4.3

“You don’t have the room,” Orma reminded him.

She wondered how long it might be before he remembered, because it was at least the fourth time she had said it.

Never mind his house, her trunk could only hold so many things. There were dresses and gowns and a never-ending stream of nightclothes, because for a long while that was the most she’d ever worn. Then there were the little pictures, some ornate and finely crafted, commissioned pieces her father had done for her to commemorate her name-days. Other, more personal items that her mother had asked for Lucian’s mother to paint—the two of them, with Mama’s arm about her, glued to a hard board and an elaborate metal frame surrounding it which would certainly not fit in with everything else.

“You cannot leave such a thing,” Athan insisted. He tucked it under his arm and glanced toward the window. “I’ll fly it home right now if it comes to it.”

She looked about the room at all that he wanted to take. It was important; he said. Memories.

As if they all held ones she wanted to bring with her to her new life.

But... it was possible she would want to have her portrait with her mother in her new home. So she could look at it and think fondly and perhaps fly back when she was able and share tea and talk for an afternoon.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Orma allowed, and was rewarded with Athan’s answering smile.

“None at all,” he insisted. “And stop saying my home is too small. You haven’t even seen all the rooms yet.”

She rolled her shoulder just a little. She’d seen his room, and that’s where she would be, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps it would be more appropriate for her things to be situated elsewhere.

She glanced over at the spot he’d vacated so he might begin his work.

No. Not another room.

Which meant not taking all the things, lest he be pushed out of his own bedchamber.

Gifts her father had brought her were neatly arranged on shelves. Trinkets of animals of various sizes, some whittled from woods from across the sea, others made of metal. Others were made with stones nestled into the wings of a great creature said to live on the highest mountains, and she had only to brush against it with a fingertip and it would twirl upon its stand, the light of the suns sending dancing lights about her room.

Anything for her smile, her father would say, giving her a pat before he left again.

“Your room, then. And presumably you’d like for us both to fit in it.”

Athan paused, turning to look at her. “I would,” he answered slowly, searching her eyes for... something. “Orma,” he began when it seemed he did not find what he was looking for. “I hope for it to be your home.”

Her brow furrowed. “So you’ve said.”

He shook his head, putting down the picture currently of greatest importance, and gestured about her room. “This is your parents’ home, yes?”

Orma sighed, not at all following. “Of course.” It was hers, too. Perhaps she had become a little more entrenched than most because of circumstances, but home was home.

It was... difficult to imagine that the dwelling with Athan and the Brum would someday feel as familiar as the tower she’d known for the whole of her life.

“And you have had this room in it,” Athan continued, watching her closely. “Lovely as it is.”

Orma rubbed at the bond absently. “I fail to see your point.”

Athan gave her a look of disbelief, because he apparently thought he was being perfectly clear as he led her down the path of his thinking. “All of your things do not have to be relegated to a single room. Not when there is an entire house to hold it.”

Orma blinked, the thought settling strangely.

An entire house. For her?

No, for them .

Because she would take on the role her mother held. As a healer’s mate rather than a judicator, but... still.

Her hand stilled on her chest as she considered, and Athan continued to watch her. “Does this please you?” he asked, because she’d been quiet a long while, and he was waiting for her. To react, or to say... anything at all.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she admitted. Which made her feel silly. Like it was more than obvious, and yet she could not see outside of the way she’d always lived.

What else wasn’t she considering? That he knew, and hadn’t thought to say, because she should know it already.

He took a deliberate breath and waited for her to imitate the motion. Of course he would, because he could feel the turn of her thoughts, the anxiety that spread when she wasn’t being careful and keeping it solely to herself.

Orma tamped it down, both in the bond and in her own self. She’d learn. She’d adapt. No need to fuss and worry.

Which never worked. Yet even so, she pretended she could simply will it all away.

She tucked her legs up under her, but that made the scar tissue in her knee pull awkwardly, so she had to extend it back out again. She should get up. Help.

She rubbed a little harder at the bond.

“Orma...” Athan drew out her name, adding a lilt about the middle that brought her attention back to him. “What are you fretting about?”

She stilled her hand. “What else don’t I know?” she admitted, her voice small. “There won’t be any other people to help. It’ll just be... us. And I don’t think you can appreciate just yet how little I know how to do anything.”

Athan did not wave away her concerns, but he did go back to her wardrobe and pulled out a few more garments. They were the most formal, for when the family suppers were extended to include the other most elite in their district. All frothy fabrics that concealed as much of her skin as possible. He hadn’t even found the headdresses tucked away in their cushioned boxes.

If he tried to bring those too, she really was going to have to intervene.

“Do you want to learn?” Athan asked, not looking at her. Just considering the garment in his hand and perhaps trying to decide on its purpose. “Try new things? Or would you prefer to not?”

There was a flare of irritation that he did not deserve but came anyway. “It was hardly my choice,” Orma reminded him, and she did her best to keep the tinge of bitterness out of her tone.

Athan glanced at her, but only briefly. “Granted,” he allowed. “But you have one now. And of course there would be limitations, and I’ll understand those better when we go through your records, but that isn’t my question.”

