10.3

“Home,” he said at last, putting his arm about Ellena’s shoulder and bringing her to his side. She smiled, and Firen could not deny the relief she saw there, but that was not all. She was sorry their meeting was at an end. Worried it might not happen ever again.

Firen wanted to reach for her. To bring her back and offer her a proper embrace. Whisper promises of her welcome, that she did not blame her for today, that they’d try again soon.

But she couldn’t.

That was not her mating, and Ellena had to navigate it how she thought best.

But it left Firen feeling oddly shaken. Elements of old teaching and new awareness warring with one another in ways that left a sickly lump in her stomach.

That might have been her. If Lucian had not been caring. Been gentle. Had put her above his family and their ideals.

Except...

She had a family to go home to. That would have taken her in and held her while she ached from the poisoned bond, filling her mind with empty promise of love and protection if only she’d go back where she belonged, back to the man that didn’t love her, didn’t value her...

She’d seen Ellena’s family. Seen them as cold and calculating as Oberon.

She’d had so few choices available to her.

Only one.

Terrible as it had been.

Firen swiped at her eyes and laid her hand on Lucian’s back between his wings. He turned his head slightly, and she was certain he felt her pain through the bond. She couldn’t help it, not now, and she was sorry for its distraction while his parents still stood in their courtyard.

It was a strange sort of stalemate, as Ellena waited for Oberon to leave first, and he gestured for her to ascend before him.

She didn’t want to—that much was clear from the way her eyes darted back toward her son. Then to Firen. “Thank you, my dear,” she murmured softly. “You set a fine table.”

And then she left before Oberon to reprimand her for even that compliment. He turned as if to follow, but paused, his wings outspread. “I will protect my family,” he cautioned, eyes severe as he looked at his son. “I will not permit false rumours to spread throughout the Halls.”

Lucian stood firm. “I will ensure to only protect mine with the truth, then.” He bowed his head, but only just, and turned his back to his father and took up Firen’s hand. “Come along, love,” he murmured, and she swallowed thickly, nodding her head and allowing him to lead her back into their home.

He bolted the door with shaking fingers, and before she could even think to move toward him, she found herself wrapped in his embrace. It was as if all the tension he’d held in his frame came shuddering out of him, and it was all she could do to keep him upright. “I am so very proud of you,” she soothed, her fingers combing through his hair, the edges of his wings, the spot on his neck that pained him when he poured over his books for too long.

Her arms ached with the weight of him, and she must have made a sound or he felt a twinge through the bond, for he suddenly stood upright. Pulled her into their sitting room and sat in his favourite chair.

And was not content until she was sitting on his lap, his face buried somewhere between her shoulder and her hair.

Sheltered. Safe.

Which was strangely endearing—that she might be that for him. That he needed her in such a way. She’d thought him so intimidating at the start. Imposing in his stature and the harshness of his eyes, but that seemed so long ago. “I never wanted you to have to choose,” she admitted quietly. She would need to check on her mother, but not yet. She was needed here far more. “I never wanted you to have to lose out on anything just because of me.”

He snorted, but did not emerge from the sanctuary he’d made for himself. “As if it was any hardship to lose it.” It was a comment bitterly given, and she could not let it stand.

She shifted, coaxing him unhappily out so she might touch his cheek and smooth her fingers through the edges of his hair. “That isn’t true,” she chided gently. “That was your home. The family you loved. Still love. It’s all right to miss it. To wish you could have it back.”

His eyes hardened, and she had not meant to upset him, but it wouldn’t quite be them if they did not quarrel before they loved. Which they wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not with her mother in the kitchen, but there would be later. When she drew him back into her embrace and peeled his clothing from him one at a time, until he was bare and all hers.

Until everything else fell away for a little while. Books and responsibilities and family alike.

Just the two of them.

But for now, they would squabble, and she smiled softly as he glared, gesturing toward the kitchen down the hall. “Your family would be worth mourning. Your family would be a loss. Do you think I could not see it? The way they...” his voice caught, and he closed his eyes. “The way they love you? Would have accepted anyone through their door, because it was enough he was your mate.”

