cups of sweetened juices from fruits that looked so marvellous hanging on strings behind the stall-keeps. She’d tried to pick out a seed from her cup, determined she’d plant it outside the workshop so she could have it whenever she liked, but it had swiftly been taken away again.

To preserve the mystery, he’d said.

Which had been heartily disappointing to her, and it had been so long ago she was certain the tree would have grown to be a magnificent addition to their home, the fruit plentiful and perhaps even burdensome unless she dedicated herself to making preserves.

She did not startle her mother again. It was amusing once, but would be a little mean if she did it twice. Besides, there was a customer, and they might find their games off-putting, and coin mattered.

She landed gently, taking her time walking toward her family stall, thoughts occupied with what she meant to buy. Not juice. She hadn’t brought a flask, and the bottles were far more expensive. But maybe it could be considered a celebration, and she should consider something fermented, something bubbly and rich that would sweeten their inevitable kisses and...

Her head tilted as she watched as Mama’s brow furrowed. They did not seem to be paying much attention to the wares any longer. Instead, the woman reached out and put her hand on her mother’s arm.

Mama glanced at it, then seemed to notice Firen, and gestured her over.

She came quickly enough, dread filling her belly when she made out just who the woman was.

“Ellena,” she greeted, a tightness in her voice that shamed her just a little. Gracious in all things. Forgiving.

Strong, too. She mustn’t forget that. “Are you in need of jewellery?” She added that part more sweetly, but it sounded disingenuous to her own ears. “Or chimes, perhaps? Something to liven up your garden might be nice.”

Ellena’s head turned, and Firen did not stop to remain beside her. She slipped inside the stall, the counter between them, and she forced a smile to her face even as she urged her wings to settle down. To show no hint of unease.

The chimes jingled merrily in the breeze. They really would do much for the tower’s garden. Make it feel less forgotten and neglected.

“Oh. Thank you but...” Ellena swallowed. She appeared tired, even beneath the obvious attempts not to seem so. “I had rather hoped to speak with you.”

Firen’s brows raised in surprise. “And you thought I would still work here?”

Which she would have. Or might be. She hadn’t decided what she intended to do.

Ellena’s eyes darted about, as if Oberon himself would soon come up behind her. Maybe he would, for all Firen knew, but somehow she doubted he much cared for the bustle of the market. Not when there were so many common folk about.

“I thought you... might.” Her mouth twisted, and Firen was acutely aware of how much it had cost her to come here. To leave her stone walls just for a conversation.

She seemed the sort that was far more used to summoning. For others to await her leisure.

Perhaps it should have softened Firen some, to see her effort, and maybe it did. But only the smallest bit. “Me, or your son?” Firen asked, giving her a rather pointed look. “This is not his trade, as I’m sure you know.”

Mama put a hand on Firen’s shoulder, and she became more aware of how they’d pulled tight with a strain she promised herself she would not feel.

She took a deep breath.

“This is my mother, Aylin.”

Ellena had graces enough to lower her head, but only just. “We were becoming acquainted,” she assured Firen. “You look much like her.”

Which was likely a compliment, as Firen’s appearance seemed to be her lone attribute they did not fault.

Firen itched to sit down, but her manners were too well ingrained to do so when Ellena could not. “Thank you,” Firen murmured, because that was all she could think to say.

“This is hardly the place for a talk,” Mama insisted.

“Of course. I am keeping you from your work.” Ellena took a step to the side, as if there was someone waiting to take her place. There wasn’t. Most did not care to crowd about. If a stall was occupied, patrons would move on—coming back only if they had a particular need. “Only...” she huffed out a breath, and her hands clasped together tightly down by her hips. “I do not know where else to go.”

This was some sort of trick, wasn’t it? For Firen to feel sorry for her and offer their new address.

What might she have done if they were still situated in the workroom loft? Would she have walked through the smithy and sat on their shoved together beds and be glad of it if it meant seeing Lucian? Or would she have expected to be entertained in her mother’s sitting room, all the while insisting the home was inadequate for her son?