He went back to the wardrobe and set the garment back, and she released a relieved breath. He picked up another. She’d outgrown it a long while back, but it had been a particularly wonderful name-day. The bond had been quiet—she hadn’t known why, but it hadn’t mattered. They all went out to the courtyard and at all her favourite meals, and she could even play with her siblings. Chase, mostly. Flitting about the trees in full bloom, her wings working far better than the leg still covered in bandages.

A glorious day.

So when Mama had brought the helpers to remove all the clothes she couldn’t wear any longer, she’d timidly asked to keep that one. Just for a little while.

Mama had given her a long look before she tucked it back. “Not for wearing,” she reminded her, which was fine. She didn’t need to. She just wanted to look and remember.

“I’d like that one, please,” Orma urged, knowing he had more to say and she would pay attention, truly. But the antsy feeling was back as he held it, and she readied herself for him to question her.

But he didn’t. Just tucked it with a little more care into her trunk.

“If we find there are tasks you can do, will you want to learn to do them?” Athan asked, this time allowing his glance to linger a little longer on her. “Or should I try to work out engaging helpers as I do for the infirmary?”

It wasn’t a threat. His posture was unassuming as he delved back into her wardrobe, and yet she still felt the little pinpricks of unease. There was a right answer, surely. She should be bold like Firen. Tackle any new tasks with enthusiasm and rigour.

But was she allowed to admit she had no great affinity for kitchen duties? And the thought of wringing out laundry exhausted her?

Her hands curled about her skirts, and she tried not to become defensive. It was a necessary question, and he deserved an answer. “Can I have an example?”

He pulled out her thickest cloak and eyed it speculatively. She would not need it for at least a season, and even then she tended not to venture out when the weather was coldest. “All right,” Athan mused, his eyes crinkling about the edges as he considered. “A birthing mother is having complications and I cannot leave.” There it was. He was going to ask her to learn healing with him, and she was going to have to refuse.

Adamantly.

She braced herself, but did not interrupt, because that would be rude.

“Midday will have passed and while I had intended to be back so I could ensure you have food to eat, but I cannot get to you. Not without risking mother and baby. Will you be able to fend for yourself, or should I engage a minder to check in with you?”

She hated this. It was one thing when she was the invalid in her parents’ home. It was quite another when her mate had to ask if she needed a keeper to come and save her from starving herself because she did not know how to cook. Or if she could even navigate his home on her worst days.

Athan looked at her, his expression gentle. “There is no wrong answer,” he promised her. “I just need you taken care of, either by you, me, or someone else, when I cannot be there.”

“Can,” she started, her throat tightening so much she had to pause and swallow before she could continue. “Can I wait to answer you until...” she hated the very thought of it so much it took a very great effort to even acknowledge it would happen. “I think I’d like you to see some of the notes first,” she finished, breathless and miserable. “I don’t want you to think I’m being lazy or I’m not interested in getting better.” She scrubbed at her face and then settled for rubbing two fingers against the bond in her chest. “I just...”

She hadn’t heard him move, but suddenly he was there beside the bed. Beside her. Taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. Breathing deeply. Waiting for her to follow. It should be annoying. Should feel intrusive and perhaps even a little controlling.

Why then did her muscles ease? Did her breaths come without the aching difficulty? And while her worries did not settle completely, they grew quieter. More manageable.

He didn’t resent her. Yet. And she’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“I will take care of you,” Athan promised. No, it was deeper than that. Stronger. A vow. Solemn and sincere. “I will not punish you for hurting.”

Her lip wobbled despite her best efforts to remain calm.

“Would you mind if I went to talk to your father about the bed? Can you trust me not to conspire without you?”

No.

His hand came to curl about her cheek, his thumb smoothing against overheated skin.

“Yes.”

Which meant a smile was her reward, and her stomach tightened and for one tremulous moment, she thought he was going to lean down and kiss her before he left.

But he didn’t, and maybe she liked when he was a wretch and took a little more than was proper without asking.

She refused to consider what that said about her. Only let herself feel a moment’s disappointment before she shoved it back.

She would not nap while he was gone. Would not weep, either. She’d get up and finish the rest of the wardrobe, most especially removing the thick cloak from the top of the trunk because she really did not need it yet.

Her siblings all had rooms still situated with old things from when they lived here. They’d grown sparse over time, as little things were collected or purged, depending on their need.

She could have that, too. A place to come back to. Just in case. Did that count as another mark against her? Another reason she was a poor, unfaithful sort of mate.

Or maybe it meant she had trouble letting go. Of moving on.

And maybe that was all right.

She pulled a pillow into her side and tucked it tight. She’d get up in a minute. Only needed to regroup. To remember. To feel the bits of sorrow and excitement in equal measure, swirling about her head and heart until she was nearly dizzy with it.

But she could smile, which was new. Because she might have to sacrifice those wretched suppers with family that shared blood but not love. But she would have her parents. Would have her mate.

Even if he did come with the Brum.

Who she had decided to like. Because anything else would mean a begrudging sort of acceptance, and that was one area she could try to control.

And if she fell asleep before she’d done anything at all...

Maybe that was all right, too.

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