He shook his head and when he opened his eyes, there was no mistaking the pain he harboured there.

She pulled him back to her, let him hold her as tight as he pleased. “I could not give you that. Could not give you what you’ve given me.”

Firen stilled, mulling over his words. She needed to be careful, could not dismiss him when it obviously troubled him so greatly. But one thing was evident to her, and he needed to hear it. To believe her. “That was not your job,” she promised him. “It was theirs. Your mother is trying, despite it all, and I will come to love her. I’m sure of it. As for your father...” She lacked the words to express quite what she felt about him, but she didn’t need to. “He might come to regret his choices. Not yet, but someday.” Her fingers moved through his hair again, and she felt the shudder go through him. “Do you have any fond memories of him?” She nudged him with her shoulder. “I should like to hear one, if there is one to share.”

He was quiet far longer than he should have been. So long that she almost regretted asking it of him.

“I was young. Had my flight feathers, but not for long, I think.” Firen nodded, and waited for him to continue. “He brought me into his study. Which was... not something he’d ever done before. Set me on his knee and showed me the first book of governance. An old one, passed down through our family since...” he grimaced, which she only just caught before he tucked his face away again. “Well, the beginning, I suppose you’d say.” Beginning of what, she did not ask. It wasn’t the time for those lessons, not when he was hurting. “He said I had a marvellous future ahead of me. One steeped in tradition and responsibility, but he was certain I would excel.” He snorted, shaking his head. “That sentiment did not last.”

Her throat hurt. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled back with a sigh, leaning against the chair rather than hiding away in her shoulder. “It wasn’t just you,” he admitted. “He thought I lacked ambition. One should not simply be content to work in the Hall, one should want to rule the Hall.” He rolled his eyes and his grip on her waist tightened. “I suppose I’ll have to do that, after all.”

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. “Not for me,” she murmured softly.

He kissed her, just the once. “Yes, for you. For your family. To make sure they are cared for properly. That the laws protect their interests.” She knew too little about this. Had paid no attention to how anything worked beyond the Proctor coming through the stalls to make his inspections and collect fees.

But she’d learn.

So she could encourage Lucian properly, could thank him for the work he’d done. Was going to do.

“I liked when you talked about our family,” she admitted, her arms coming about his neck just because she needed to hold him to her. “Our children.”

He hummed. “I thought you might.”

She didn’t say more. Would press for nothing. But he ought to know when she was happy, to know when he’d made her happy, regardless of what the bond communicated for her.

She wouldn’t grow lazy and complacent. They’d work every day at talking with one another, of saying what they meant and understanding one another.

And maybe then their quarrels would feel more like teasing. Would come from jest and play simply to rile the other up so punishment could be enacted with kisses and hungry threats of congress.

She stopped her thoughts there, lest she remember other times she’d perched in his lap. When comfort had taken other forms. Impassioned ones that she’d tucked away in her heart and would revisit in her daydreams.

Then scolded herself for doing so because she’d get herself far too worked up while he was off at the Hall, and there would be no respite until he was home again to tend to her.

A wretched business, having responsibilities during their earliest years of mating.

Which made her remember her mother, tucked away in the kitchen.

“I’m going to check on Mama,” Firen told Lucian, punctuated with a kiss of apology to his cheek.

“Of course,” he agreed, helping her to her feet and holding steady while she felt the blood settle back where it belonged. It was not the most comfortable way to sit, but in other ways...

It was.

She didn’t expect him to follow her. She thought he’d use the time to retreat to the loft. To revel in the quiet before he had to return to the Hall and his studies.

But he didn’t.

Mama was washing the dishes. Firen should have known she would, her elbows deep in lather and warm water. Her progress was evidenced by the clean pottery nestled on a crisp cloth on the counter, waiting for someone to dry and put them away.

Firen fetched another cloth and made to pick up one of the mugs, but stopped when she saw the dried tears on her mother’s cheeks, the hunch of her shoulders betraying just how much she had heard.

