6. Scrub

Her heart fluttered, and very little of it had to do with fear. “You think my reasons are unfounded?” She did not try to free herself from his grasp, but she turned her head, trying to catch some glimpse of his face. “Tell me I’m wrong. That I’m safe, that you would never let them touch a single hair on my head. That you are glad of me, and proud to have me as your mate.”

There was no stopping the catch in her throat, the burning of her eyes. He’d do none of those things, she knew. But... he did not release her, either. And she leaned back into him, and let him hold her, and pretended, for just a moment, it could possibly be enough.

He was shaking. She hadn’t realised it before, but when his head settled into the curve of her neck, she could feel the shudder go through him. He pressed too hard, the bones of her wings irritated with the sudden pressure, and he must have felt the twinge through the bond, for he adjusted his hold quickly enough. Pressed a kiss to her neck as well, to soothe her. “Stop trying to leave,” he entreated.

She wanted to. Desperately.

“Give me reasons to stay,” Firen countered, as gently as she could given how hopeless she felt in the entire situation. “ Help me.”

His grip tightened, and his answer was a choked, broken thing. “I do not know how.”

How many times had he told her that? That he did not know what to do. And she’d listened. Or... thought she had.

She wriggled. Not to pull away, to flee. But so that she could turn about and take his face between her palms and make sure that his eyes were hers. Not glaring at her. Scowling and huffing and going on about families. But there with just... her.

There were answers at the tip of her tongue. Brutal ones, about forsaking dreadful people and their disgusting schemes. About running away and beginning a new life with only each other. Which was quickly dismissed because while she would gladly encourage cutting ties with his family, she would never consider the same for herself.

Which felt selfish and reasonable all at once.

She kept waiting for him to lead her. Guide her through this new life and all the uncertainties it held. But looking at him—at the way he grasped at her, held her, afraid that she would leave and he would lose her...

She took him at his word.

He did not know what to do for her. For them.

They’d given him no education in such matters. No room to consider that he might have to bend for a mate that came from different circumstances.

But she had.

Which didn’t mean she had to stay. Didn’t mean she had to continue to subject herself to his family and their suppers and the insults.

But it meant she had to try. Had to help him. Help herself.

“Would you let them hurt me? Let them try to sever the bond?”

He swallowed. “No. And I told them that.”

Something in her loosened.

“You did?”

She’d hurt him. Cut at him, without even meaning to. “You think I care for you so little? That I’d let them turn you into another Orma just so I could keep my place here?”

Her throat tightened, and she knew her answer, but it would only hurt him more. “I don’t know,” she hedged, and finding that was true enough. “I hoped otherwise. But I know they’re important to you.”

Even if she hated it. Even if she wished she could pluck out the love he had for them and give it to someone worthy. She’d not be so selfish as to wish she could hoard it all to herself, but maybe, in her most private thoughts, she could admit something close to it.

“But Lucian,” she continued, smoothing her hands down his chest, trying to keep her voice gentle, yet firm. “If that is their answer, there is no room for me here. Can you not see that? And we’re supposed to be in this together. So if there is no place for me...”

She let the rest of her thought hang between them. Watched his expression shutter, then harden. “And you do not see how that might be difficult for me to accept? That there is no place for me in the only home I have ever known?”

She brought her arms about him and held him close, because it was the only thing that worked between them. He’d said that. And she supposed she would have to agree until they could sort out this troublesome talking business. “I do,” she promised him. “Honestly, I do. But it doesn’t change that we need a safe place to sleep tonight. With room enough that we can talk about us and our future without all these other voices pressing in.”

“Your room in the shed,” Lucian groused.

And she nudged at him because her father’s workshop was certainly more than a shed, and she was not ready to be teased at the disparity in their family resources. Not tonight. “I offer us a comfortable place to be alone. Where I plan on being tonight. Where I hope you might be tonight, if you decide that I’m worth following.”

He sighed deeply, and his hold on her tightened. “It is not about worth,” Lucian disagreed. “I do not want it said that I abandoned my birthright. If he wants to push me out, that is one thing. It is another to simply walk away from it.” His hand moved up her back, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Can you appreciate the difference?”

Yes. No.

She rested her forehead against his chest and sighed. “I don’t think I’m ever going to understand your family’s ways. I’m not even sure I want to.” She took a breath and looked at him again. “But I do want to understand you.”

He smiled. It was just the slightest upturn to the corners of his mouth, but it was a smile, and his eyes were gentle. “And I would like to stop frightening you into running off. Perhaps someday we will both get what we want.”

It was her turn to smile, although she ducked her head, feeling a little bashful for reasons she could not name. “Will you come with me?” she asked, heart beating too quickly, bracing herself for his resounding no. “We needn’t think of it as moving. As anything permanent. Just... time. That’s all I am asking. I won’t even be greedy and ask for a season.” She could feel his retreat, and she squeezed her arms more tightly about him. “Or even a half-season.”

“If I keep quiet long enough, will we enter more reasonable amounts of time?” His words might have been a brusque dismissal if not for the way his fingers curled about the fine hairs at her nape, toying and smoothing. Comforting. Because they were alone, and that made it permissible.

There was a tug, a niggle. That his kindness toward her should not be relegated to hidden moments, stolen in between bouts of stiff formality.

She took a breath. Leaned into him more fully. Felt the resentment calm because they were learning. And things could only get better, as long as they were both willing to try.

“A week, then,” Firen murmured. “Just say you’ll come with me. Please.” It wasn’t begging. But it was an entreaty, heartfelt and full of need. To be home and safe and to pluck him away from all the wretchedness. To see if she liked him all the better when they might be normal. “I’ll not go any lower, so you can give your answer now.”

A chuckle without sound, but enough that his chest moved beneath her ear as she leaned into his embrace. As she prayed and braced herself for more rejection. “A week,” Lucian answered, not sounding pleased, not exactly. But he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and he let her stay as long as she needed within his arms, so that had to count for something.