They were unkind thoughts, but they felt too real and came too readily to be dismissed.

“If you have a note, I will pass it along,” Firen offered as gently as she could. “Or...”

Ellena’s expression grew pained, although she tried to hide. “I do not...” She shook her head. “A walk, then. So we do not intrude on your mother’s stall. Please,” she added, her hand twitching out in want of Firen’s arm.

But she curled her fingers. Brought it back against her side.

It troubled Firen how quickly a firm no came to her lips. She wanted no part of bitterness. Of resentment. But she would not be gullible, either.

She’d accept no invitation to that tower. She would not be pinned in alone, walked to her own slaughter. Or perhaps worse, if the damage they meant was for the bond alone.

Except...

Would that even matter any longer? She would miss it. Desperately so, if it was damaged. Or if it was absent entirely.

But the love she felt for Lucian came from her own emotions, not the twist and pull of the bond. The life she wanted with him was for its own sake, not a matter of compulsion.

It was a strange sort of comfort, but it allowed her to nod her head and step out of the stall, glancing briefly at her mother in case she had any objections. “To the end of the row and back,” Firen declared, feeling silly and overly cautious, but wanting someone to know where they might be together.

It was not the answer she wanted, but Ellena still appeared relieved she was being granted anything at all. Firen didn’t like how she felt. Didn’t like how her heart quickened, not in the way her heart sped when Lucian walked in their door. But rather...

What it meant to have power over someone. To grant a desire or to withhold it. For their happiness to depend on an answer only she could give.

Her lips thinned as she stepped out of the stall. Gracious in all things. Protective of Lucian. Of her own family.

That was allowed.

Being cruel was not.

Old habits made her want to fill the silence. To prattle about something while Ellena’s eyes darted about, fingers twisting together in front of her. It took a great deal to keep quiet, to allow her to lead them. Her pace was so slow it was almost laughable, but Firen supposed it was to extend what time she’d been allowed while she collected herself.

“Is he well?” she blurted out at last.

All else aside, this was still his mother. She had been the one to carry him, to nurse him, and she could not help the mate chosen as his sire. That did not excuse everything, not by half, but it made it easier for her answer to come without even a twist of resentment. “Yes.”

Ellena nodded, a wistful sort of smile on her face. Perhaps remembering when she would have been the one to know it for herself, for access to her son to come without need of an intermediary.

“Why did you seek me out?” Firen asked, finding that mattered to her. “You know where to find him.”

Ellena smoothed a hand down her overdress. Deeply coloured—not quite charcoal, not quite violet. Some murky in between that was striking, if not pretty. “Spouses are not permitted in the Hall. Surely you know that.” Her eyes narrowed, and she halted in her steps. “You have not embarrassed him by trespassing, have you?”

Firen took a breath. Then another for good measure. “I have been to the Hall,” she answered her as calmly as she was able. “I have taken tea and been given all sorts of pamphlets so I might be as informed as I ought to be. As all of you should have been.” She kept moving, but not at a quick pace. Ellena could catch up with little effort, although she still appeared scandalised by Firen’s confession. “Did you know your mate was stealing from your son? Lucian didn’t. It hurt him rather badly when he learned of it.”

She took yet another breath because her tone had strayed from the kindly one she was determined to offer.

“Oberon is many things, but a thief is not one of them.”

Firen’s wings rose and fell. “All right.”

She did not need this woman to believe her. It made it no less true, regardless of what she thought.

But Ellena appeared troubled, her mouth opening and closing again, her fingers abandoning their tangle to form into fists at her side. “I came,” she managed at last. “To invite you back to the tower.”

Firen willed her stomach not to fill with dread. It would not happen—they agreed. She had nothing to fear from a simple invitation. “I thank you, but no.”

For a brief moment, Ellena scowled, but she quickly hid it away again. “You will not even present it to my son? You would answer for him?”

Firen looked up at the sky. She’d wanted patience, and she was evidently going to earn it through constant practice. “I will tell him everything we’ve spoken about,” she answered honestly. “But I would save you the trouble of hoping. We are happy where we are. I do not feel safe in your tower, and that matters to your son, even if it means nothing to you.”