“Mama,” Firen started, but her mother shook her head and pulled her hands out of the water.

Dried them with far less care than was usual.

And went to Lucian and pulled him into an embrace.

She said nothing. Not a word. There were no promises of family and affection, no talk of pride and thankfulness.

Just a motherly hug, followed by a sniff and damp towel across her cheeks. “I think I’ll leave you two be,” she determined, waving off Firen’s objections with the shake of her head. “It’s all right,” she assured her. “I’ll come back in the morning. I just...” She swallowed. “You need some time for yourselves. And I’d like to see your father.”

She was usually so calm, and a need for Da was not an admission she made often.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Firen offered, needing to say it. She’d only been there because she wanted the support, and now...

“Don’t you dare,” Mama countered, her voice clipped and serious. “You’ve done nothing wrong, so I’ll not accept any of your apologies.”

Firen smiled thinly. “Can I thank you for tending the dishes instead? And for coming?”

Mama wrapped her arms about her next. “If you must.”

Which made her sound a little more like herself.

“Next time will just be us,” Firen promised. “And we can talk about... all this.” Her smile was rather grim, and she didn’t dare glance at Lucian. They were private folk, like Mama had said. Maybe he wouldn’t like the idea of his family business being discussed while he wasn’t there to defend it.

Mama hummed. Patted her arm and gave Lucian one more glance. “Right. Tomorrow, then.”

Firen made to say something else, but Mama was already gathering her things and heading for the door.

And she let her go. Back to Da and his comfort and his reassurances. That Firen would be all right because she had Lucian. That he could not help where he came from, anymore than they could.

The house felt suddenly empty in a way that had felt new and exciting only the day before. It would again, once she’d taken a few breaths and rubbed at her forehead, willing the pressure that had formed there to dim.

Only for her fingers to be replaced by Lucian’s as he looked her over, his thumbs at her temples as he pressed lightly, but firmly.

It had no business feeling as good as it did, and she could not quite help the little hum she gave in approval.

“Your mother is very kind,” he offered, which soothed her just as well as his touch did.

“I like her,” Firen agreed. “I think I’ll keep her.”

His laugh was just a bit of air rather than sound. “Wouldn’t that be nice? To exchange troublesome family so you could pick and choose the ones you liked best?”

Firen thought ever so briefly of Eris, then felt horribly guilty for it. She was her sister. She loved her. Then why must it be so... so difficult?

She heard her mother just as well as if she was still in the room with them, patient yet ever so slightly exasperated that it needed saying at all.

Because they needed each other. Perhaps they did not see how, did not understand why, but there was a reason they were put together in a family, to exasperate and quarrel, and still love one another afterwards.

If she thought of it that way, she supposed it was a strange sort of precursor to her relationship with Lucian.

Squabbling. Saying the wrong thing.

Loving in the aftermath.

She wasn’t sure she’d be as good at the forgiving part if Eris hadn’t tested her.

She wouldn’t give up on Lucian, and she wouldn’t give up on her sister. Even if the less flattering parts of herself insisted, it would be easier.

“You could draw up the paperwork for it,” Firen teased back, easing against him and letting him hold her. “Family exchange. No questions asked.”

He brushed his lips against the top of her head, and she was certain he was smiling. “I pity those foolish enough to take on mine. Perhaps I would give just a bit of warning. On a tag, maybe. That Father could wear when someone comes to claim him.”

It was a morose sort of vision. People waiting to be picked. Their flaws written out for onlookers to consider.

And inevitably, to move along.

“I’m glad we’re stuck together,” Firen admitted, a lump in her throat. “Even if we have to wait a very long time to like one another, I’m glad someone else gets to do the picking. I think it would be a very tiresome thing, having to pick one’s family as well as one’s mate.”

His hand came to the back of her head, combing through the delicate hairs he found there as he urged her head back so she would look at him. “Others do. Did you know? They’ve no bond to tell them who to mate with. They choose a partner and live away from the ones they were born to.”

Firen swallowed. “Are they happy? Doing that?”