◆◆◆

Two trunks, this time. And while he eyed her dubiously when she insisted she could carry hers on her own, she managed well enough. Well. She walked some of the way because her flight was stunted and too low and he hovered and told her to drop it and he would make two drips back for it, but she didn’t mind the walk. Didn’t mind that people would see her trunk making its way back and forth, nearly as homeless as she felt.

Then finery had to be exchanged, not for a nightdress and a quiet night in a slim cot, her mate stationed in her sister’s old bed.

Instead, it was a grubby tunic and leggings and her oldest boots, while Mama put on the kettle and did her best not to ask too many questions. Then Da came, rubbing at the back of his neck as he took in the sight of his daughter and her new mate in the kitchen, long after they should have been situated back in the tower.

“Supper went that well, then?” Da asked, coming over to kiss the top of Firen’s head.

“It sure did,” Firen answered brightly. “Mind if we stay in my playroom?”

He rolled his shoulders and gave Mama a look. “It’s yours, you know that. Need any help cleaning it up?”

Lucian stood, grim-faced and too stiff for a simple kitchen and family that was his, even if he did not recognise them yet. “Thank you, but we will manage.”

Firen turned her head, genuinely curious. “You mean to help?”

Lucian glowered. “I told you that no one came to my room for an age. Did you see it overwhelmed by dust?”

Firen’s cheeks flushed, and she smiled at him, trying to soothe the insult she hadn’t meant to give. “I thought you meant friends. Your parents even.”

He picked off a bit of lint from his sleeve. “Well. Now you know.”

Which meant a change to his clothes—although she could not have sworn she saw much of a difference between them. They were of the same cut, the same colour, although perhaps if she squinted just right, the cuff of one sleeve was ever so slightly worn?

But then he was rolling up that sleeve, and her heart beat a little faster because she hadn’t known that she could find such an act... attractive.

But she did.

Because it meant he was about to go to work. With her. So they’d have a safe place to sleep tonight. Because she’d asked it of him.

Which made it cheerful work to fetch the buckets. To fill them with water and watch as Lucian took each of them from her and made his way up into the loft. She cut generous chunks of soap from the blocks, then cloths and towels and lanterns—mustn’t forget those, because they needed to see as they worked.

He did not tease her about having to use flame instead of the far more expensive moonstones that his tower employed. He simply situated them about the room, eyeing what furniture remained with an eye that suggested he saw little hope in her plan.

That was all right. She had enough for the both of them.

The windows were the worst. Granted, the floor was not much better. But soot had a way of finding its way into every nook and cranny, and she could not promise that she was particularly good at keeping the door slid shut every time she’d run back into the kitchen for her lunch. Which meant the shutters were coated, the floor was thick with grime, and they soon discovered it was better for one to scrub while the other flew down to the pump for fresh bucks of clean water. Over and over. Until her arms ached and her heart was full, and it was such a pleasant feeling that she was nearly giddy with it.

So consumed with her own emotions, she could not make out Lucian’s. He worked with the stern determination she expected of him, but if he felt little tendrils of horror at their week-long accommodation, he kept quiet.

Let her work. And fuss and prattle about how she’d fetch a pitcher with fresh flowers to sit on that table in the morning. And yes, it had to be placed there because then he could make use of the table once the beds were in.

Which was another matter entirely.

They argued a bit. She thought it best to negotiate the beds down the stairs and out through the kitchen. He thought that ridiculous because they could simply fly them out the window and around to the back. Simple, but it meant trusting that she would not drop the mattress and squash some of her mother’s kitchen herbs in the process.

She did not think it a coincidence when Da just so happened to walk down the hallway in need of water. A likely story, when Mama always kept a fresh jug in their room for just such occasions.

But she would not deny that it pleased her to see her father and mate make short work of the mattress. Then the frames—because they were not slovens, Lucian muttered just loud enough that she could catch his grumbling. She was too excited to take offence, and Eris had no need of her old bed.

Firen would take that one. Perhaps it was silly of her, but she did not like the idea of her mate sleeping in her sister’s old things, no matter how many times they’d been washed and cleaned.

He was hers, after all. And she was allowed to be just a little covetous of his person, even in imaginary arguments with her sister.

It was late when she brought in the bedding. The stars were bright and twinkling, and even her enthusiasm was not enough to keep out the tiredness that seeped into her bones. There had been too many happenings for a single day. Too many tears, and she longed for the feel of curling up in clean bedding in a room that smelled of soap and just a hint of her father’s workshop.

She could not stop her smile when she walked into find Lucian pushing the two beds close together. They did not equal his lone bed back in the tower, but it was the gesture that warmed her. He wanted to be near her. Maybe even needed it. In a strange place with people that, hopefully, soon would not feel like strangers at all.

The linens would not accommodate both cots, and she thought a little mournfully about his over-large coverlet as she piled quilts, some overlapping, others strictly for each respective bed. At least it gave the appearance of a single bed, and she liked that. Hoped he would not mind it terribly much.

She wasn’t convinced it was adequate, not when his hand reached out and pulled at one of the quilts, squinting at its edges. It was one of her oldest, and she did not doubt that the edge could use a fresh patch where she’d scrubbed too hard at the thinning fabric. “Were these bought?” Lucian asked, his finger skimming across the patchwork of mismatched prints.

She suppressed a laugh. She was certain she could find a stall that sold such goods, but they would be rare. This was just... home-craft. Hobbled together from scraps and leftover bits, because waste was frowned upon when something could be useful with a bit of time and effort.

“Of course not. Mama made that one.” She pulled up the corner of the one she was currently fussing with. “This was one of my first. One of Eris’s is probably in here somewhere.” Had she even spoken of all her siblings to him? Made him a little diagram to study as he’d done for her?

She swallowed, smoothing the quilt back down. “They’re warm,” she promised him. “Not what you’re used to, I’ll grant you, but I think you’ll be comfortable.”

She peeked at him, hoping that he would accept her hospitality with grace, because this was all she had to offer him.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” she amended, because she shouldn’t make assumptions. She must be open to his complaints—to do anything she could to make this week a pleasant one for the both of them.

“It’s fine,” Lucian assured her, although there was something odd in his expression that suggested it was not as fine as he claimed.

