6. Infirmary

“I don’t want to read today.”

They were in the sitting room, Brum at her feet. He’d taken to doing that more, sometimes keeping to his cushion, other times choosing to physically push his body on top of her toes, holding her hostage beneath his weight.

Athan had tried to put a stop to it, but she shook her head, reaching down to rub her fingers against his head. He was trying, and so was she. They would be great friends before long, and that was a greater relief to her than she cared to admit.

He might be large and intimidating, but his heart was friendly. He knew to keep his teeth to himself, if not his tongue, and all that seemed to truly upset him was an upset to his routine.

She could well understand that.

They’d settled into one of their own. Easy mornings. Athan would spend an hour in the infirmary while she bathed and massaged soothing oils into scars and tight muscles. Then she would sit in the garden until he returned, and they took their midday meal.

Reading was in the afternoons.

Evenings were when he was teaching her to play games. They’d tried a few, and the last was much more to her liking. Less strategy and more luck. Rolling ornate shells that had been cut and filed with symbols he’d written out on a slip of paper so she might know their values.

They were making progress through her medical texts, seated on the chaise where Orma got to decide how much they touched. There were no more teasing caresses in the middle, although more often than not she’d reach out and hold his hand when his breath quickened and his temper flared.

She could not forget his confession. Did not like to think she was corrupting him with something so bitter as hatred, but she wondered how she might react if their places were reversed. If he’d suffered and been cut and experimented upon, when she might have been there to put a stop to it.

Sometimes she would even raise their twined hands and place a kiss there, just to feel his eyes drift from the page and look at her instead. Not quite whole, but not as broken as she’d been then. Well enough to sit beside him, to wonder if she might love him and if she could indulge in the other facets of mated life that were pressing at her all the more with each passing day.

But today, she hated the sight of them. Hated that the process was dragging on and on, and hated even more she could not bring herself to give Athan permission to simply read on for his own sake. Leave her be and learn it all for himself while she busied herself with other pursuits.

Like the cookery book she’d found in the kitchen cupboard.

Which led to needing a book on herbs and vegetables, preferably one with pictures.

“Oh?” Athan queried. He’d found a basket to hold all of the texts and papers, although he was seated in his own chair as Brum had taken up much of the floor in front of her. “And what would you prefer to do instead?”

A silly question, as she would rather do anything else than continue to read on. But that was not an answer, and she could not put him off just for the sake of it.

“You want to see patients again, yes?”

He’d taken a few. It started only two days before, when the case was a mother in distress and the fledgling did not even have its flight feathers yet. He’d looked to Orma, obviously torn in his duty, and she’d waved him off with a numb sort of silence to attend the infirmary.

He hadn’t been long, but he’d sequestered himself in the bathing room for a long while, and when he emerged he was scrubbed thoroughly, his hair still dripping onto his fresh tunic.

Orma took it all in, nervous and anxious. “Did the baby live?”

She did not know if it was as serious as that, but there was a sombre note to him that frightened her. “Yes,” he’d conceded, easing down into a chair. She should have had food ready for him, but she had only books and confusion so far, her education not proceeding as rapidly as she might have liked.

She could ask him for help. To take the time to teach her. It wasn’t pride that kept her quiet, but rather a determination to handle this for herself. She’d already compromised with herself and asked him how to use the stove, and she’d already heated the kettle without burning herself, so that was a very great victory.

He did not elaborate on the baby’s condition, and Orma wondered if she should press him on it. Surely they were entitled to their privacy, and her stomach roiled to think of her own healers returning home to their mates and families, telling tales of a little girl with visions they were most certainly going to sort out in a day or two.

So she kept quiet. Brought him tea.

Watched the heavy weight fall from his shoulders as he sipped, and he smiled at her and told her she’d done well, and she was certain even he could be able to see how brightly the threads glowed at his praise.

“I will only return if you are agreeable. And if I can be assured of your care.”

Orma nodded. She didn’t know how agreeable she was, but to deny him his profession seemed as cruel as banishing the Brum. She could do it—he held reverence enough for their bond and her happiness he would do what she asked of him, but she could never be so selfish.

Even if the thought of disease, of Athan hurt, of her alone in the house without skill or companionship frightened her.

So she needed to acquire some.

Skills, at least. She wasn’t certain what she would do about companions. Friendships had become scarce as she grew older. When she could no longer play with the servants’ children. When her cousins grew old, when her siblings grew tired of her.

“I need books,” she explained, wriggling her toes beneath the Brum’s weight to encourage blood to go back into them. He gave a miffed sort of breath, but did not move from his position.

“Books,” Athan repeated, eyeing the basket where her history lay nestled.

She cleared her throat and shook her head. “Different books.”

He gave a slow nod, watching her face and trying to interpret all she had not said. “You wish to go to your father’s library?”

There were many things in that room, but not what she wanted now. “I should like to procure new books,” Orma explained. Then paused, tugging at her skirt and refusing to feel embarrassed. “Where does one do that?”

Athan’s mouth twitched just a little, but he had the good grace not to smile at her ignorance. “There is a stall at the market that specialises in foreign books, if you are looking for a challenge. Most of them are in their native languages. I bought one, on a whim, thinking if I stared at it long enough, I might understand its meaning. I am sorry to say that is not how it works.”

While the prospect of that held its own kind of appeal, Orma shook her head. “No. I am interested in more... practical matters.” Of course, the trouble would be that most people did not require such knowledge to be written down. Farmers would teach it to their sons and daughters, and even their mates, should they wish to change their professions. Parents would instruct their children in matters of cookery, passing down ancient recipes from the previous generation to the next.

But she could hope. And look. If Athan knew of a bookseller where she might at least ask if such a thing existed.

“Practical matters,” Athan repeated, looking her over. As if he could tell the rest of her thoughts from appearance alone. “What if I have such a tome in my collection already? Would it not be easier to ask me first?”

Perhaps, although she’d dismissed the notion after she’d perused the two small shelves flanking the living room hearth. Medical books. A few on potions. One about a grand adventure across the sea, that she would hold off reading until she grew so bored on her own she needed its company.

She glanced toward the shelves, trying to find a gentle way to inform him his collection was... well honed. Its subjects narrow. Practical, given his position, but not helpful for her education.

And it certainly did not have a guide on what vegetables looked like and how they were named, and how did one tell if they were cooked through or close to spoiling.

