Fate (Deridia #11)

1. Fete

Many orbital cycles later...

There was no mistaking her sister’s joy as she burst through the door. The brightness in her eyes, the strange hand clasped in hers as she pulled a stranger through the hall and into the warmth of the kitchen.

“Mama!” she burst out, all light and excitement.

None need ask what had happened. Not when their hands were clasped so tightly, when the shy smile on the man’s face as he glanced at his new bond-mate did all the talking for them.

Her younger sister.

By more seasons than she cared to count.

She shoved the thought away. Moved forward to embrace her with their mother, then to embrace her new brother as well. He was young also, but handsome. They made a fine couple. Perhaps their children would share in their father’s chestnut hair rather than Eris’s pale locks—so near to Firen’s that they were often mistaken for one another unless faced from the front.

“This is...” She turned her head and gave a bewildered sort of start. “I forgot to ask your name!” Then Eris laughed, as it was the most inconsequential thing in the world, while her mate ducked his head and placed his hand on his chest to greet her mother.

“Varrel,” he supplied. “It is a pleasure to be here.” There was an earnestness about him that was charming, and some of the hard lump in Firen’s stomach loosened at his manner.

“Varrel,” her mother repeated, and her smile warmed as she gripped his arm once in a friendly gesture before offering for him to sit. Then paused, glancing toward the door. “I should...”

Firen swallowed. “I’ll get Da, Mama. You sit. Maybe get them to actually talk a little.” It was only a tease, and Eris was too enamoured to even glare at her sister before she passed through the back door.

She took a breath. Then another.

She wasn’t jealous. Every union was to be celebrated. She was just... disappointed. A little. Because she thought she’d watch each of her siblings bring home their mates with her own settled by her side. Where they might whisper to each other about the day they found one another, just between the two of them. A fond reminiscence. Something... something shared.

The garden was beginning to bloom. Winter had been a long one, but the flowers that burst in crimsons and deep purples seemed to only have thrived from it. The herbs were fragrant—trying their best to combat against the smoke and ever-present smell of metal shavings, burned wood, and slick oil that came from her father’s workshop.

She slipped through the door, the fire low. It was early, yet, and she found him seated at one of the worktables, a lamp burning brightly even with the open window allowing plenty of light. Fiddly work, then.

He glanced her way as she entered, but he did not put down his task.

“A commission?” she asked, moving nearer.

He grunted in response. He liked to craft for his own sake, allowing the metals to speak to their nature. But others preferred to hire his hands to craft visions of their own, sometimes with only crude drawings to replicate their desires. A risk, every time. But often one that could keep the family fed for a month once it was finished.

He muttered a low curse, then gave her a sheepish smile as he put down his tools. “What brings you into my lair, Firi?”

She swallowed. Smiled. “Eris brought someone home. Mama wants you.”

Her father blinked once, slowly, before rising from his seat. “Someone,” he confirmed. “As in...”

“Yes.”

She didn’t like how his eyes shifted. Didn’t like that instead of the excitement he should feel for Eris’s sake, he instead took on an expression that was far too near to pity. He approached her with measured steps, his arm already coming about her even as she shook her head and hated the lump in her throat. “He seems very kind.”

Because this was not about her.

“Of course he is. No mate of my daughters will be anything less.”

He cupped her chin in his hand—calloused and strong from long days and skilled labours. “Keep faith, Firen. It’ll come.”

He didn’t linger. Didn’t make her say that doubt was creeping in.

It was a large city. She was more than aware she had not met everyone within it. Nevertheless, each fete that ended in returning home alone... it stung.

She watched as Da kissed Eris’s cheek, as he clasped forearms with Varrel. As Mama set the kettle and mugs on the table and urged her to sit with a pointed look.

Mama had less patience for Firen’s discontentment. But while Da’s hints of pity left her with a lump in her throat, Mama’s insistence that all was as it should be left prickles of irritation. It wasn’t as it should be. Because if she was meant to go without, meant to live at home and help with the fiddly commissions and work the stalls, she should be happier about it.

