8. Home

She was supposed to wake with a smile. Full of anxious enthusiasm as she woke Athan and insisted they begin her cookery lessons.

After she dressed, of course.

Or, if perhaps a different sort of appetite woke first, she was going to reach over for her mate and see if it was all right to indulge when the suns were up.

She was not supposed to have a terrible pressure in her head that made her squint and flinch when Athan opened the shutters. She was also not supposed to be achy in her hip and sore between her legs.

Those were ails for a different Orma. This one was supposed to be shiny and new and cured of all her ails. Because mating was magical. It brought people together and... and...

She burst into tears.

Which brought Athan back to her side, the bond echoing the concern she saw in his eyes when he coaxed her to look at him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted. His eyes darted as he fought the urge to look her over for himself. Because she did not want him as a healer. How many times had she said that? She hadn’t much cared if it hurt him at the time, and for that, she was deeply sorry. She’d just been so frightened, and he’d...

He’d understood. Eventually. The more he’d learned, the gentler he’d become in that regard.

But he could ask, and he was right to expect an answer, even if it was foolish. “My head is going to split open,” she explained. “And I’m sore, and I... I don’t know why I thought...” she couldn’t say it. It was too absurd.

But it had been a last hope, she realised. That once the bond was fully satisfied, everything would be different.

He laid a hand over her forehead. The pressure was a welcome counterbalance to what she felt inside her skull, and that made her blub harder.

“I will get you something,” Athan promised her. “For the pain.”

Denials were at the tip of her tongue. Reminders of old arguments. That he could bring her old elixirs or nothing at all.

But she stopped. Took a breath. “Thank you,” she murmured, closing her eyes again and turning onto her side, where she buried her face into his pillow.

He made quick work of dressing before he disappeared.

The guilt trickled in slowly. He’d been robbed as well. Of a gentle waking. Of a mate still full of contentment from the night before. Which made it worse when he returned, and she was feeling wretched and terribly sorry both for herself and for him.

She was not expecting Athan’s stern look. For the way he tugged her to a seated position and handed her a bottle of something murky and a deep green. She didn’t want it, but she wasn’t about to say so. Not when he’d gone to the trouble of fetching it for her.

She should ask what it did. If it would make her sleep, make her lethargic. All the usual penalties for some form of relief.

But surely it would show her trust in him if she didn’t? And she wanted to please him, to make him feel loved even when she felt so poorly.

“You can ask,” Athan reassured her. He was settled on the side of the bed, a cup in his hand. Water to wash the taste down after? Or had he taken the time to fetch himself tea? “You should ask. These are your pains, and your medicines. You should know them better than anyone.”

Orma smoothed the bottle in her hands, watching the concoction swirl. “How will I feel?” He could rattle off the contents, but it wouldn’t help anything. She didn’t know about herbs and their powers. Didn’t know how they interacted with one another. She wanted to learn how to make a meal, not set her hand to potion making.

“We will put a spoonful in this cup,” Athan explained, satisfied with her interest as he took the bottle from her. “I’ve half-filled it with water, yes?” He tilted it so she might see, and her head really did hurt but she tried to care about the dosage since it seemed to matter to him. He demonstrated, the spoon clinking against the side of the cup as he stirred. She did not appreciate the noise, but she kept quiet, letting him work. “At this amount, you might feel a little tired, but it should not force you to sleep if you do not want to.” He handed her the cup and watched her as she drank it down. It wasn’t nearly as bitter as she’d expected. It tasted of bright herbs and a hint of something sweet.

“Thank you,” she said as she offered him back the cup. He nodded to her, and he almost moved off the bed, likely to begin his day. Which she wanted to do with him. Wanted to make a terrible start at their breakfast and make him sit at the table while she placed a singed plate of food in front of him and watch him smile at her as if she’d done perfectly well.

She’d rub his shoulder and kiss his cheek, and promise she’d do better the next time.

“You started to say something, before,” Athan murmured, his attention flickering from the empty cup and back to her. “What was it?”

She’d hoped he’d forgotten. She couldn’t say his potion was helping yet, but she wanted to pretend it was. That her head was muzzy, and she needed sleep, and they could talk of this later. Or, better still, not at all.

But he was waiting, and he was patient and wonderful, and he’d go downstairs alone and fix her meal and come back and kiss her softly and promise he wasn’t disappointed—he just wants her to feel better.

But she was. Deeply so.