She stopped her fussing with her side—not that it would be her side. She’d let him pick, because they were in her territory now, and it seemed the courteous thing to do.

She would hang something on the far wall. Not a tapestry—she hadn’t the least idea how long one might take to make, and she had no experience to even attempt one. But something pretty. It might make it feel a little more like home to him. Wood instead of stone, but that shouldn’t matter, should it?

Firen tucked herself against his side and brought his arm around her shoulders before smiling up at him. His own smile was slow in coming, but he did not pull his arm away from where she’d placed it. “Thank you,” she murmured, and meant it. She’d been so certain she’d come here alone. That she’d spend the night weeping and doing her best to come up with solutions so tomorrow would not be as wretched as this day had turned out to be.

But now...

Now they would change. This time into their nightclothes. Perhaps up here. Perhaps he would be modest and want to exchange his dirty work clothes in the privacy of the washroom in the main house.

She’d let him do it this time. Give him a moment and not fret that he’d slip away without telling her. She’d... trust him.

“For what?” Lucian asked as he allowed the quilt to settle, his inspection apparently over.

“For hauling buckets and scrubbing with me. Somehow I do not think that is how a lawmancer’s apprentice spends most of his evenings.”

He snorted, his fingers curling about the ends of her hair that had fallen loose from her haphazard attempts to hold it up. “A rare evening, to be sure.” He brought his mouth closer to the top of her head, his lips skimming there. Not a kiss, not a caress. But something intimate and just between the two of them. “Consider it penance. For what you had to endure earlier.”

Her throat tightened, as did her hold on him.

“They’re your family,” she reminded herself. Reminded him. “I don’t want...” She stopped, drew in a long breath, and released it slowly. She would make no allowances for cruelty. She would abide no word or deed against the sanctity of her bond. But she could be gentle. For Lucian’s sake. Keep her harsher words for other ears, if she dared even speak them at all. “I hate to see you so torn,” Firen said instead. “I want to be selfish. Keep you all to myself and stitch you into my life and my home.” She buried her face in his chest and shivered a little as his fingers skimmed her back as he played with her hair. “I thought this would be easy. Always seemed like it was for other people.”

Lucian hummed. “Really? I cannot recall a single story that was not wrought with some sort of misery. Sacrifice isn’t always gentle. Not when it’s forced.”

Another prickle, another ache, and she raised her head to look about the room she’d been proud of just a moment before. He was used to so much... more. And this was all she had to give, and she wanted so desperately for it to be enough. “I don’t want to force you to do anything,” Firen added, her fingers curling into his shirt. Holding him. Hoping they wouldn’t quarrel because she couldn’t bear that. “I just want you to... want to stay with me.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and that was a wretched thing when she’d cried so much already. She did not want his pity, but she would gladly accept some of his compassion.

He reached down, his hand cupping her chin as he urged her eyes upward. “I am here,” he reminded her, and yes, there was a tinge of frustration at the edges of his tone.

She couldn’t be greedy. Wouldn’t be. She’d have patience and not expect more than his presence.

For now.

“Right. Yes, you are. Sorry.” She smiled at him and moved away so she could wipe at her eyes and push away her sudden upset.

“Firen...” he nearly groaned, and she shook her head.

“Would you like to make use of the washroom first? Or shall I?” She moved to her trunk and pulled out a shift and wrap as gingerly as she could. Her hands were not too grubby—she’d scrubbed them last of all with the last of the clean water, lest the clean linens risk being smudged with soot and grime.

His steps toward his own chest were heavy, and he opened the top with more force than was strictly necessary. She did not need the bond to tell her he was annoyed, and she gripped her shift harder as she struggled with what she might say to mend things between them.

Before she’d decided, he’d slid open the loft door and hopped down, his dark wings slowing the distance to the ground.

And then he was gone.

Which was better, she decided. So she could order her thoughts and he could see to his, and they’d come together and everything would be all right again.

It took longer for her eyes to stop burning.

Longer still for her heart to stop aching so fiercely.

And there was time enough for her to pin her damp clothing on the wash line in the yard to dry come morning.

And that was all right. Because he was coming back. He wasn’t leaving her.

She darkened a few of the lanterns, but left the lamp on so he could see his way back. Tucked her feet into cold sheets and wished she’d thought to take out stockings until the weather warmed, but it wasn’t worth the trek back to her trunk.

She could not admit her relief when she heard the workshop door open and close.

Could not admit that she was almost willing to fling herself at him when he walked back through the door of her—not her playroom. She grimaced at the word. Not that any longer. This was not one of her fantasies come to life. This was their room, if only for a week. Their quarters. Their...

Lucian looked at her with his jaw tight and his shoulders even more so. “Have I ever left you? Run off? Why must you incessantly pull at the bond whenever I am out of the room?”

He did not say it, but the accusation hung between them all the same. She was the one that did that. That told him she was leaving. Moving away. Returning home and he could do what he liked, and he could find her when he was more agreeable.

She plucked at her wrap and took a sharp breath. “I didn’t know I was doing that.”

He grimaced, dimming the lantern by the door as he went. “It is horribly distracting,” Lucian complained. “I hate to imagine how it will affect my focus if I’m ever allowed back into the Halls.”

It made her want to curl up into a little ball. To whisper her apologies and have him come hold her until she felt less guilty for just how much she’d robbed from him.

But she’d been robbed too.

The thought wasn’t a welcome one, but it was enough to keep her seated just as she was. To steel herself from crying and...

And being as pathetic as Oberon thought her to be.

He crossed over to the bed. She was tired. Sore. Overwrought and drained of nearly everything.

And yet when he settled into her old bed, she curled toward him. And when that was not enough to quiet the racing of her heart, she threw one of her legs over his lower half and clutched his sleep-shirt.

Because he wore one.

Which was an insult all its own. Because it meant she could not be trusted not to seduce him, as she apparently had done before.

“I’ve done that to you,” Firen acknowledged, because it was worth saying it aloud. “I thought my reasons good ones, if it’s any consolation.” He grunted, and still he did not hold her. And they truly needed to get better at this. Both of them. “If I had stayed, would it have helped?”