And she wasn’t.

But she could sit. And hear about Varrel’s home. About his parents and the cottage they’d promised him when it was time, and he was a fisher, and did she mind terribly much to live so near the sea?

He could have lived in a hut in the woods, and Eris would have smiled and thought it wonderful.

Firen sipped at her tea, and it soothed the ache in her throat.

A little.

Enough that she could head up the stairs with her sister. To the room that had been theirs for... well, since Eris had been old enough to share it with her. To the trunk that was always kept packed, because Eris was still hopeful and certain that she would need to be ready.

While Firen’s belongings had ceased to be tidily tucked away, but spread haphazardly across her night table.

The room felt crowded with the three of them in it—Varrel had followed her, and that set another pant through Firen. To feel an intruder in her own room, to wonder if she would ever have access to her own sister for a private conversation.

Which was nonsense. Da and Mama were not always in each other’s company. This was new, that was all.

And yet...

It was so sudden. That was why tears were prickling at her eyes. Eris had only been running an errand—it wasn’t meant to be goodbye.

Varrel saw to the trunk, with Da to meet him at the stairs to negotiate it the rest of the way down.

Eris watched him go with a soft smile about her lips, but she lingered a moment rather than follow immediately. “My linens...” she observed, tugging at her neatly made bed. “They’ll need washing...” Her voice trailed off, waiting for Firen’s offer. That she’d make. Because she was happy for her, and she needn’t worry about things like laundry when there was a whole new life waiting for her.

“Mama and I will see to it.” It was the best she could do, and her tone was a little too tight.

Eris crossed the distance between them and hugged her tight. “I shall miss you,” she insisted, although there was a hint of something that suggested it was not as much as it might have been. It was as if she was already gone, her heart and her attention elsewhere, while Firen stood just...

Aching.

All over.

“Course you will,” Firen answered briskly, lest she dissolve into tears and make things harder than they ought to be. “Because I’m wonderful and am going to wash your linens for you.”

Eris backed up and smiled brightly. “You are, and they’re your linens now. Extras. How extravagant.”

Firen nodded because she did not know what else to do. Then watched her sister scurry back after Varrel and her trunk.

It wasn’t a farewell. Not really. She just needed to get settled, that was all. Her brothers that had mated were often home—although they had the need of their father’s workshop, so the visits were rarely strictly for want of the company.

A cart was hired, and the new bond-mates were gone, and as she nursed another cup of tea in her mother’s kitchen, she allowed herself to simply... feel.

She said nothing. Made no complaint. Mama had heard it all before.

But her mother still reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly for just a moment as she sat beside her. “It’s all right,” Mama assured her.

Firen frowned into her cup. “Which part?” she asked. And she wasn’t sulky. She was just... distraught. That was all. Which was understandable. She could be pleased for Eris and upset all at once. She was clearly capable of it.

“Wishing it was you.”

Firen’s eyes widened. “I didn’t...” she began, then hesitated. She wouldn’t lie to her mother. Not for anything. “I didn’t say that,” she amended.

“No,” she agreed. “But you’re unhappy. And I am sorry for it.”

She leaned nearer so she could put her arm about Firen’s shoulders. “You used to have such enthusiasm at every fete. It saddens me. To see you so frustrated.”

Firen suppressed a snort, but barely. If Mama was troubled, how did she imagine Firen felt?

She took a breath. Tapped her fingers lightly across the side of her cup, just once. “I hope I didn’t taint anything. For Eris. I don’t mean to be so discouraged.” She hadn’t always had such difficulties. When the house was full of siblings, when everything was new and exciting as she danced and mingled and approached each unfamiliar face with a catch in her heart, that he might be meant for her.

Then her friends found their pairings. Her brothers too. Now Eris...

“There is nothing you could have done to diminish this day,” Mama assured her. “But Firen,” she continued, her eyes tightening about the edges. Her mouth forming a firm line, if only briefly. “What do you intend to do?”