And she could admit that to him, even if it revealed her hopes had been more mystical than rational. “Everyone...” she began, then quickly amended it. “Mama mostly. She was so... sure. That I came of age, once the bond settled as it should, all the troubles would end. And I couldn’t say I believed her, but I suppose a part of me... wanted to. So when we met, and you took your part, I thought it was proof enough she was wrong. But then there was... the part we hadn’t done yet, so maybe...” her wings ruffled behind her, and she rubbed at her temples. “It was a stupid thought.” Her throat tightened, and she’d been done with her tears, but maybe there were a few left after all. “It’s your fault, you know.”

She raised her gaze to his so he might know she wasn’t serious.

“Of course it is,” Athan agreed, far too seriously. “But how exactly, if I might be so enlightened.”

She smiled softly, and maybe his potion was working after all, because some of the tightness in her head eased just a little. “You made me want to do things. I did not care before, so if I needed a day just to lie about, it didn’t matter. But now...” she reached for his hand, and she’d forgotten the cup and the spoon, but he shifted it to the other so she might have what she wanted. “My cookery lessons,” she complained. “Kissing you in the sunshine.” Her cheeks flushed because her imagination had included a great deal more than kisses. “It is frustrating.”

Athan’s fingers tightened around hers. “What is?”

She tried terribly hard not to give him an exasperated look. “This. Me.” She waved over her body, the one that always seemed intent on finding new ways to hurt and disappoint her. Had it only been last night she’d marvelled at what else it could do? How good she might feel when before it had felt an unending trudge just to function.

Athan leaned forward and placed the cup on her bedside table. She almost questioned why, but then he was leaning over her. No, not just over. Climbing back to his side of the bed before he curled his arm over her middle and tucked her in close. “I am very fond of this body,” he murmured softly, mindful of her head. Her wings. “I would thank you to be gentle with it, even in how you refer to it.”

That should not have made her eyes well. Should not have made her want to turn about and kiss him.

But it did.

And she was too poorly to do anything but lie there, and she wanted to grouse about her frustrations, but she paused. Took a breath. Tried to take his words as more than a tease. “I wanted to... be with you again,” she confessed, because that was the truth of it. The rest would have been the seduction, but it would have ended right back here. With the shutters open for the breeze. “And I’m cross that I have to wait.”

Athan chuckled and leaned over to place a kiss on her cheek. “And what if I told you I’m far too exhausted at the moment? Couldn’t possibly have done so, even if you woke ready and needful?”

She sniffed, turning her head to see if he was in earnest. “Are you?”

“Completely done in,” Athan insisted, his tone so serious that she almost believed him. Not quite, but enough that some of the guilt lifted, letting her settle a little more easily as bits of tension quieted. “I might even have to send away my patients this afternoon. Have a little nap right here.”

She would not question the time of day and if she’d really slept that long that morning had come and gone without her notice. “Don’t do that,” Orma murmured. “Not on my account.”

He hummed, pressing his head into her hair. “Not for yours,” he reminded her. “For mine.”

She smiled, despite herself, and shook her head. Which meant it ached a little more fiercely, so she scowled and very well considered banishing him from the room if he was going to insist on more of his teases. But his warmth was rather lovely, and his potion was too. It left a pleasant sort of haze instead of the ache she’d experienced. It was more effective for her poor nethers than for her head, but sleep would see to the other well enough.

“If you stay, we don’t talk,” she instructed. “For my head.”

He sighed, smoothing his hand over her temple. A cool cloth would have been better, but she supposed this was nice, too.

“Whatever you say.”

Which really wasn’t following what she said at all, but he was quiet after, and his touches were soothing parts of her she hadn’t realised needed quieting at all, and how she could possibly need more sleep when she thought she’d slept too long already, she couldn’t account for.

But she did.

A hazy sort of in-between sleep at first. When she was aware of Athan leaving her, and that really was wretched of him, letting her expectations shift when she hadn’t even asked him to stay, but now she wanted him and he’d gone.

Which should have been all right. He couldn’t stay with her the whole day.

It just would have been nice if the sleep could be the deep sort. Where she could just wake up and feel better, and he would be there, and perhaps there would be a meal involved, whether or not she made it.

She opened one eye.

Caught one beam of the sunlight through the shutters and pulled Athan’s pillow overtop her head, because he wasn’t using it anyway, and this really was much better.

And then she really slept, after all.

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“Orma,” Athan whispered, his voice low and lilting. More song than name. It was terribly rude to wake a sleeping person, especially one that was poorly and an invalid. One would think a healer would know such a thing.

But this one was laying a hand on her shoulder, and that really was intolerable because it was lovely and dark and the breeze was cool through the window and...

When had he opened that?

She frowned, her brow furrowing as she breathed in. There was food in the room.

Well.

That was a slight improvement to waking her for no reason—or for that reason simply to prove she lived and breathed and to quell his anxious heart in that regard.

“How is your head?”