Lucian skimmed his thumb against her bottom lip. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

He was going to kiss her. He was going to tease her with his mouth, was going to pull her into him until she was warmed all over. Until she was the one that took his hand and brought him up into their bed. Until she was the one pulling at his clothes and insisting that Vandran did not own him, not as she did, and he had responsibilities to her first.

She did not ask if he was happy. There wasn’t a need. Not with the bond nestled so gently into her chest it was like a friend. Like he was so deeply a part of her, she could not believe she’d ever resented him. Wanted someone else. Something else.

She didn’t feel guilty for it any longer. They’d forgiven one another, somewhere along the way, and she would not harbour it as some private grief for a beginning she could not do over. It was theirs, tempers and all, and she was rather satisfied with the outcome.

She let him kiss her. Let her pulse race, let her fingers delve into his robes, holding him close to her. But there was something else that needed saying, a reassurance she needed to give, even if he did not need to hear it. “We’ll keep your mother, too. And Orma.”

He hummed, massaging the back of her neck in a way that seemed to turn her muscles to liquid, and it wasn’t fair that he could affect her so.

But then, she could do much the same to him. When her fingers skimmed through his hair. When she touched him, teased him, and his eyes would close at first, then open again when she paused for too long, his look heated and not angry—no, not angry. But willing her to do something else, to touch him, to take hold of him and...

“If you say so,” Lucian agreed, as if only to please her.

The bond said otherwise.

Warming. Tugging.

Pulling her back to him, to kiss him, to make her claim and keep her with him.

“Is Vandran expecting you back?” she asked, because some part of her was responsible. Some part of her was not quite as selfish as the other parts.

Small though it might be.

“Yes,” Lucian murmured into her skin as he allowed his lips to drift against her neck. The shell of her ear. Which tickled and made her squirm away from him, which left him looking strangely bereft when they were suddenly an arm’s length apart. “Tomorrow. Early, but...”

Which was far better an answer than she’d anticipated.

Made it easier to take his hand. To urge him up into their loft.

With the bed that fit the both of them so nicely.

To be pleasantly surprised when it was Lucian that reached first. That started with her hair, pulling out the delicate ribbons she’d twined into the braids at her temples, massaging her scalp to ease any of the tension he found there. “You have such lovely hair.”

She did not consider herself one that needed very many compliments, but she supposed she would have to amend that—for her heart swelled and she felt far more pleased than she ought.

“I like that we match,” she confessed. “A proper pair.”

He shook her head, and perhaps he thought her silly.

But then he was tugging at the ribbons at her shoulder, and she didn’t mind so much if his amusement came at her expense.

“I question your standards, but I won’t complain.”

She couldn’t either, not when he dropped the tie on her shift as well and his hand was at her breast, and wasn’t she supposed to be the one pinning him to the bed and divesting him of clothing?

Mama had always said daydreams weren’t visions.

Weren’t snippets of the future.

They might feel that way, sometimes. When she sat at her kitchen table, her finger making little patterns on the wood.

When she imagined Ellena coming back. Sometimes for tea, other times to bring a new piece of art to decorate their walls.

She imagined Mama struggling through learning tapestry with her, just because she did not want her to face the challenge alone.

Of the children they’d make. Fair-haired and with wings of a soft-grey sky. A bit of both of them, melded together.

She would visit her mate when he had an office all his own. She would rub his shoulders and insist that he worked too hard, but that she was proud of his dedication.

To her people.

To her.

She did not doubt Oberon would make trouble. Would argue about mastery and years, and all the matters that made so little sense to her.

But they’d sort it.

He’d be a full member of the Hall.

He’d take Vandran’s seat when the time came, and he’d do what was right for more than just those privileged enough to live in a tower.

He pulled her to him, and she sighed softly as he touched her. Teased her. And she’d do much the same to him. In a moment. But for now, this was rather nice, and she liked his initiative.

And the dishes were done, and their mothers had been seen, and he wasn’t needed until morning.

By none but her.

Which was just as she liked it.