Firen’s brow furrowed. “Do?” As if... as if she had not been doing enough. Prayed hard enough. Bargained and cajoled and gave every sort of promise she could if she could only find him.

And more seasons would pass.

And she was still alone.

Mama wasn’t looking at her. Smoothed her hand along the table in search of crumbs that were not there. “There are other fetes,” she answered slowly. “You know this.”

Of course she did. All over the city—some at each solstice, others with each moon. Every district was unique.

And it was usually the men that travelled between them. It was not... disallowed for women to do so as well. But it seemed rather inefficient if everyone went hither and thither with no sort of order?

“Yes, but...”

Mama stood and poured them both fresh cups. “You’ve been trying it one way for a rather long time now, sweetling.”

A lump settled in her throat.

“I know that.”

“I’ll not push,” Mama continued. “Your father and I will never tire of your company.” She turned, blinking slowly, her head tilting slightly to the side. “You know that, don’t you?”

The lump grew bigger. “Yes.”

Mama nodded. “Good. Well. Then I think you have some inquiries to make next market, don’t you think? I’ll come with you, if you’d like.”

Firen’s eyes widened, and it wasn’t horror—it wasn’t , but it wasn’t welcome either.

Mama only laughed at her. “Not inside. Goodness, what do you take me for? But it might be in a new area, and I’d hate for you to get lost.”

Firen swallowed, her thoughts racing along with her heart as she considered it. “It’s not... inappropriate, is it? Or...” She swallowed thickly as she looked down at her cup. “Desperate?”

She wasn’t. Desperate, that is. She was just... anxious.

Wanted her family to grow by one man and the children that would come of the great love they would share. That wasn’t wrong, was it? It was natural.

“You’re a grown woman, Firen,” Mama said in that way that hinted at exasperation. As if the answer was so entirely obvious that the question never needed asking at all. “If you want your mate, you have just as much right to look as he does.”

She smiled. Genuinely. And it felt... good.

To have a plan. For something to be different.

“Thank you, Mama,” she added demurely, leaning over to hug her briefly before she went upstairs to formulate her plans.

“Mhmm,” Mama murmured, patting her arm indulgently. “Sweetling,” Mama added just as she was about to cross the kitchen threshold. She looked ready to say something, her brow creasing slightly, her mouth twisting before she sighed and shook her head. “Never mind. Market tomorrow. We’ll be busy without your sister for help.”

Firen nodded, only vaguely aware of the added responsibilities.

Caring far more about when she might slip away and seek friends to ply for information on fetes in their districts.

◆◆◆

There were three within reasonable distance. Of course, she was more than willing to consider unreasonable distances as well—except her hair might not look as comely as it might if bedraggled from the flight. Not that it should have mattered. It wasn’t strictly vanity, no matter what anyone else said. It was the want of that perfect first moment. When eyes caught and the bond settled into place like a welcome warmth...

Being soaked through in a rain shower did not fit into that fantasy. Nor did having to wear her hair plastered into tight braids to keep it from tangling about in as she flew about the city.

She wanted to look her best. Which wasn’t wrong.

But also meant that she would begin with these first three.

And not be hurt by the dubious glances she’d received at her enquiries. The ones that suggested she was a bit mad for wanting to attend any but the usual for her neighbourhood. That she was trying to force matters rather than allow them to happen naturally.

She smiled and shook her head and allowed them to think what they liked.

Two of them were on the same night. Inconvenient, to say the least... but she could attend both. It might be a bit rushed, and she would have to stay focused on her task rather than enjoy the other elements so enticing of a fete. Good food, better drinks, and she did dearly love the dancing.

She could not name why that was seen as respectable. Those that found their matches early in the evening hardly ever stayed to the conclusion. Instead they slipped away, full of starry eyes and hands unable to keep away from one another, not caring for the swirling dresses, the glittering candles. Flowers and garlands swooping down from the rafters when the fetes were driven indoors by the rains.

Perhaps it was a commiseration for those left behind. To feel the exhilaration of movement, of clasped hands. Of the steady beat of the music to keep them all in line as they moved through the steps.