His hand shifted just a little closer to her hip. “No. But you would have been able to hear me say the words. Would have perhaps trusted me a little more. That I will not let them hurt you. That I do not want our bond to be dissolved, even they have mastered that particular skill.” His hand came to her hip, and she relished the way it gripped her. “Which they have not.”

She breathed a little easier. Because bonds were permanent, just as they were meant to be. No mortal should have the ability to pluck it out, to murder it, just because it suited them.

No, not them.

Their families.

Because they aspired to better, because they were callous and pompous and thought too highly of their own schemes.

“Then I am sorry I left,” Firen offered. Meant it. She’d hurt him, although that had not been her intent. They should have been united before the rest of them. But she’d doubted it. Doubted Lucian. Found it easier to retreat than to watch him neglect his responsibilities to her.

Except he hadn’t.

She buried her head against his chest, and his hand moved along her back. Where muscles were tight with fatigue and all her scrubbing. Not pressing hard enough to relieve the tension, but present. Welcome.

It was quiet between them for a moment. Him holding, her clutching. But when he spoke, it warmed her. That maybe they were getting somewhere after all.

“I am sorry that you felt you had to go.”

She wriggled upward. Because she had to look at him. Had to see the way his eyes were soft even as his brow was furrowed. Such conflict within him. Always. And it made her smile. Made her reach out with her pointer finger and smooth across those lines. Watched as he glowered briefly, unamused by her simple game, but not so much that he meant to stop her.

“I want you to know, I like it best when we are together. I do not want to leave you.”

His eyes darkened as she knew they would. “Then stop doing it.”

She could push him. Could retort that he ought to stop putting her into a position that it became necessary. But she didn’t. Because then they would argue, and she was rather tired of that.

So she kissed him instead. Softly. Just a brush at first, so she might gauge his reaction. They were tired, after all. Weary, both in body and in mind.

But she gasped when his hold on her tightened. When he seemed intent on pouring all the frustrations of the day into his kisses. And she hadn’t expected his fervour, might have been frightened of it except that it sent a delicious thrill through her. To be wanted. To be desired. Even if things were not perfect between them.

So maybe the nightshirt was not a symbol after all. Perhaps he was simply cold or...

She coloured slightly.

Maybe it was that they no longer had a private bath between them, and he was being modest lest her mother catch sight of him without his clothing.

His fingers tangled in her hair, and she really should have combed it properly. But she had thought they were going to be sleeping. More work for the morning, but she hadn’t thought she needed to look alluring or...

His lips found her neck, nipping at her lightly, and it should not have made her heart race as much as it did. Should not have made her straddle him beneath the quilts, should not have made her hands delve into his hair so she could push his mouth closer to her flesh.

But perhaps there were not rules when it came to loving. There were not shoulds or shouldn’ts...

Just the feel of him against her. The way the bond hummed and settled after too many partings and too many doubts.

But he’d chosen her.

Chosen to come with her, even when she’d been so absolutely certain he would not.

It made her want to be closer to him. Made her want to feel the whole of him, to make her claim and bind him to her in every way she could.

But they were tired. Or... had been.

They’d worked hard. And she wouldn’t presume. She’d be thoughtful and kind, and maybe he would not want to be with her after she’d left him.

Again.

His hands skimmed down her waist, settling on her hips.

And he groaned into her mouth as she rested more fully against him, and her pulse flared and there it was, that need that was so much more than physical.

His thumbs were delving, pulling at fabric until they found skin instead, and she shivered. She leaned down, wanting to kiss him again, and it put pressure in the most delightful of ways, and she closed her eyes tightly as she sought his mouth with the rest of her senses.

“Do you mean to have me again, Firen?” Lucian asked, and it was a wretched thing to say. Made her sound like some sort of defiler. A seducer. And she was his proper mate. She had a bond warming in her chest to prove it.

She opened her eyes and wished he could always look at her that way. Full of all the affection he was reticent to give. “If you’ll have me,” she answered back, and punctuated it with a kiss. Maybe two. A third, that lasted a great deal longer because his hand came to the back of her head and kept her there.

She hated he was right. That talking was so hard, that circumstances meant challenge and heartache and far too much uncertainty.

But this...

They certainly knew how to do this part.

And do it well.

He did not let her linger on top of him as long as he had before. Instead, he rolled her onto her back almost immediately, and his urgency left her breathless. Or maybe it was the kisses.

Or maybe it was the way his hand delved between them, pushing up at her shift and making a long, languid stroke up her thigh. Then down to her knee. Then up again.

Not quite where she wanted it, but drifting closer still with each pass.

Until she was squirming and frustrated, and when she opened her eyes to voice her complaint, he was smirking at her.

Which really was insufferable.

And if he could tease her, then surely that was permission to do the same. So she reached down. Huffed out a breath when, of course, he was wearing sleeping trousers, and his sudden need for modesty really was inconvenient for a quick fumbling in the dim of their week-long home.

So she plucked at the drawstring.

And if she had thought he’d need much coaxing, she was quickly proven wrong.

There would be no teasing him into readiness.

So she grasped at him instead, her hand delving into his trousers. And that really was a rather bold thing to do.

But she was gratified with his groan.

And even more still when his hand came to settle where it belonged.

It was almost enough to make her laugh with the strangeness of it. That it did not feel awkward at all to be holding one another in the most intimate of ways. To touch and yes, to tickle—and she really would start laughing if he continued to touch her so lightly.

But thoughts of amusement or oddity fled when his touches grew more insistent. When he allowed more of his weight to cover her as he kissed her mouth, her throat, then down to the tops of her breasts where her neckline allowed.

She supposed they ought to take their clothing off. It had felt so delightful before. To feel all of him, to watch his eyes when he took in all of her nakedness.

But maybe there was something charming about this as well. To abandon her teases so she could grip at his shoulders instead. To feel the tension in him, to know that they could ease that. Together.

And they’d sleep better, afterwards. They’d proven that before.

She liked the way his breath felt on her damp skin. Liked the way his fingers dipped. Just one, then a second. Careful of her, preparing her.