“Your books are helpful for your tasks,” Orma answered as gently as she could. “But seeing as I do not intend to take up healing, I’m afraid I need different ones.” She nodded toward the bookshelves, meagre as they were.

Athan did laugh then. “That is not all of them, Orma. I will not claim to have so fine a library as your father, but my master was a collector. My father as well. But if you would prefer a bookseller, I know of one. Not in this district, however.”

A long walk, then. Or a short flight. She shifted her wings, trying to judge their strength. She’d eaten little that morning, but she’d been a bit better by midday, the meal settling well enough. They settled back. She should just ask him. Trust him not to think her a foolish girl without near enough learning in her head.

She’d read lots—when her eyes and the sharp pounding in her head would allow it. About histories and architecture. The few novels likely smuggled in by her mother when she found one that pleased her. But there was much she didn’t know, and although she was certain Athan would be quick with his reassurances, it was a hard admission to make.

“And where exactly is this collection?” Orma asked, thinking of the empty rooms upstairs. She’d peeked at them. They were not wholly empty—some held a few pieces of furniture, but those were covered in cloth and were clearly not fit for use without a thorough dusting and a comfortable arrangement.

Athan rubbed at his chin. “Ah. Well, it would be in the infirmary. There are a great deal of reference books, I grant you, and it seemed... prudent to keep them where most needed.”

Orma stilled, and Brum took the opportunity to press more of his weight onto the tops of her feet. They’d be wholly numb when he eventually moved off her, and she did not look forward to sensation rushing back to them.

“A bookseller, then,” Athan pronounced with a nod. “So my mate might find all that she needs on practical matters.” He said it with a smile, but there was no tease in his voice. He liked that she asked him. Liked that there was something he could grant her.

It should have pleased her in turn, but she shook her head as he stood, Brum’s head popping up to look at his keeper with reproach for the movement. “The infirmary,” Orma began, and there was no mistaking the hesitation in her voice. “It is... clean?”

Athan returned to his seat. “I would not have you there if it was otherwise.”

There was no hint of insult in his voice, but she felt chastened by it all the same. She must stop doubting him. Doubting his care of her. Perhaps their accord was still new, still shaky in their understandings, but that did not mean it lacked in strength. In commitment.

“Of course not,” Orma affirmed, nodding to herself. To him. Even to the Brum when he swung his head back so he might look at her. “What might his patients say if your keeper got his new mate sick within the first moon?”

Athan snorted, looking fondly between Brum and her. “A sorry end to my profession,” Athan quipped, easing back in his chair. She really must wriggle free of the Brum. Steel her courage and face the infirmary without looking about every corner and surface for some disease that might spring out and infect her.

She would be fine. Better than fine. She’d learn a little more of her mate. Let him show her the sum of his life’s work.

Or maybe they could sit a little longer. And if she settled back against the chaise with her numb feet and a happy Brum and an even happier Athan, then it was time well spent.

◆◆◆

For all her experience with healers, she had never been inside an infirmary.

And yet she was nervous, standing outside of this one. Athan was with her, his hand on the latch as if it was the most natural thing in the world to go inside. Which to him it was.

To her...

She took a breath. Gave a smile that was forced and much too tight, and he shook his head, taking her hand and pulling her after him.

There was a bell on the door that heralded their entrance with a cheerful accompaniment.

“Would you care to explore or take the direct route?” Athan asked, watching her with that careful look of his, ever poised to pick up the pieces of her crumbling self-control.

It shamed her, even though she was certain it was not his aim.

She should release his hand. Move about the room.

It opened not into a hallway, but to a large room with benches lining the walls. There were lamps fixed to the walls, but no tapestries, only a large window that would provide ample light if the shutters were open.

Orma swallowed. “You examine people all together like this?”

The prospect was horrifying, and Athan must have found it equally so, for his mouth dropped open before he shook his head firmly. “This is where families wait. Or patients, I suppose, if I am too busy with the last. There are often children here, waiting for a parent or a sibling to come out again.” He gestured toward closed doors along the far wall. “Patients are afforded as much privacy as I can give them.”

Orma nodded, because it was expected. There was a stone in her stomach, or at least it felt like it, and she reminded herself firmly that Athan was a kind healer. He would do his best for those in his care.

He tugged at her hand, ready to lead her onward, but she hesitated. She needed to compliment him in some way. Needed to be present and appreciative, not stuck in the shadowy recesses of her own memory. “A fine room,” Orma offered, her voice small.

The pressure on her arm receded as he stopped trying to move them on. “We keep it sparse on purpose,” he explained. “Cushions would be more comfortable, but they’d be much harder to clean after a sickness, yes?” He gestured to the floor, the wooden fixtures. “All can be wiped down easily. And are, daily. When we are open, that is.”

He glanced at her, and she realised he was waiting for some sign of her approval. “You are very thoughtful,” Orma offered, taking a step nearer to him and squeezing his hand lightly.

He smiled at her softly. “I take my responsibilities very seriously,” Athan affirmed. “When someone trusts me with their care.”

Her skin warmed, and the bond gave a mild pulse. He’d give no less consideration to his mate than he did his patients.

She took a breath and wondered at herself. Because the impulse was there, a whisper of thought that sent a tingle through her skin, and it was likely a trick of the bond because it couldn’t possibly be her.

But the bond did not make her stand on tiptoe.

The bond did not make her lips curl before they pressed against his cheek.

But it certainly made it feel like the right response when it warmed her all over, pressing down the fears she’d struggled with only a moment before. “They are lucky to have you,” Orma finished, when her heels met the floor and she managed a shy glance up at him.

She didn’t expect the look in his eyes. The surprise mixing with something else. Pride? In her? Which made her insides squirm in ways that had nothing to do with bonds and pulses. Just the simple assurance that she had pleased him greatly, in a way he had not expected.

“Shall we move along?” Athan asked, and she was pleased to see that some colour had reached the tips of his ears.

She’d done that.

Which made her feel a moment’s pride all on her own as she nodded her head and let him lead her further into the building itself.

It was an odd setup. It likely would make sense if one had a better understanding of how an infirmary functioned, but she would not pretend she’d ever seen its equal. There were no stairs to the upper floor, only a low ramp that twined upward. It was far easier on her hip than the endless stairs, and it would undoubtedly allow fatigued patients a safer way down than to trust frail wings to manage their descent in an open fall.