Then upward, when they met in the parks instead and there was room to fly together. To twirl and feel so free. If only for a little while.

Then polite goodnights. When disappointment took hold as each wandered off alone. Back to their respective homes, hoping maybe next time, they would not see the end of the fete at all.

Firen smoothed her hand over her best dress. She only had two—they were impractical for flying, so they were reserved strictly for such occasions. She’d add a few more embellishments. Extra embroidery about the neckline. Perhaps some beads to catch the light at her cuffs. Da had some pretty golden ones in the shop that would do nicely...

It kept her busy. Kept her focused. While her stomach went from nervous fluttering to the anticipation that it would finally happen. It would work this time. Perhaps not the first—she would not get greedy. But by the second, surely.

She braided her hair. Undid it. Tried again with an anxious energy that only halted when Mama came in. Much as she had that first time. When Firen had thought she’d been moving that night. Had tucked everything in her trunk and yes, she’d washed her bed linens so that Mama wouldn’t have to think of them when she’d gone.

Firen hadn’t gone to that trouble tonight. It was only the first, after all. Maybe the next. Which would actually be the next two, as they were on the same night, so that really wouldn’t be expecting too much with so many new opportunities...

“Here,” Mama said, fixing a fine gold circlet into her hair before twisting the loose tresses just so. “Not for keeps, mind,” she cautioned. “Despite what your father would say if you asked him.”

She wouldn’t ask. Truly, she wouldn’t. This was for someone else. Someone that lived in one of the high towers, who attended ceremonies and events that required... opulence.

But she couldn’t deny the surge of courage it gave her. That she came from a good house, if not a particularly fine one. With a father that knew his skills and passed them to his sons. That was willing to teach Firen however much she wished to learn.

“It’s too much,” Firen protested, her stomach in knots. It felt too full of expectation when she’d been bracing herself for all the disappointment she was so likely to feel.

“Of course it isn’t,” Mama disagreed. “It isn’t any different from showing off lacework or linen. Your father is skilled in his craft. And he asked for you to wear it especially. I shouldn’t like you to disappoint him.”

Firen swallowed. Nodded.

“Now. Are you still so settled about this escort business?”

Firen stood. The days were growing warmer, but the nights were cold, so she tucked her wrap about her arms, mindful of her wings. She’d taken special care with them, plucking and fussing until they lay flat, not a feather out of place. “A woman grown, you said,” Firen reminded her.

And from the way Mama looked at her, that was the answer she’d been hoping for.

◆◆◆

She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

She did not like how often she had to repeat it to herself as she entered the room. It was lit high with candles and lanterns alike—the better to see one another in case bonds required sight as well as touch.

It was a smaller room than she was used to, but the ceilings were higher—the rafters lined with balconies where some were already settled to better survey the space.

The musicians had yet to begin, leaving only the hum of voices as men and women mingled amongst one another. It wasn’t conversation. Not yet. Just soft apologies as they approached and withdrew. Some disappointments were more obvious than others.

She joined the fray, smiling warmly and catching as many eyes as she could. It pleased her that she was not the only one to do the approaching. And at how many men were unfamiliar to her. Some she recognised as they made their circuit through her usual fete, but there was a grouping of dark-winged men she was certain she had not seen before.

There were so many names passed about. Houses too, which hinted at trades and good breeding. There were a few that stayed close to her, looking a little too intently at her, as if they might will the bond into forming if they lingered long enough.

It left her to shy away with a polite smile. To retreat for refreshment and keep to the wall, if only to collect herself.

Which would have been the time when she would have chatted with her friends. She spotted Elayne across the room, but she was still situated with one of the dark-winged fellows—not quite obvious yet if they were mated, but there was a glimmer that suggested it was possible.

Best not to disturb her.

“You are new.”

She turned, finding the greeting abrupt and unfriendly, but her mother had raised her with better manners than that. Which made it easier to bow her head to the girl that looked at her without much kindness in her gaze, although she took a private satisfaction that she was a good head taller, so it hardly counted as bowing her head at all. “I am.”