A vendor called out to them to come see their wares, but both women ignored him. “It is... unfortunate. The things you heard. But they were exaggerated. Spoken out of too many spirits and too little thought given to their consequence.” She reached out and took hold of Firen’s arm. “There is no such ability. I promise you, this. Your bond is safe. You are safe. I just...” Her grip tightened, but then she seemed to recognise what she was doing and released her hold. “I want my son home.”

A motherly plea.

As if...

As if he was a fledgling in her care.

And not the man he was. The one with a mate. With responsibilities to the Hall and to his new master.

Firen could fling it at her. Could call her selfish and as thoughtless as her mate with her words and her expectations.

But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

She tried to settle on what she could say. Something that was firm, yet kind. That was truthful, but did not give a false hope that her wish might someday be fulfilled.

It might have. Before. She would have lived in that tower with those people if they’d given just a bit of welcome, a hint that they might come to appreciate her. But they hadn’t, and she needn’t feel guilty for it now.

“We need a home of our own,” Firen settled on at last. “To learn how to be together. Can you understand that?”

Ellena’s answering smile was thin, filled with a pain that felt like an old wound, suddenly weeping open. A weariness shivered through her, and she wiped at her eyes and drew herself up to her full height. Not Firen’s, but close enough. “I should like to visit. To see how he is living.” She paused, her eyes drifting up toward Firen. “Where you both are living.”

It was direct acknowledgement than Firen had received before, but there was no denying how begrudgingly it was given.

Gracious. Kind.

“And if I tell you of our lodging,” Firen posed, the threats too real despite what Ellena now said about them. “Will I find myself put upon while Lucian is at work? Dragged off and experimented upon while you work to free him from me?” She leaned in close, calm and utterly serious. The voice was hers, but the sentiment was not. It was as if a bit of her mate’s caution had seeped inside of her, like those lists he’d made of the workers in the Hall.

Civil to all, trusting of few. Isn’t that what he’d told to her?

Ellena fussed with her hands, taking a step backward. “I told you there is no such ability! Such talk was never meant for your ears, and I am sorry it reached you. But I should not be punished because my mate cannot keep hold of his tongue!”

Truth and untruth all at once.

“I do not fear it breaking,” Firen answered, drawing back and walking placidly onward. “But I am rather wretched about pain, and it is your attempts that concern me more than your success.” She turned her head and watched Ellena take three hurried steps to keep up with her. “Your son would choose me. I want you to know this. Even if you somehow managed it, although you claim you cannot. He would spend the rest of his days with me, regardless.”

Ellena’s mouth dropped open. Firen expected her to make a new plea. But her eyes hardened. And she drew dreadfully calm even as she brought a fist to her own chest and held Firen’s gaze. “If there was a way,” she began, her voice steady and low. “Do you not think I would have used it on myself? Plucked this thing from my body and freed myself and my son so we might live how we pleased?”

It was a terrible confession to make. One that sent a loathsome ache through Firen’s very bones.

She meant it.

There was no mistaking that.

Whatever had driven Ellena to take her own life had never healed. Of that, Firen was certain.

Whoever the girl might have been before Oberon, before their families had grown heady from their own power and importance...

A lump settled in Firen’s throat, and she moved without thought, only feeling.

She took Ellena into her embrace and held her there. Held her until the woman stopped shaking, until her fists uncurled and they rose to come about Firen in return.

Much like her son, Firen thought with a fond sort of ache. “I am sorry,” Firen murmured, and found that she meant it. Perhaps she did not think particularly well of the woman she’d become along the way, but she could mourn for what she might have been.

Try, for Lucian’s sake. To love her as she was.

“For what?” Ellena mumbled, and it was such a motherly sort of reply that Firen had to fight down a chuckle. It would not do to laugh now, not with such a confession still hanging between them. To hate one’s mate...

To want to expunge the very bond that was meant as a precious gift...

It was an insult to the Maker.

And yet...