There were small windows cut into the exterior walls—small slits of light peeping through the shutters. “Ventilation,” Athan answered before she’d even formed the question. “So the building might be fully aired. The breeze cuts through this way.” He gestured with his hand, and it was becoming quite clear a great deal of thought had been put into the design.

“Did your master build this?” she asked. Few built anything new any longer. Merchants with enough funds to acquire the permit could settle within the city, and she supposed a few would prefer something newly constructed to their tastes and abilities rather than make do when they had no wings to navigate the typical city home.

But most simply adapted what was already there. The ancient stones that served as foundations for each of the dwellings. The wood would be replaced every few generations, but the parts that mattered—that were built to last and hold even against the fiercest sea-storms...

They remembered.

Even if the people did not.

Athan smiled—the one that was a little sad because he was thinking of someone he lost. Someone he loved. “No. He came from a long line of healers. He could recite them in their entirety, but I confess I cannot. There is a plaque outside. It was a great honour when he added my name to it.”

“I should like to see it.” It was a passing thought and one she had not meant to speak aloud. She almost startled when she realised she’d shared it, but she couldn’t be sorry when Athan was looking at her like that. Even more when he brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

“After,” Athan agreed, nodding toward the floor above. “You have a book to find.”

She wanted to kiss him again. Like she had before. On his cheek.

Have him catch her. Bring her back to him so he could bring those kisses to his mouth instead.

The bond was thrumming and her blood along with it, but she took a deep breath to calm herself. This was his workplace. He would surely not appreciate her greedy attentions here anymore than her father would appreciate being accosted by her mother in the Hall.

She glanced at Athan as they continued to move upward.

Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe a man would like to feel wanted, regardless of their location. There were proprieties, of course, and she would certainly never consider it if a patient was even within the building, but...

She rubbed at the bond in her chest, considering.

Stopped when Athan reached for that hand too and squeezed it. “What are you anxious about?”

Orma frowned. “I’m not.” Or... maybe she was. “I’m just... thinking.”

They came to the landing. It was a trim hallway; the doors shut. There were shiny metal plaques attached to each of them, but she was not near enough to read them.

“About?”

She was supposed to admit even that? He led her onward to the farthest room. She expected an examination room, a low table, cuffs at the head and foot, and Orma braced herself to enter one. It wasn’t for her. They were here to look at books, that was all. Then, if it failed, it was off to the bookseller.

Nothing was going to happen.

She wasn’t thinking of affection any longer, but she answered him with a breathless voice as he opened the door. “I was thinking of kissing you again. Of you kissing me. And if it was appropriate, considering the setting.”

She turned her head, looking at the room rather than at him.

She relaxed almost immediately.

No table, just a desk. A long line of shelves fully encompassed two of the walls. It was like her father’s study, only in miniature—although she would not say that to Athan.

She stepped through the doorway, but Athan still held onto her hands.

Drew her back to him.

She wanted to duck her head because her fears had spoiled her excitement, but he caught her eye and she was helpless to avoid him. Not when he looked at her so tenderly. “Nothing could possibly be inappropriate about our kisses,” Athan declared. Which was absurd, and certainly untrue. It was uncouth to indulge one’s passions in front of unmated couples. Or parents. Or siblings. That, perhaps, was merely because one did not wish to see such things, but... still.

He tugged her closer still.

The door shut behind them.

“How did you imagine it?” Athan asked, his voice low and his query so wildly inappropriate that she flushed all over.

“You are keeping me from my book,” Orma countered. Not that it would even be there. But he was muddling her mind, and the bond was his keen assistant, distracting her from what was important.

More important than this?

Of showing affection to her mate? Of showing herself there was more to be felt in an infirmary than pain and shame?

She swallowed thickly.

She would not answer him, surely.

Then why was there a part of her that wanted to?

Another breath. A pull from the bond that was him tugging at her as certainly as he had with his hands. “I would do this,” Orma answered, and showing differed from answering. She wasn’t certain how exactly, but it was.

She kissed him again on his cheek, and this time she lingered. Let her lips smooth briefly downward while she relished in the hitch of his breath, the coiling of his muscles beneath her touch.

Was it wrong that it made her feel powerful? That she could instil such reactions with so little effort on her part?

Or what should have been. But wasn’t. Because she had to talk herself into every gesture, poke it and prod it and make sure it was something she wanted to do and not just a compulsion of the bond.

It would get easier.

This was easier.

To bring her lips to his ear. To whisper so softly he might not hear at all, so that wasn’t like talking, either. “Then you’d kiss me again. Like before. You wouldn’t wait and you wouldn’t ask, because you just... wanted me.”

He made a sound at the back of his throat, somewhere near a moan.

And those hands that had been gripping hers came to the back of her head just as she’d imagined.

No.

Just as she’d hoped.

His other was about her waist, pulling her to him. Holding her firmly, with purpose, while he...

It was not the hard, quick movement that left her breathless.

Instead, it was the merest brush against her lip while his thumb moved against the back of her neck, giving tender pressure to a point she had not realised was sore.

Then one cheek. Then other. Skimming lips against delicate skin, and this wasn’t what she pictured and yet she could not possibly complain, not when her heart beat furiously in her chest as the anticipation built for when he might concede to the rest.

“I want you,” Athan murmured into her skin, and his voice was so low and deep it made her shiver all over.

And maybe...

Maybe some things did need saying.

Because when he kissed her this time, she was the one to deepen it. To pull him to her, to hold him there—to kiss as well as be kissed. She revelled in his moans, to the way his arm tightened about her in turn, holding her close and keeping her there. A willing hostage that wanted nothing more than to delight in him. But also how alive she felt.

Not a spectre floating through her own life and family.

Not a patient tucked away in a ward, half-starved because she couldn’t eat, wouldn’t eat, and the despair was so all-encompassing she’d looked at the sharp instruments and imagined terrible, hopeless things.

That didn’t matter.

Not when they were like this.

When the bond was bright and glorious. When shame and worry were shoved to the farthest recesses of her mind. She felt little shivers through her entire self, urging her closer, urging her to bury herself as close as she possibly could because nothing bad would ever happen to her when she was like this.

Of course, something must ruin it. It was easy to ignore the throb in her hip for a moment, while she shifted and tried to keep him from noticing the mounting discomfort. She was putting too much pressure on it, that was all. If she put more weight on her other leg, if she leaned toward him just so, it wasn’t so bad, and they might continue.

