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.

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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.

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