Liked better still the way he cursed beneath his breath because she hadn’t undone the drawstring all the way, so he had to fumble with his trousers and if she giggled just a little, then that was all right, because he had his revenge a moment later when he was suddenly there .

Pressing.

Holding still.

His neck tense and his brow furrowed, as if he was going slow for her sake rather than for his. She reached up. Cupped his cheek in her palm. Because he was rather beautiful, her mate. With his high cheekbones and the pale hair that had a tendency to dip over his forehead in the most becoming of ways. She could forgive that he looked too much like...

She did not allow her thoughts to linger there.

Would not let that man have one moment’s quarter while she was entangled with her mate.

Hers.

His eyes met hers. Had she said it aloud? She didn’t know. Hadn’t meant to, if she did. But it somehow he seemed to know the turn of her thoughts, the claim she had on him.

And he turned his head so he could place a kiss to the centre of her palm, and she thought her heart might burst at the sudden burst of affection she felt for him.

It groaned, and suddenly there was no more pausing. No more waiting and teasing. Just fervent movement, insistent and not quite right, not quite...

She shifted, brought her leg up a little higher, and she had to close her eyes against the sudden sensation.

Better.

Much better.

He huffed out a breath, and her hand fell away. She couldn’t decide if she liked it better clutching at his back, smoothing her fingers through the downy feathers at the base of his wings, or clutching at the bedclothes beneath her.

She settled with one hand doing each, and his head dropped to tuck at the curve of her shoulder, hiding his expression, hiding how something so simple and yet so fundamental could affect him.

That was all right. She could allow such little modesties, especially when it meant she could squirm all she liked, could smile and bite at her lip and do whatever else pleased her without fretting about anything at all.

She abandoned her hold on the bedclothes and settled it against the back of his head. Let her fingers drift through the soft hairs at his neck, the longer bits artfully cut. Did he have someone to tend his hair? Surely he did not do it himself, and she doubted he would be ushered into the kitchen along with the rest of his family to await a father’s skills with shears and a mother’s care with fresh wing feathers.

His lips parted. His teeth found her shoulder, and it might have been a shocking sensation as they pressed downward. Not hard, but present, and it kept her very still as she was more than aware that he had found his pleasures.

While she’d yet to find hers.

Which was all right. Surely.

Except that her body still thrummed with the tension of it, and she wasn’t ready for his weight to lift from her.

Certainly was not ready to sleep. Not when she hadn’t... when she’d...

She could not express her disappointment when he slipped out of her. When the feeling of delightful fullness was replaced with a cool sort of emptiness. When she was aware of how he’d soon be retreating from the bed to wash himself from the basin before he came back and rolled her back onto her own cot, perhaps not even aware how... neglected she felt.

Which hadn’t been his fault. She could acknowledge that in an exasperated sort of way. He’d touched her well, he’d kissed her and prepared her and...

He pulled his weight from her.

And she would not cry. Would not complain about how cold she felt when she realised her shift was up around her waist and the quilts had fallen to the sides, and it was somehow worse than when she was naked and sated and held no shame at all for any of the things they’d done.

And it wasn’t shame now. Just...

He did not leave the bed. Instead, he tucked himself behind her, his lips coming to her shoulder as he rolled her onto her side, his body following the entire length of her. “Where did you go?” Lucian asked, his lips skimming across the naked skin of her shoulder where her shift had fallen. “You were with me, and then...”

She swallowed, trying not to shift and wriggle as her body urged her to do.

Made all the worse when his hand reached around to offer her some relief, his ministrations entirely too slow. Which she would certainly not grasp hold of his hand to urge him to do it differently, because that was... that would be...

“I was thinking about who tends to your hair,” Firen answered, because that seemed the only thing to do when the alternative was to indulge her own boldness. “I got distracted.”

He laughed at her. A chuckle of breath and sound that warmed against her skin and did strange things to her stomach. Because she liked it. And it saddened her it was such a rarity. But if she dwelled on that, then she would lose the sensations again and...

“Then I must not have been attending to you properly, if you could think about something so mundane when I am attempting to pleasure you.”

She opened her mouth to apologise, because really, it hadn’t been him at all. And it couldn’t be her fault, either. She hadn’t known how distractible she could become, did not know that events of the day could not simply disappear just because... because...

His strokes became more purposeful, as if determined to push everything else from her mind.

And it was working. Or should have worked.

Except that she was suddenly nervous, as if she’d done something wrong by taking too long. When he should be sleeping—really, they both should, and she should stop him because this was selfish of her and there was always next time, and...

“You think I could sleep,” Lucian murmured, his breath warm against her ear, his lips soft as he kissed her neck, her shoulder. The curve of her upper arm. “When you were unsatisfied? I have my pride.” She shivered all over, because he was touching just the right spot, and retreating just when it grew too much, only to return before her skin had stopped thrumming, her belly had stopped tensing. “And I’ll not have my mate thinking me selfish. She already thinks me a deserter.”

Her mouth opened, and she meant it to be a denial, because she didn’t, she just... she just got nervous, that was all. Wasn’t sure... that he...

He rolled her ever so slightly. Not quite on her side, but not quite on her stomach. And her wing was a little too squashed, but it changed the angle just so and he was covering her, but in ways he hadn’t before, and somehow that was what she needed.

Needed so she could...

It didn’t embarrass her. The gasp she made wasn’t disgraceful. The way she clutched at his arm and yes, even the hand that had given her this, it was all right, because he was still placing kisses along whatever skin he could find, and the bond was warm, and he was a good mate. That wouldn’t have been able to sleep while she was left wanting.

He let her move first. Didn’t pull himself free of her the moment her eyes opened and her body grew slack. Let her wriggle around so that she could kiss him properly, body languid.

He’d done that. Taken care of her.

“We can sleep now,” she murmured, perfectly content to snuggle into his side and do just that.

He snorted, but there was laughter at the edges of it, and so she didn’t mind when he kissed her once more and rolled to the edge of the bed.

Her mate liked to be clean, and she supposed there were worse traits.