She opened her eyes, and she really tried not to glare. “I don’t know yet,” she mumbled, trying to assess her own condition before she did something foolish like try to move. She’d learned that lesson a long time ago. If she could find a comfortable spot, if nothing ached or protested, she would not sacrifice her place for anything.

There was a chair next to her bedside table that most certainly had not been there before. The lamp was not lit, so the whole day couldn’t be gone yet. Sometimes pains in her head could lead to a horrid roiling in her stomach, but that seemed blessedly absent. What had been a sharp, unavoidable throb had turned into a dull awareness at the back of her head. A warm cloth. She would have asked for one of those if her mother was present. But Athan...

She took a breath.

He would be no different. Eager to please, ready to fetch anything she desired. “Could I have a warm cloth for my head?”

Athan leaned over her, murmuring for her to show him where it hurt most. It was easier simply to place his hand where it hurt than to explain it, and he nodded briskly and left the room without even a hint of protest from the bond.

He liked to be useful. Liked to be useful to her.

She sighed, pulling the blanket up toward her nose. She could make out the edges of a tray—there was a mug rather than a bowl. Tea? Maybe something medicinal.

But no, it smelled like food. And now that it was in the room with her, her stomach seemed to waken, reminding her of its desire for something to eat since the night before.

She gave it an absent sort of pat, sorry she hadn’t listened. Perhaps that would have saved this whole miserable start to the day if she had.

Athan came back with... not a cloth. Or, at least, not just a cloth dampened with hot water. It looked more cushion than anything, and he coaxed her onto her back, moving the pillows about to better accommodate her as she sat up.

She let him do it, although she was tense and ready to reject the setup in favour of returning to her side, where she’d been snug only a moment before.

A moment. A few breaths.

And then warmth was pressed to the back of her head before he eased her back against the newly arranged pillows.

“How’s that?” Athan asked, looking her over to ensure all was as it should be.

She wriggled just a little, her wing shifting to a more suitable spot. “Very nice. Thank you.” She held out her hand for him to take, and he brought it to his lips instead of holding it like she intended. It was a tender gesture, one that made her heart warm even if the rest of her responses were quiet. No flutters, no hoping he’d draw his lips to her wrist, following the threads he’d learned the night before.

Just a warmth of being cared for. Loved, even when their room had transformed back into a sickbed.

It didn’t mean she liked when he placed her hand back on the bed.

She wouldn’t grow despondent. He had things to do. People to help that did not happen to be her.

“I brought you a meal,” Athan informed her, no matter how unnecessarily.

“I noticed,” she admitted, ready for him to hand her the tray and be gone again. Not that she did not want his company, but it was always easier to expect the solitude of her room rather than be disappointed when no one stayed for long.

“Yes, well,” Athan started, and she was left with the distinct impression he was nervous. Which was strange, and she really should try to riddle it out for herself, but that seemed like far too much effort. He leaned over for the tray, hovering and fussing until he was certain nothing would slosh anywhere.

Her eyes narrowed. There was a mug filled with soup, as she’d suspected. But surrounding it were a great number of things that most certainly might make up food, but had never graced her plate in their current form. A few had foots still attached, others with green tops that were lacy and perhaps she’d seen garnishing a joint of roast. She picked up one of them, eyeing both it and Athan curiously. “Am I meant to eat this?”

She would, if he thought it would be good for her, but it did not look particularly appealing.

He grimaced, or perhaps it was a half-hearted attempt at a smile, but he shook his head. “I don’t want to presume about your wellness. And if you’d rather eat and sleep longer, that is perfectly all right.” He drew a hand through his hair, frustrated and flustered, which was rather a strange look compared to his usual composure. “You were so sad about your cookery lessons. So I thought I might bring one... to you.”

He glanced up at her, and this time his smile was a little more genuine. Hopeful. That maybe he’d done right, but fully prepared to be told she didn’t want it.

She swallowed, putting down the vegetable—if indeed that’s what it was—and picked up the mug. There was a spoon tucked beneath the rest of it, but she ignored it. Took a sip. “All that is in here?” she asked, squinting into the cup.

Athan nodded. “Either in the stock, or chopped and cooked down into the soup itself.” There was a bit of excitement in his voice, but he tempered it quickly. “You’re sure your head is well enough for this?”

“For soup and you telling me about vegetables? I think I can manage.”

It was a balm she didn’t know she’d needed. To be poorly, and have someone for company. To not be left to her own thoughts and discomforts, to be certain, not merely hope, that this was precisely where he wished to be.

He wouldn’t tire of her. Wouldn’t push and wheedle for her to do more than she was able. He would take her as she was, whether that was full of life and love and desire, or pale and sickly.

Which was...

Far more than she could ever have hoped for.

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