The bond was the betrayer, letting him feel just enough of her pain that he eased back, moving his hand to cup her cheek while he looked her over. “Orma?”

She huffed out a breath, hating that she couldn’t do as she pleased, hating that her body would not cooperate and let her feel only these new sensations. She was tired of the old ones. Of the weariness, the aching.

She wanted the tingles. The thrumming of her heart and bond. The pulses that spread and flared and consumed far too much of her thoughts. “My hip hurts,” she groused, scowling as she let her hand go to the irritating hurt, rubbing at it. She wasn’t being careful, and it gave more pain than comfort, but it was old and familiar and he needn’t look so concerned about it.

“Well.” He plucked her up in a sudden shift of movement, and she thought she was going to be placed in the desk chair while he fussed and brought her a great stack of books to peruse since he did not know exactly what she wanted.

Instead, he placed her on the desk itself, watching her carefully to see if the hard surface was better or worse than standing upright.

She did not understand his aim, didn’t know why she was there, and she tried to sort out how exactly to be comfortable when his hands came to her knees.

Her dress was thin, and she had meant to put on proper undergarments before venturing to the bookseller. But then they’d come here. Which meant she had only thin fabric as a barrier when he pushed them apart.

She swallowed.

She would not mate with him here. Not like this. Did he think she would?

Chastisement welled onto her tongue, even as her heart raced as she wondered as what he might do next. Coax her to lie down? Surely not. She wouldn’t, even if he asked.

Perhaps this was how he would keep his word about sharing her sickbed. He would ask nothing of her, so long as she felt poorly, but that might not apply to desks and other non-bed pieces of furniture.

Which should have made her nervous. Should have made her shove at his shoulders and demand he explain himself.

Why then was she still? Did she allow her legs to part, her skirts bunching indecently as he stepped into the space he’d made for himself?

“Better?” he asked. Not full of lurid looks and selfish intent. Always careful with her.

“Enough,” she quipped, surprised at herself. At him. And finding she was not displeased with this new development. When it meant he did not have to lean down quite so far, when she did not have to crook her neck in the same fashion in order to be close to him.

Liked the way he smiled as he kissed her again, how his fingers played with her hair. Liked how it felt to be a little bit indecent, positioned so.

These were not the fantasies she’d fostered as a girl. Those included picnics by the sea. Strolls through the market as they held hands and purchased pretty things to adorn her night-table.

She’s shoved away anything that dealt with more. When the bond would whisper at her, when she felt those little stirrings that came with growing older, they’d frightened and distressed her.

She could change that now. Could indulge. Explore. It was all right. He was here, and he cared about her, would treasure her.

Did it matter they hadn’t finished all the texts yet? That there were things he did not know, that he must, or... should... but...

His hand drifted downward. Not far. Only from her neck, down the sharp bones of her collar. Then where the bond pulsed the most fiercely, where she rubbed so often, the skin was often pink from her ministrations. He paused there only briefly before he moved to cover one of her breasts.

There was little softness to offer his palm, but he did not seem to mind, not with the sound he made in the back of his throat as he rested it there.

Should she touch him back in some way? She wasn’t sure. It was all new, and she did not know where it was going, and it made her motions slow as she held onto his shoulders.

It was... pleasant. To be touched there. Strange. Warm. A bit of awkwardness about the edges because she did not know why he would wish to do so when she was clothed and there was nothing of particular interest to draw him there.

But she could admit she liked the scandalous nature of it. That he should want to, which brought its own particular pleasure.

“What are we doing?” Orma asked when he freed her mouth long enough to do so. He was kissing at her jaw, the curve behind her ear. It tickled, and she wriggled, which only brought her legs tighter about him.

“Kissing,” Athan answered, low and deep, as he closed his eyes and held his head against her shoulder for a moment. The bond was a heartbeat all its own, flaring and nudging, urging things that would not happen on this desk. Absolutely not.

But her resolve was not as firm as it had been, not when she could feel just how affected he was by their affections.

Everything was acceptable between mates. So long as no one was there to see, no one would know...

But she would. She’d think of their first time being in his study rather than a proper bed. Did others come in here? Did they sit and talk with him, while he’d have visions of her splayed and wanton?

She swallowed thickly, her fingers delving into his hair as she brought his face back up to look at her. “Just kissing, yes?”

His expression gentled as he brought his hand from her breast to cup her cheek. “Our mating will be when you are comfortable,” Athan promised. “With a soft bed behind you and a mate who adores you on top of you.” His thumb moved against her cheekbone, and she shouldn’t listen to such talk, shouldn’t feel shivers down her spine and in her blood to hear him speak of such things. “Or perhaps you would like the reverse?”

She flushed all over, picturing it. Which only made her pulse race faster before she shook her head slowly. “No,” Orma murmured, her throat tight and her fingers itching to touch him more. To keep him close. “The other way.”

He kissed her again. And this time, it felt like a promise of what was to come.

When she was ready.

When she was comfortable.

Which should have been far in the future, shouldn’t it? Because...

She’d had reasons.

Good ones.

Why it was important to wait. Or why it was a simple absolute that they would be.

But as she gripped his hair, her body warming, pulsing, fluttering with something that must absolutely be want, she had a difficult time remembering what those reasons might be.

◆◆◆

It wasn’t long before the hard wood of the desk proved too much for her hip.

Athan didn’t mind. Just simply helped her down after her apologetic admission, and their kisses ended even if the touches didn’t. He held her hand as he moved her toward the chair, this one plush and welcoming for tired joints.

“Do I get to know what we’re looking for yet?” Athan asked, giving her his best approximation of a stern look.

She might have responded to a pleading one, but this one was easy to shake her head in refusal. She’d had enough of those, and she’d indulge them no longer.

“No,” Orma countered, offering a little smile so he would not grow cross at being deflected once again.

She rubbed at her hip and willed the dull ache to die down. It would. Eventually. But it could hobble her just as easily if she pushed too hard when it was painful.

“Well, then,” Athan mused, looking at the many books. “I could ready you titles? Or give you stacks to look at?” This brought a frown to the corners of his mouth, and she could well understand his hesitation. Her father had an order to his library. There was a ledger one must use when taking one away, then make a separate notation when it returned.

She didn’t know if Athan utilised a similar system, but she did not want his entire library torn apart on her behalf.