Firen pulled back, keeping her hands on Ellena’s shoulders. “Lucian is so dear to me. He is kind and thoughtful, and he works hard for me. For the both of us. And I do not think...” she stumbled over her words, and shook her head. “That came from you, didn’t it? And I should have realised, and I should have thanked you for it, and I didn’t.”

Ellena shifted, both her body and her eye line. “He would be someone’s mate one day. I wanted him to be a better one than his father.”

Firen nodded, feeling stricken by how many poor thoughts she’d harboured against this woman. How much resentment. “He loves you. He does not like to speak of it, but I feel it all the same. The... loss.” She brought her hand to her chest, to the source of what she treasured most.

And felt another pang of sorrow that, for Ellena, it was a source of pain and frustration.

Ellena pulled away, her hands coiling as she looked up at Firen in entreaty. “I am still here. Please, I...”

Firen shook her head. “Please, don’t. I...” She huffed out a breath. “We had a terrible start, you and I. So let’s begin again, shall we? As best we can?”

She took a full step back, thinking of the games she and Lucian had to play as they muddled through in their first days. Him so full of misgivings. Her with her host of expectations—the ones she would staunchly disagree existed at all.

She lowered her head and brought her hand back to her chest briefly. “It is a pleasure to meet my mate’s mother. I thank you for your service in raising him. For loving him. And I will endeavour to make you proud.”

The words were old ones. Meant as a prayer as families gathered and gave blessings and got to know one another.

So much had been neglected. Made impossible.

But perhaps not as much as she’d once thought.

Ellena merely blinked at her, her eyes misty and her hand up at her throat.

“Why don’t you come tomorrow? For tea with my mother and I. Lucian did not tell me his schedule, so I do not know if he can stay long, but...”

“Yes,” Ellena burst out before Firen could even finish her thought. “Yes, I would like that.”

They’d turned back already. Were almost back to her mother and Firen was more relieved than she cared to admit. Even if she’d determined to try harder, it was easier when Mama was there to offer her support. “Tea, tomorrow. At my house. Is that all right with you?”

It felt strange and unexpected to be making that sort of arrangement. For her head to be filled with thoughts of treats she should buy and flowers to set the table, and maybe she should go over the kitchen once more before they came just to be sure there weren’t any forgotten crumbs hiding beneath the cupboards.

Mama cast a glance at Ellena, then back toward Firen. “I would not miss it.”

Which could mean quite a few things, and Firen would speak with her about it. And maybe give a few more particulars on what the troubles had been and what her hopes were for the future.

They settled on a time and Firen gave the direction for their house, Ellena’s shoulder relaxing as soon as she was given their address. “Thank you,” she murmured, and Firen believed her gratitude was real, and she nodded before Ellena stepped away from the stall and took her leave.

“You’ll come early,” Firen amended to her mother. “So we can talk first?”

Mama’s lips tightened slightly, and she didn’t look at Firen. “That might be best.”

Firen took a step forward, not wanting her to be cross. “I want to try,” Firen offered. “For Lucian. And maybe even a little bit for Ellena. She’s had a hard life, I think.”

Mama reached out and patted her shoulder, lingering a bit as her eyes grew serious. “And I love you for that. But you are my daughter, and my concern is for you first. And I’ll not see you hurt. Not when I’m about.”

Firen gave a rueful look, and Mama merely smiled sweetly at her. “It is too late to disinvite me. You’ll be seen as rude.”

She was right, and Firen would not have done it, anyway. Not when it just meant that her mother loved her.

She bought the treats.

And she scrubbed the kitchen.

And she even had supper warmed on the stove when Lucian came back through the door. He was tired—she did not need the bond to tell her of it, not when it was so obvious in the lines about his eyes, the set of his shoulders.

“Sleep or food?” she asked, hoping for the latter but knowing only he could decide what his needs were.

He grunted, rolling his shoulders before bending down to slip off his boots. “Both.”

She chuckled, fetching plates and cloths for the inevitable mess, and shook her head when he made to sit at the table.

“Bed,” she declared.

His nose crinkled. “The crumbs...”