She heard the dip of cloth into water. The trickle of liquid when he squeezed it out again.

She didn’t watch him. Did not stare to see him coax out his length so he could tend it properly. Did not watch as he soaped his hands and rinsed them clean again.

So it surprised her when he came back to her, a fresh cloth in his hands as he wiped at her, and she jumped at the coldness of it and she might have glared except she was met with a knowing look that stayed her. “Sacrifices,” Lucian reminded her. No hearth and tanks and taps that meant hot water for bathing afterwards.

So she bit her lip and let him wash her, and if there was a strangeness in that, a mortification she should feel at such attentions, it didn’t occur to her to feel them. Because it was tender with her. Gentle. In ways that harsh looks suggested that he wouldn’t be. But when he returned to bed, there was a sigh he made when he wrapped himself about her. Held her to him without her having to tug at him through the bond.

Because maybe he needed her, too. Needed her closeness, needed the feel of her. To make this unfamiliar place feel a little bit more like home.

Which was perfectly all right with her.

“I’m going to stop,” Firen murmured into the dark. He’d doused the last of the lamps, and the windows were shuttered tightly. “Leaving you,” she clarified. His hold on her tightened. “If I need to be outside, if I need to fly or to take a dip in the sea, or just... walk, I’ll tell you.” She swallowed. “Or you could come, sometimes. We could pace together. Until we feel better.”

He nuzzled into her neck, or maybe he was burying his face in her unbound hair. She could not tell. But she liked the feel of it. Liked being held, liked the rightness they’d found between them.

“Sleep,” Lucian commanded. “You can plan our next quarrel in the morning.”

It should not have made her smile. Should have provoked her guilt at how many times they’d managed to argue already.

But instead she closed her eyes and revelled in the feel of him, knowing he’d soon roll over to sleep properly on his side.

Although...

She had shimmied onto her own cot to make room for him.

And he’d come to find her.

So maybe... maybe he’d stay.

Which sounded rather lovely, especially with the day they’d had, and this room really was comfortable when they were situated just like this, and...

He stayed.

◆◆◆

Lucian was gone in the morning.

Which she would not panic about.

She wasn’t.

He was hardly her prisoner, and she really must stop expecting the very worst of him. She opened the shutters, and the suns were higher than she’d realised, and Da was usually tinkering away by now.

Which sent a guilty twinge through her. She had not considered that part. That suddenly his domain was invaded, that he would have to work around their sleeping rather than tend to his work whenever it pleased him.

She hurried into fresh clothing and scrubbed at her teeth, then bound her hair in an untidy knot before she slid open the door and shut it fully behind her. No more soot—she’d had her fill of scrubbing the night before.

Da was there, after all.

The forge was quiet, but he was seated at his worktable, making use of his largest magnification glass as he bent and twisted impossibly small chains together.

“Sleep well?” he asked, not moving his head from his work.

Firen smoothed at her hair and promised herself she would buy him something nice next market day. For the inconvenience.

“Yes.” She would have gone closer. Perhaps kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder, but she knew better than to interrupt the fiddly work. “Da,” she began, needing to say it, needing to acknowledge that she’d imposed, and he’d indulged her. But the sacrifices were to be for Lucian and herself to make, not... not him.

“Hmm?” Her father hummed, then he made that pleased smile when two joints settled neatly into place and he could move on to the next.

“I’m sorry. For intruding on you. He’s agreed to the week, but I realise now that isn’t fair to you. This is your workshop, and you can’t be expected to...”

“Firen,” Da stopped her, his hands dropping slightly against the worktable as he looked at her fully. “You were not intruding when you had just grown your flight feathers and headed up into that loft in the first place. You certainly aren’t now when you need a place to gather your thoughts and figure out what comes next. There’s plenty of work that needs doing that doesn’t require pounding away at an awl at all hours.” He glanced back down at his task. “If that’s what you were fretting about.”

A lump settled in her throat, and she hurried to him and put her arms about his neck from behind, hugging him to her. His wings were low so she did not receive a face full of feathers, and she was rewarded with a pat upon her arms. “I love you, Firen. You know that?”

Her eyes burned and she would have tightened her grip if it would not have risked choking him. “No,” she choked out, an old tease.

“Hmm,” he chuckled. “Then I’ll have to work on that.”

She smiled, and released him, brushing at her eyes as she did so. “Does Mama have Lucian making breakfast?”

Da’s eyes drifted quickly back to his work. “Not breakfast, no.”

Firen did not pause to give any sort of parting word as she hurried to the shop door, accompanied by her father’s laughter at her urgency.

She opened the back door as calmly as she could manage, although her heart raced and apologies were already at her tongue—both to Mama for not being up earlier to help with meals, and to Lucian for whatever he’d endured in her absence.

“Firen,” Mama greeted, rolling her eyes as she took in her daughter’s haste. “Do be careful with that door. I don’t need you slamming it about.”

They were seated. Not tending to cauldrons of porridge and slivering nutmeats and dried fruits.

Instead, Mama was sipping at her tea while Lucian had a pile of papers in front of him, an inkpot and one of Da’s metal quills tucked between two of his fingers as he looked down at it thoughtfully.

Firen closed the door as quietly as she could, trying to appear less alarmed than she felt. “Morning,” she murmured to her mother, trying desperately not to fidget.

Or to go over to inspect the papers and see what Mama had Lucian doing.

“Not even a fair one?” Mama teased, nodding toward the stove. “Kettle is hot. Fetch yourself a cup before you fall over.”

She wasn’t as flustered as all that, and there were other needs that needed attending first. “In a moment,” she hedged. She didn’t like it, but she slipped away to the washroom, peering as discreetly as she could as she passed the table.

His penmanship was a spiked scrawl of black ink—legible, she was sure, if she had a good lamp and time to work out the lettering.

She could not recall the last time she hurried so much. The bond was quiet, so Lucian was not angry about his task, but that was little comfort. He was trying, for her sake. To be a good mate despite their... difficulties.

And she wasn’t certain she was trying in the ways she should. It was easy to defend herself, her family. But Lucian needed more from her.

No more running off.