She got to her feet, keeping most of her weight to her good leg. “I’ll just look, if that’s all right.”

He gave her leg a dubious glance, but did not argue with her. She squeezed his hand when she passed him, because she was grateful for his trust. Mama would have fussed. Her father would have ordered her to sit, then remind her there were plenty of people she could call upon to fetch and carry for her.

Athan wanted her to do as she pleased. Believed she knew her own limits, and that... that was something rare in her experience.

He nodded, pulling out a book, seemingly at random, before he settled into his own chair. It suited him. This place. The books about him, the colours of the stained woods. The deep blue of his seat.

He was offering privacy, she realised slowly. Without abandoning her in a strange room and an even stranger building.

She tugged at her skirts, refusing to think about their interlude on the desk behind her. She had a task. A needed one.

The shelves were orderly, if not readily clear on their subjects. Some spines were gilded with gold, others silver. Some were impressed with black ink, the colour worn off with time and great wear, leaving only an indentation of what they had been.

Some had no titles at all, only the scrawl of a forgotten hand describing the contents.

Medical, mostly.

The proper setting of a bone. A wing.

Tinctures and positions for birthing.

A few case studies on sickly children and the remedies that helped them.

Orma passed over the shelf entirely after that one.

There were a few on history, and she was mildly curious to know how far back they reached, but now was not the time for such things.

Stooping was tiresome, so before long she eased down onto the floor, her legs spread out in front of her to prevent her knee from aching in a bend.

It was only then that Athan looked up from his own book, frowning down at her. “Was that intentional?” he asked, nodding toward her position.

Orma kept from rolling her eyes at him, but only just. “I did not fall,” she answered primly, situating her skirts better as she turned her attention back to the books. He would not distract her again.

“You should have a cushion at least,” Athan fussed, already rising from his seat.

She saved him off, running her fingers along the smaller books that made up the lowest shelves. Thin. Made for small hands.

Orma pulled one out, glancing at Athan to make sure it was all right, but he was pointedly returning to his own book, allowing her to do as she pleased.

She smiled faintly, opening the cover. The front page was torn, the second was scribbled over with a vibrant purple ink that had faded into a sickly blend of indigo with red about the edges.

Orma flipped the book so Athan might see it. “Was this your handiwork?” she asked, tapping her finger against the page.

Athan glanced at it. “My father’s,” he answered fondly. “My mother would always turn to that page and use it as a reference on how not to treat books.” He shook his head, a small smile about his lips. “She was fastidious about his books. He collected them, but I think her passion was for their care and upkeep.”

Orma flipped to another page. Lists of colours, their spelling in crisp, blocked letters, the pigments themselves holding well against age. She could picture Athan as a fledgling, tucked up in his father’s study, peering through these same books. Perhaps his mother sat above him, sounding out words and declaring the names of the colours when he faltered.

She ached inside. For his loss. For all that might have been taken from their future.

“You all right?” Athan asked gently, the bond alerting him to her shift in mood.

“I would have liked to have met your parents,” Orma offered, because that was as near the truth of it as she dared go. “I’m sorry they are not here.”

Athan’s smile was warm as she reached down and squeezed her shoulder. It was a strange position to be in, but she leaned against his arm and sighed, just a little. “They would have liked you,” Athan assured her.

Orma snorted before she could hold it back, but she did try to keep her self-recriminations to herself. Parents would want for far more than her. She might have an impeccable lineage, but Athan did not seem to think such things mattered. They would care that she couldn’t cook for him. That she needed a minder sent to the house to insist she remember to drink water on her bad days.

They’d think her a child, not a mate.

Orma fiddled with the spine of the book before she eased it back with the rest of the set. There was a knot in her throat, matched only by the one in her stomach, and she felt Athan’s hand move from her shoulder to fiddle with her hair. “What’s wrong?” he tried again, and she rubbed at the bond in her chest, willing the sudden surge of emotions to die back down.

“I found a cookery book,” she blurted out, because the rest of it was too awful to talk about here and now. “And I don’t know what most of the items are, so I thought I could look for a book on vegetables. Father has books on botany, but it’s mostly about forage and herbs, not how you know if a root is for eating or for a potion, and I thought... I thought I’d try to learn. As a surprise. But I’ve spoiled it now.”

She allowed her eyes to flicker upward, and if they were wet, it was only from the dust on the bookshelves. Never mind that they were tidy, even by her mother’s exacting standards.

“You might have asked,” Athan reminded her gently, then shook his head. “But I can understand wanting to do it on your own.”

Her eyes burned.

“This bothers you, doesn’t it? Always needing someone?”

She nodded, her words tangled up in her throat and in her head, so it was the best she could manage.

She did not expect for him to reach for her. To bring his arms about her middle as he plucked her up from the floor and settled her on his lap. Which did not at all help her feelings of inadequacy. Of being... not too young, but...

Stunted.

It felt a betrayal of her parents to consider herself such. They loved her, did their best by her. She’d been given tutors the same as her siblings. She’d read what was given to her, or she’d... tried. For a time.

“You are uncomfortable?” Athan queried, looking over her posture. It wasn’t him. Or... it wouldn’t be if she allowed herself to relax into him. To enjoy his embrace, to feel him rub at the leg that troubled her, his hands stronger and more effective at relaxing over-taut muscles.

She took a breath. Then another.

He did not think her a child.

If he wanted to hold her on his lap, it was because she was his mate and he wanted her close to him.

She eased her upper body closer to his, and the bond did the rest. It was happiest when they were close. It eased her worries, numbed the subtle throb of old scar tissue. Everything was all right when they were like this.

She really did worry too much.

“I want to be able to do things on my own,” Orma confessed. She liked his warmth. Liked the ways his arms felt about her, the way he was careful to make sure her wings weren’t pinched or crushed in his hold. He was thoughtful, in ways she feared she wasn’t. “Take care of myself,” she clarified, her throat feeling thick and her words inadequate. “Then maybe... maybe someday I might take care of you.”

Athan sighed, and she feared she’d said too much. “Please don’t fret about that,” Athan urged. “I am proud of you for wanting to test your limitations. But I would not have you pressuring yourself on my account. I am fine, as I’ve told you.” He propped his chin on her shoulder, and it felt strangely intimate to be positioned so.