“Will be swept up by me. You need a lie down. While I tell you about tomorrow.”

He rubbed at his forehead, the little line between his brows suggesting she’d confused him utterly. “Don’t you mean today?”

“No. I mean tomorrow.” She filled the tray and followed him up to the loft. Where she was rewarded with him shrugging out of his robes, leaving him in shirtsleeves and trousers. She wouldn’t mind him stripping down further, but he seemed contented enough with the effort and reclined onto the bedclothes.

She followed, settling the tray on the bed beside him before making an elaborate gesture with the cloth as she spread it over his shirt. Then followed it with a plate she placed on his middle. “From the market,” she declared. “One of my favourites, so be kind.”

He took a bite with far more suspicion than was warranted. The pastry crumbled, but that was what the cloth was for. A base for all the cheese and vegetables that she couldn’t name because the words were strange on her tongue and she’d asked the stall-keep too many times how to pronounce them and she knew he’d tired of repeating it.

“Any objections?” she asked, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed so she could look at him.

“Yes,” Lucian muttered, taking another bite. “The days are too long, and despite what Vandran says, he seems intent to fit eight years of study into one. Willing to accept me as a ninth my wing.” That part was muttered into the pastry as he poked about the contents. “You meant with the food, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Firen agreed, taking a bite of her own meal. “But that’s all right.” She loved the flavours. Loved how one vegetable had been pickled in some sort of sweet brine, which contrasted nicely with the salt of the cheese.

Liked better that Lucian was home, and she might share it with him.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” Lucian asked, taking another, larger bite. Which was answer enough of how well he liked it.

“Well,” Firen hedged, suddenly wondering if he would find some objection in it. “I invited our mothers for tea.” He stared at her, his pastry hovering over his plate, not quite making it to his mouth. “Here,” she added, voice a little smaller than it had been. “We hadn’t talked about that part. If... if I shouldn’t have said where we lived, or if that will make things worse with your father since I know he’d like nothing more than to make trouble for you, but...”

“Take a breath,” Lucian urged, and she realised her words had strung together and he likely had understood little beyond their mothers coming. “Start again. When did you see my mother?”

She told him.

All of it.

About Eris first, although she tried to keep that part shorter.

About Ellena’s appearance at her mother’s stall.

About promises and bonds and how much she clearly loved her son.

“I feel sorry for her,” Firen finished. “Is that wrong?” She abandoned her plate on the tray and lay down next to him. She’d let him sleep in a moment. Take the dishes and tidy everything while he rested his weary mind.

His arm came about her. Pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve a kind heart,” Lucian complimented. His voice was low and raspy with want of sleep, and she nuzzled into him briefly. “More than we deserve, probably.”

She hummed. Kissed his chest just the once, then leaned forward to place a kiss on his mouth as well. The proper greeting she should have given when he came home, but she was certain he’d forgive her tardiness. “I don’t know about that.”

She moved to stand at the side of the bed and collected the remains of their supper. Then, with exaggerated movements, brushed any remaining crumbs from his shirt and trousers while he fussed and flinched as if she was going to be brutal about it.

Which she wasn’t.

Might have teased him a little, but only just.

“Go to sleep,” she insisted. “Then you can tell me all your plotting when you wake up.”

He laughed, but it was a breathless, sleep-filled sound as he rolled onto his side away from her.

Well. Away from the lamplight.

So she lowered that too, and if she leaned down to kiss his cheek, that was her prerogative.

He’d not said if he could make time to join them for their tea. Had not scolded her for telling his mother where they lived.

All she’d felt was an outpouring of relief from his side of the bond. So pronounced that it made her want to slide into the bed beside him and hold him to her, because he’d kept it from her so completely. Hadn’t wanted to push. Hadn’t wanted to force her into any sort of obligation.

But he’d wanted it. Privately. Quietly.

Until she was ready to attempt it on her own.

“As if I wouldn’t have done it if you’d asked,” she scolded as she flew back down to the kitchen. “Ridiculous man.”

Which he wasn’t, but she could call him that.

Because he was hers, and she loved him.