How many times had he asked that of her?

Her throat itched and her mother was right about needing a cup of tea.

She wasn’t used to feeling awkward and uncertain in her mother’s kitchen. But as she took a mug and watched as hot water splashed onto dark, shrivelled leaves, she breathed in deeply. Calm. Lucian was calm, so she should be, too.

She cut a piece off the loaf on the counter, not fully aware of herself while she did it. She placed it on a napkin, only to hear her mother’s pointed sigh, then replaced it with a plate while she took the seat beside her mate.

This couldn’t count as being nosey, surely. Not when her own mother was involved. “So what’s this?” she asked as pleasantly as she could. As if this was normal and expected rather than enough to send her heart into fluttering palpitations.

Mama sipped at her tea before answering. And it wasn’t infuriating. It wasn’t. Even if it somehow made Firen feel the outsider in her own mating.

Lucian’s hand reached out beneath the table and settled on her thigh. He squeezed it gently, his attention still on his work.

“You’re not making him draw up some sort of contract for us staying here, are you? Da said it was all right.”

Mama gave her an exasperated look. “That is what you take me for?” Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head briefly. “Settle your feathers, dearest. You’re taking up the entire table.”

Firen flushed, and she glanced behind her to find that yes, her feathers were standing on end, and they were intruding rather a lot because she’d settled so close to Lucian, and it took three full breaths to get control of herself.

“You are a wonderful woman, dearest. I know this. Your mate knows it. But making plans is not one of your strongest attributes. And you need a plan.” She reached out and tapped the papers.

Firen’s eyes drifted downward and if she squinted hard enough, she could make out the words.

Not words.

Names.

Was she supposed to know them?

They were not her siblings, to be sure. So it was not a matter of pressing them into other accommodations.

“Do I know these people?” she asked, still bewildered. Distant relations, perhaps? Maybe it was about other sorts of work, something closer to Lucian’s skills without having to resort to smithing by default.

“No,” Lucian answered, his hand leaving her leg, and she missed its weight instantly. “But I do.”

She looked again. They were not his relations, either. At least, none of the ones he’d told to her. Not the ones at the horrid supper.

She squinted, one sounding at least vaguely familiar. “This one. He’s...” He’d come to the market. Rarely, and when he did, there was always a flurry of whispers to accompany him. With robes decorated in gold filaments that glittered as brightly as his smile as he mingled amongst the merchants.

His pride and joy, he’d said. About the market and its many stalls. Started lower than a Proctor, but look how high he’d risen.

Which was meant as a buoy to the masses. They could rise in rank and station, just as he had done.

And while the smiles had been polite, the chatter afterward had been less than friendly. They liked their lives. Their craft. They were under no law, no compunction that tied them to their lifelong trades. Firen had thought little of it at the time, her head too filled with the life that would come after the market—or in truth, scanning each passerby for any sense that her mate was nearby.

“Not my preference,” Lucian finished for her with a grimace. “But he is the oldest of them, and he has only daughters. None of which had an interest in the law. His disappointment has echoed through the Hall for years.”

He underlined the name twice, then moved to another.

“He would be preferable. But he has a son that is nearly a mancer in his own right. I doubt he would think favourably of beginning again.”

“Hardly the beginning,” Mama interjected. “Surely the apprenticeship under your father would count for much.”

Lucian glanced up, eyeing her mother steadily. “That depends on the master. And how much they wish their apprentice to be shaped into their own view of the law itself.”

A lump settled in Firen’s throat, not only because of the subject, but because of how far removed she was from it.

Which was a silly complaint. There was none better for advice than her mother, and she was happy to share her with Lucian.

She simply wanted to be included in that sharing. To know what they’d concocted while she’d been blissfully sleeping the morning away in the loft. “Mama, what is all this?” She did her best to make it sound like a simple enquiry, but she’d always been rather poor at keeping her emotions out of her expressions.

Mama stopped looking at the paper Lucian pushed toward her, eyeing Firen carefully. “Your mate’s trade is in the law. If his father will not continue his education, and subsequently, supply him the position that will see there is food for my daughter and presumably her future children, then I am helping him to consider his other options.”

Firen’s throat ached.

She took a sip of her tea and relaxed her shoulders.

This was a good thing.

What she’d hoped for.

She did not need to be jealous of her own mother and the ease with which they seemed to talk with one another.

Mama pulled out a sheet of paper and another pen from the slim case Da had made for her. The ink bottle was charcoal rather than the deep black Lucian used, but it was one of her favourites.

But rather than start sorting out her thoughts directly, she passed it all to Firen. “All right, dearest. Start making a list beneath each name in order of priority. And most especially, who would be most open to the arrangement. Then we’ll start on the contingencies.”

Firen beamed at her, feeling like the girl she had been when awarded with a very important task. Mama rose, taking her cup with her. She’d fill the kettle again. Tea made hard work easier. No problem was too large that could not be riddled out with a full stomach and ample paper for note taking.

But before she did any of that, Mama came over and patted Firen’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly as she passed. “You’ll be all right,” she murmured, and it felt far less a lie when it came from her.

◆◆◆

They planned so long that Firen had to fix a lunch for them.

It also felt less like plan-making and more like plotting.

Most especially when Lucian started making amendments that included things like particular persuasions. Such as known shop-debts. Or proclivities of unmated offspring that included visits to less than reputable areas, and wouldn’t that be a shame if that became common knowledge, most especially when it came time for their mating?

Firen frowned at that, not because she was so na?ve as to think that such dalliances did not happen, but because she would rather believe someone would want to help because they wanted to, not because they were under some sort of duress.

And then there was the other part. The one she was not the least bit proud of, that... wondered.

Not if he’d actually indulged in... some sort of... assignation. He’d said he’d waited for her, hadn’t he? She thought he had. Or maybe she’d been the one to make that assurance, even when he’d not asked it of her. But this was a different sort of life, one she knew little about. Where you dined in a special place in a secret room. Where your goods were bought at a shop that was available on more than just market days.