“But...” Orma countered, then paused. She didn’t want to argue with him. She wanted more of this feeling of safety. Of being surrounded by him. “Isn’t it... natural? To... want to?”

He nuzzled against her neck, and her body had no business reacting so. “Of course it is,” he reassured as gently as he could. “It just isn’t necessary, that’s all. Not for you to fret about or push yourself too hard. And certainly not something you need to keep secret.” He stilled. “Did you think I would not want to help?”

Orma bit her lip, trying to explain herself without sounding ungrateful. “You would. Without hesitation. You’d put off your work here, and you’d go through every bit of food in your kitchen until I understood what to do with it.”

Athan turned his head, trying to look at her. “And that’s bad?”

Orma shook her head, failing to suppress a sigh. “No.” Then thought better of it. “Yes,” she amended. “Because then you’re my teacher.” His arms about her tightened.

“And that is bad?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she fought the urge to squirm. “Yes,” she managed to get out, a little breathless and a great deal embarrassed. “We’re mates,” she reminded him, no matter how unnecessarily. “So... you shouldn’t be my healer, or my teacher, or anything else.”

He hummed low in his throat. “We are mates,” Athan agreed. “But that does not mean we will not have other roles as well.” She turned her head and gave him a dubious look. “Imagine,” he continued. “We had met that day. And the bond had woken for me as well. Do you think there wouldn’t have been much still to learn? For the both of us?”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. “No. But that’s different. I’m supposed to know things.”

“And you will. Whether we find you the books you want, or you let me walk you through our kitchen and teach you about every single element until you could navigate it in your dreams.”

She bit back her objections. How much she wished she was a different person. A better person. Educated and skilled, someone who was... whole.

There was a strange feeling in the bond. A contentment but... something else as well. Pride? It wasn’t hers, and she couldn’t fathom what would have prompted such an emotion on Athan’s part. “You want to be my mate,” he whispered in her ear. It wasn’t a question. It was what he’d gleaned from her confession, and she should reiterate her point. Make sure he understood her position.

But she supposed that was the heart of it. Beneath doubt and feelings of inadequacy. She wanted him. Wanted to be his. Wanted him for her own.

She shifted so she might look at him better. “I do.” She waited to feel ashamed of herself. Waited to feel silly for such talk. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when he was looking at her as if... as if she was something precious. Something to protect and care for. To... love. If she’d let him.

She wanted to. So badly.

Wanted to just be a woman that admired the man the Maker had chosen for her. Thought him handsome and kind and they were right to be together. That she wasn’t a burden, wasn’t a mistake. They were meant to be together. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” Orma added, because it was important he know. “I don’t want you to regret me. When you know everything.”

He wasn’t quick to dismiss her. Didn’t insist it was not possible, that nothing he read or learned would make him wish for another.

He sat. Absorbed what she said.

“Will you regret me?” he asked. “Healer that I am. From a bloodline not nearly as fine as yours. With a home inherited from a master rather than a parent.”

She reached out. Touched his cheek. “No.”

He turned his head and kissed her palm. “Then maybe, if it is within your power, you might accept the same of me.”

It wasn’t the same. Not in the least. But something wavered in the bond, and she realised it was a genuine concern to him. That she might wake one morning and find him wanting. Lacking.

“I do not...” she began, then hesitated. Swallowed. Forced some measure of moisture into her suddenly dry mouth. “I do not think we should... lie together. Until you’ve finished my texts.”

His head tilted slightly to the side as he regarded her. “Because?”

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she hesitated with her response. It was his turn to reach for her. To soothe and gentle. “Is it so I will not hurt you?” He asked it so quietly, his eyes keeping to hers, although she could feel the effort it took not to look for one of her scars.

Orma grimaced. “It’s not that.”

He would be able to tell easily enough where he must be careful. Her skin was a map of her experiences, and he would not need meticulous notes to tell where she hurt the most.

“Talk to me, Orma,” Athan urged. “I will not be angry with you, no matter what.”

Her eyes welled. “You cannot know that. Not for certain.”

He cupped her cheek and brought her eyes back to him. “Yes, I can. Because none of this was your fault. None of it. And I will not blame you for anything that will come of it.”

Her lip wobbled.

He kissed it.

Which should not have been what she needed, but somehow it was. It was a promise sealed with something sacred, and she would hold him to it. And she hoped it was all right she told him so.

“Good,” he declared, smoothing her hair behind her ear before settling his chin back on her shoulder as she eased back against him. “Do you want to tell me now? Get it over with?”

Her tears fell. She wanted to shake her head. Wanted to get up. Wanted to fly far, far away.

His grip about her wasn’t tight, only firm. She could have done it. He’d have followed, tried to reason with her, but she could have managed it even without one of her elixirs for help.

Then why wasn’t she moving?

Why was she even considering blurting it all out? All the awfulness, so then it would be done and they might move forward?

Because...

She’d spoken true, earlier.

She wanted to be his mate. For him to know the good and the bad. To want her, anyway.

Because she certainly wanted him.

“What can be so bad,” Athan asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “that it has you shaking so?”

Had she started? She didn’t realise.

She should delve into the books. Find the notations. The reasons behind it all and shove it at him and tell him to read the whole wretched business. Forget the parts about her everyday wellbeing. About potions and logs of her sleep, her food intake. The copious amongst of vitamins brewed into teas when she couldn’t stomach meals at all.

Have him read what mattered most. What plagued her sleep and tainted her dreams while she braced herself for his reaction.

Because he’d know. Eventually. Because the bond was doing its work, was pulling down her defences and making him...

No, that was wrong.

It wasn’t the bond at all.

It was Athan. He was the one seducing her. Perhaps not on purpose. It was just in his nature. To give her a little smile when he handed her a plate. When he wanted to give a little affection before they slept so he would smooth her hair and kiss her temple and thank her for spending the day with him.

He did not have to do those things. It wasn’t a compulsion, wasn’t a trick.

It was just... him.

And she liked him. And for whatever inexplicable reason, he liked her in return.

She wanted a life. A future. Wasn’t that part of why she’d slip out to the fetes? To admire others as they tangled, their lives forever entwining with the one they were meant to be with?

She’d been robbed of many things, but this... this needn’t be one of them.

Orma had never been brave. Not really. She’d let herself be tucked away in her ancestral tower. Done as she’d told, believed what she’d been told—or tried to, at least.

She took one of Athan’s hands and tucked their fingers together. It was so strange, how right that could feel. As if... as if they were made just so. Whole, when they were together.

Was she going to do this?

Maybe.

That was better.

She could start, and if it went poorly, if she got too frightened, she’d stop. Put it off another day.

But that weighed on her like a terrible omen. A weighty spectre that would haunt and rob her of her newfound joys, and she was so tired of it all.

“What is the bond for?” Orma found herself asking, her thumb drifting over his. Once. Twice. While Athan considered, and she tried to keep her heart from coaxing sobs out of her throat.

She waited to hear one of the practiced answers they all learned as fledglings. All about the Maker and pairings. How special they were, how privileged.

“Do you have a particular answer in mind?” Athan asked. He wasn’t being mulish, merely... careful. “Or is that a genuine enquiry?”

She was still shaking, and his arms tightened about her.

“Babies,” Orma blurted out. “That is what it is for. What it urges from us, yes? To be together. In the most fundamental of ways. To be together for the whole of our lives and raise our families.”

She hoped he’d see her point without her having to say more, but nothing in his posture tightened. He was merely waiting.

She lacked the words. She truly did.

And sometimes, things were better shown than articulated.

It wasn’t a difficult movement, not when his hands were placed as they were. When all it meant was for her to pull them slightly downward. To hold them there and wait. “I was in agony,” she reminded him. “And nothing was helping.”

Athan grew very still. If he was breathing, she couldn’t feel it.

“Orma,” he whispered. Pained.

The bond flared with it, stealing her breath and making her eyes wet. “I didn’t care all that much at the time,” she continued, feeling strangely detached from it all. As if she wasn’t really there. “They explained it, or tried to. And it made sense. Mama wept for days when they suggested it. I didn’t know at the time. I thought someone had died and they’d forgotten to tell me. But no, she was crying for me. For what I wouldn’t have.”

She swallowed. “What we won’t have.”

He was going to get up. He was going to pace the room, or maybe flee it entirely. And then he’d come back and ask her to remove her things from his house.

“Who knew the bond was for more than that?” Orma continued, her voice wistful. Sad. As she waited for him to react. “Because it stayed. Even... even when that part of me was gone.”

She should keep talking. Prattle on so there was no room for him to react. She wanted to take it all back, tell him it was nothing, she was wrong, that there wasn’t a scar across her abdomen that never seemed to fade no matter how many lotions her mother swore would help this time.

But nothing else would come out. Not a sob, not a word, and that left Athan time enough to rub his thumb precisely where the scar was, and he couldn’t possibly know that, could he? The bond would offer nothing so precise but...

His education might.

Because there were other reasons for the procedure. Ones that were far less experimental and were necessary. So if he’d done one, if he’d recommended it, she would not be sick at the thought. She’d understand and reassure him, and she’d...

He moved.

His hands shifted to come to her waist, and she braced herself to be lifted from his lap and set back on her own feet. For the affection to have cooled between them, and to follow that thread of horror that was coming from him to turn into anger. Accusation. How could she not have told him sooner? She’d taken him home and let her bring her bed and call it theirs, all while she knew, she knew such a fundamental thing had been taken from them.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, because it was true. Sorry more for him than for herself. She couldn’t actually imagine carrying a child, let alone caring for one. But she could well picture Athan. Preparing meals in his kitchen. Chiding them for slipping bits of breakfast down to Brum rather than eating it themselves. Bringing them into this very room and helping them pick out books. Teaching not to scribble on the pages, and to treat them gently.

He’d be an excellent father.

Just as he was an excellent mate, and she...

He stood her up.

And maybe she was capable of sobbing after all, because the weight of it was going to crush her. She’d grown attached—far more than she’d even admitted to herself. And to have him look at her without that soft smile at his lips, without the tenderness in his eyes...

She closed them tightly.

Waited for him to let go.

Only to feel him bring her back. This time facing him.

As he cupped her cheeks and brought their foreheads together. “I am so deeply sorry, Orma.”

The bond confirmed the truth in his words, but she was having trouble believing them. Or... at least, accepting that was the whole of it. He might be sorry, just as he might be angry. Might hate her as he claimed to hate the ones who had worked on her.

She needed to say something. Anything at all. That he didn’t need to be. That she was fine, and she did not really want any fledglings of her own in any case. It was exhausting enough when her siblings brought their children to supper—well-behaved as they were, they were still children. And since she lacked the energy to play with them and the words to offer any of their ages, they avoided her as the useless creature she was.

He kissed one cheek.

Then the other.

Then the eyelids when he whispered her name again, and she refused to open them. It tickled, and she did not care for it, but at least she wasn’t being shoved away, so she sat and waited because surely this couldn’t be the end of it. More had to be coming. Even he had to have limits to his patience, limits to what he would endure because he had the misfortune to be tied to her.

Their lips met. Only briefly. More whisper than kiss, but he was there. Being gentle with her. Which was the reverse of how it should be. She should be his comfort, help to navigate his feelings rather than forcing him to coddle hers.

How did one do that exactly? When she felt like something was tearing open inside of her? Something long-spoiled. A festering wound that had been numbed with potions and elixirs until she’d been tricked into thinking it was healed.

Was it him? She couldn’t tell any longer. Not when it was all an aching mass that felt only marginally better when he abandoned his kisses in favour of pulling her to him, hugging her so tightly she couldn’t draw a full breath.

That was all right. She didn’t need to.

Not when it would only lead to sobbing, and she was so tired of crying.

Shouldn’t he be the one struggling to hold it together? She’d had years to come to terms with her future. Yet she was the one shaking in his hold while he whispered in her ear. “You hold me to it, Orma. You understand me?” He nuzzled against her cheek, and she gave a little hiccough that would have mortified her in a different moment. “You are not to blame for this. Is that what you thought? That I would be angry with you?”

She made a sound low in her throat, not quite a committal but not a denial either.

“I cannot give you children,” Orma managed to get out, because maybe he didn’t understand. Maybe he thought they’d only poked about, but hadn’t actually...

But they had.

It was gone.

Her womb was gone.

There would be no miracles, no surprises. Only a terrible certainty that felt like the worst sort of disappointment she could be to him.

His hand came to the back of her neck and he brought her out from her hiding spot in his collarbone. “There is no you. No me. We cannot have children,” Athan confirmed, his eyes so sad it made her ache all the way to the tips of her wings. “And that is very sad, and we can mourn it as long as we need to. But we are mates, my darling Orma. The Maker declared it, and I find no fault in the decision.”