“What would someone write about you?” she asked instead, her finger moving just a bit over damp ink, and Lucian pushed it away with a scowl as the edge of one letter smudged. Her chest tightened when he did not answer right away, and she supposed that was response enough. “Oh.”

Lucian glanced at her, then over her shoulder where her mother was attending to the dishes. “It does not make them right,” Lucian reminded her. “And if the most sordid part of me is that my wife came from the fourth district, I think I can endure.”

She smiled, but it was thin, watery thing.

Firen did not know if her mother counted as company, but she wrapped her arm about his and put her head against his shoulder. She wanted to say she was sorry, but she wasn’t. Not about her family. Not about her neighbours. She’d be held against him, and it would make things harder for him, but if he would not regret it, regret her , then she would not do it for him.

Mama left out the back door, with two cups of tea in her hands. She’d be a while, then. Would likely sit across from Da and make him break and rest his shoulders after hunching all morning.

“Did she pounce on you?” Firen asked as soon as the door was firmly shut and she was certain Mama was a few steps away from it.

She ran her finger over one of the lists again, feeling strangely fond of them. Protective. Lucian’s future was tied to those pages, and therefore her own.

“If by pounce you mean was she in the kitchen offering food and assistance, then yes.” He made another notation at the bottom of a sheet. “She is very kind.”

Firen beamed at him. “She is.” Then came the concern, leeching some of her satisfaction. “Is it hard for you? To be here with mine instead of with yours?”

Lucian turned his head, and she expected the furrowed brow, the tight set of his mouth. “Why should it?”

“Sorry,” Firen said with a sigh. “That’s not... I shouldn’t have said it like that.” She reached for his hand and gripped it, because the last thing she wanted was a quarrel. It was not a competition between mothers. It was not about who had the better parents, the more welcoming home. “I feel guilty, I suppose. Forcing you to be here.”

Lucian huffed out a breath, then turned in his chair so he could face her fully. Could reach out to ensure she was looking at him. “Do I appear to be under duress? Must we dwell on misgivings? It is done. I have accepted this. I am attempting to build a future.” He grimaced, and his hand fell away. “One that resembles what I had hoped for as much as possible.”

Firen glanced away from him, her heart beating a little too quickly. She wasn’t afraid of him, but she wanted to get this right. Wanted to be a support to him rather than a hindrance. Except what came out was girlish and fretful. Utterly lacking in anything helpful.

“Why is it easier to talk to Mama than it is to me?”

He glanced at her, his brows raised. “What?”

She wanted to retract it as soon as the thought had slipped from her lips, but she couldn’t. She could stammer out another apology, but it would still lie there, weighing on the both of them.

“It’s just... it seems easier, with her. Is it like she says? That she’s a planner? Knows how to make the best lists and make big things seem manageable?” She felt all the sillier as soon as she put it that way.

He was going to get up. Was going to pace about the kitchen and ask her how this could possibly be of any importance at all when he was trying to determine the rest of his life.

Instead, he turned and used his foot to push at her stool.

Then his hands were at her waist, and he was pulling her onto his lap. The movement was so quick that she startled by it, her hands coming to his shoulders as she fought to keep her balance—not that it was needed. His hands were strong at her waist, then firmer still as he used one to cup her cheek and hold her head in position.

So he could kiss her once.

Then pull back with a look of utter exasperation.

“It is easier,” Lucian agreed. “Because when I am with you, I am reminded of all the ways I am failing you. That you must sleep in a blacksmith loft because I cannot even provide a family to support us during this transition. Because my profession was tied so intimately with a bond that would never happen. And it shames me. Infuriates me. So yes, I feel it difficult to talk of it with you, because it should not have to be so difficult.”

“Lucian,” she murmured, and her throat was too tight and the bond was too warm. Made her want to hold him to her, made her want to kiss him all over because that was theirs. What they knew how to do well.

“Do not look at me that way,” Lucian urged, and his hands went back to her waist and he was going to move her off of him, and she did not want that. Not in the least. “I will not kiss you in your mother’s kitchen,” he added lowly when her hands went about his neck so she could hold herself steady. “I am going to tuck these papers away, and dress properly, and then I am going to make my rounds in the Hall.”

His hand went to the back of her neck and she shivered as his thumb smoothed against the delicate skin he found there. “Or did you imagine you had bartered for a full week of my sole attention?”

She made a guilty sort of hum because, in truth, she had. But she could share. When it was this important. When he was so troubled.

“I won’t ask if it would help if I came with you.”

And she wouldn’t let it sting, either. That it would be an impediment when she was used to being...

Well, liked .

Even if they were just... common folk. The ones she’d known since birth, that worked and tended to their stalls and made no trouble for anybody. That might have gossiped a bit too much. That were a bit too harsh in some ways, but were kindly underneath the rest of it.

“I thank you,” Lucian answered, petting her hair, and she found it soothed her in ways she had never imagined. “I dislike disappointing you. Despite what you may think.”

Her throat tightened, and she took a breath that was so full of him it almost made her dizzy.

He would not kiss her.

Which meant she ought not to test matters by seeing if she could get him to respond to her kisses . A fun sort of game for another place. Somewhere private, where she would not have to endure the mortification of her mother or father walking in on the two of them in a compromising position.

Did sitting on his lap count?

She did not know these rules. Knew only that she liked it best when she was with him. When they touched, and he said sweet things to her. About devotion. Commitment.

And maybe that made her greedy and a bit too possessive.

She didn’t know that either.

But when she settled back onto her own stool, she kept hold of his hand. She watched him drink lukewarm tea from one of the mugs she’d used since childhood.

“So, you’ll go to the Hall, and I’ll...” She hesitated, not knowing what she might do with herself. Help Da with his craft? Or maybe visit Eris?

She’d need to find her own things. Ways to keep busy. To contribute.

“I’ll do something productive,” she declared after a moment’s hesitation. And watched Lucian smile ever so slightly. “And we can supper together?”

He squeezed her hand. “Yes.”

And her heart had no business warming as it did. For the bond to hum and be so distracting when they had things to do that did not include returning to their cots and assuaging it with more of their delightful congress.

But they could.

Later.

Which was rather a pleasing thought.