That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. It made her itch all over, made her want to be the one to pace and accuse. He wasn’t taking this seriously, wasn’t hearing her, wasn’t... something, because this was a far bigger deal than he was making it.

“You cannot be this perfect,” she bit out. Wished she could take it back, because she should be gentle and apologetic, not wrestling with her own feelings. “You cannot just... accept every little thing and not...” she did not want to tell him what to feel. How to be. But her own frustration was welling up and threatening to strangle her, and his hands came to her shoulders as he pushed her back enough to look at her.

“You think I am not disappointed? That I had not envisioned a child of my own?”

She rolled her shoulders, her wings drooping.

He cupped her chin, and the diatribe she’d braced herself for did not come. “I want you,” Athan insisted. “The whole of you. I might hate what was done to you, hate the conclusions that were reached. But I do not hate you. I could never. Not for a single moment. That does not make me perfect, it only means that my priorities are clear. To me, if not to you.”

Tears fell freely, because she felt small and wretched and yet... hopeful.

She just had to believe him. That he wasn’t tucking away his resentments, and they’d all come bursting out one day. Maybe he simply was that good. That patient.

Maybe he’d walked other couples through childlessness. Saw their pain and their frustrations and knew the reality that sometimes...

Sometimes it wasn’t meant to be.

“Talk to me, Orma,” he urged, nudging his cheek against hers. “You’re all tangled up inside.”

“I don’t know how,” she admitted, her words stunted and barely intelligible because the whole of her body felt like it was coiled, her muscles tightening with each breath she took. It left her shaking, left her cold all over, and even Athan’s arms could only help so much as he brought her back into his embrace.

“Why?” Athan asked, smoothing her hair and rocking her gently. “Because you think I’ll be angry with you?”

Yes. No.

Not him. But... she’d been hushed before. It only made it harder on her parents when she told them how she felt. Mama already cried too much, and Father grew more severe, harder upon the healers for answers, for something to be done and quickly because his daughter was suffering and they were not helping.

It wasn’t safe to express herself. Nothing could come of it. That was a lesson hard learned.

But maybe...

Maybe it wasn’t true any longer.

The thought was just a whisper, but it settled softly. Gently. On wounds that jangled and ached as tangibly as her hip that throbbed and her knee that ached and the cramping of scars in her abdomen that didn’t feel as if they ever truly healed.

“What’s it matter how I feel?” Orma sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s selfish.” She leaned back and swiped at her face. Because she had to stop, had to be calm. Help him with his feelings, not become preoccupied with her own.

Athan took a breath before he answered, and he was not practiced enough to hide the little swell of irritation she felt trickling through the bond before he whisked it away. “That wasn’t for you,” Athan promised her, his fingers still working through her hair. Skimming at the base of her skull. Delving deeper so he could massage the tight tissues he found along her spine, the hunch of her shoulders. “That was for whoever made you feel that way.”

“They did their best,” she reiterated, and Athan’s hand stilled, but only briefly.

“I will not argue that,” Athan reassured her, because that was not one she could endure. Not about her family. “Only that your conclusions might be flawed.” He was quiet for a moment. Just let her cry, let her try to pull herself together. However, her thoughts were too plagued with what was inside his head, so relaxing was near impossible. “Most of the couples I’ve seen that cannot conceive, they do not know the reason. I think that a blessing, strange as it might be. You’re trying to blame yourself, are waiting for me to hold it against you. That makes me sad.”

Her lip wobbled. “I don’t want that for you.”

Athan huffed and tucked his chin onto her shoulder. “I did not want my parents to die, but it happened. And that brought me to my master. To my role as healer. I’ve made something rather good of it, I think. It might not be what I’d have chosen as a boy, but I have no true complaints. I do not think that makes me perfect, not like you say. I would just rather make the most of what I can rather than dwell on what I’ve lost.”

His thumb slipped through her hair to the delicate skin behind her ear. “You dwell.” It was as much a criticism as he’d ever given her, and as softly given as it was, she still felt it deeply. “I do not say that to hurt you,” Athan promised her. “It is merely an observation.”

She closed her eyes tightly. “I don’t know how to stop.” A breath, shaky and unhappy. “I would if I could.”

Athan nodded, and he brought one hand down to her leg, not to push her off of him, but rather to massage the ache in her leg, wherever he might reach. “I know,” Athan murmured.

They sat for a while; him offering relief to too-tight muscles. Her wrestling down feelings she didn’t know she had. Wasn’t she meant to feel better now? A weight lifted, a secret shared.

Instead, she felt so exhausted. “Can you take me home?” Orma asked. “And... hold me for a while?”

At another time, another place, she would have asked for a potion. Something to make her sleep, to help her forget.

And while the desire for one flittered through her mind, the want of his arms was far more pressing. There was a strange twinge in the bond, but it settled quickly. She gave him a curious look, and he offered a sheepish one in return. “For a moment, I thought you meant for me to take you back to be with your parents.”

Of course he would. Because he doubted her commitment to him. To the life they were going to build.

She’d given him little reason to trust her, even as he’d worked so hard to prove himself to her.

That had to stop. Had to change. She wouldn’t go back for more than visits. Her place was here, and she had to decide how best to show him that.

Her head hurt. Her heart, too.

He did not wait for her answer, because he likely didn’t expect one. He was generous with his reassurances, but she thought too much, and worried too much, and dwelled when she should be present. They were at the ramp when she finally found the words. She had to be sure, had to put strength into her tone, not a whisper. Not a hesitation.

“Home is with you.”

Athan paused. Looked down at her.

Her smile was thin and watery, but she hoped he might look past that. “I don’t want one without you in it.” She tilted her chin just so, and he took her hint, leaning down so he could place a kiss on her waiting lips.

“Fortunate,” Athan declared as he got them moving again. “As I feel exactly the same.”

She sighed a little, because she’d finally done the right thing. The bond was warm and contented, and it was a welcome comfort when the rest of her was anything but.

She didn’t fuss when he tucked her beneath the blanket back in their room. Didn’t worry he was leaving her. Just gave a little hum when he joined her, pulling her close into the crook of his body. Her head really did hurt.

But this was nice. Needed. And from the feeling that crept along the bond, Athan felt precisely the same way.