“Your family moved districts?”

That Firen was unwelcome was more than obvious. Some women were competitive that way, she supposed. Which was absurd in her mind. If a man was meant for the girl beside her, then he wasn’t meant for Firen. Her presence wouldn’t change any bit of it. “No.”

She owed her no explanations. Just courtesy. Which kept her from turning and showing her back, but just barely.

She scanned the room again, looking for some hint of where she might try next. Perhaps the balconies. They were clever in their design, and she wouldn’t mind flittering up there...

Until she remembered the dress she wore and how little was beneath, so maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Then why are you here?”

Firen’s brow furrowed, but her tone betrayed no exasperation. “I would imagine for much the same reason as everyone else?”

“Yes, but the rest of us are young. I did not know anyone as old as you could go without fetching a mate.”

She wasn’t old. Not by half. So it needn’t have stung as much as it did, and it shouldn’t have made her retort come so quickly to the tip of her tongue.

She swallowed.

Stood even taller and was once again grateful for the height from her mother’s side, and gave the girl as hard a look as she dared. “Rudeness isn’t comely,” she said instead, because it was true and if it hurt when it landed, then hopefully the prickle might lead to a change in attitude.

Firen nodded her head again, and if her wing touched the other girl slightly as she passed, it was an accident. Not that the loud affront behind her suggested it was entirely believed.

Her heart was racing. Not with the pleasant anticipation she’d acquired during the walk—some streets familiar, others not. She did not care for confrontations. Hated when any found fault with her, and she had not expected to feel so when all of their aims were of such accord.

“That was Demezda. Don’t let her trouble you. She’s getting anxious.”

Firen canted her head leftward. This girl was seated, an unusual position when so much of the evening depended on making at least some sort of contact.

“That doesn’t excuse rudeness,” Firen countered, trying to push the entire exchange from her mind in favour of more pressing pursuits. She’d made friends at many fetes. This needn’t be one of them.

“No,” the girl agreed. “It doesn’t.”

There was a wistful, sad quality that gave Firen pause, and she stopped scanning the room to turn to her properly. “Are you all right?” She kept her voice gentle, because it mattered if she wasn’t. Firen might have her own aims, but she was not so neglectful that she could not set them aside for a little while, even for the sake of a stranger.

The girl waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Tired, I suppose. The sameness becomes grating after a time. Is that why you’ve come?”

Firen relaxed and her smile was much more genuine. “Exactly.” She bowed her head and offered her name and waited for the other to do the same.

“Orma,” she answered, her eyes drifting over the drifting bodies in the room rather than look at Firen properly. She possessed a sickly quality, Firen realised. As if she had one of the wasting sicknesses that mother spoke about in hushed tones and rueful glances as they looked over their children burgeoning on their majorities. They never explained what it was, not fully, but Orma fit what Firen always assumed it meant.

Her cheeks were a little sunken, her eyes dull.

Firen took the seat beside her.

Her purpose niggled at her. That she was wasting time and her father’s gift of the golden circlet in her hair, and yet she felt compelled to sit. To offer comfort, if she could.

Orma gave her a half-smile, shaking her head slightly. “You needn’t bother. We won’t meet again.”

Firen’s stomach gave an uneasy lurch. “You’re poorly, then?”

Orma hummed lowly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just have a feeling you are about to meet your someone. And there won’t be many more fetes for you.”

Firen might have been heartened at such a proclamation if she wasn’t more certain that this girl—Orma—wasn’t very well at all. “I won’t go looking a moment longer if I’m not sure you’re going to be all right. I could fetch a healer?”

Orma laughed. A bright burst of sound that might have been considered good-humoured if not for the hint of bitterness about the edges. “I thank you, but no.”

Firen flexed her fingers in want of fidgeting, but that was not comely and she suppressed it as best she could. “Well. Then we shall sit awhile.”

Orma glanced at her with a frown. “There’s no need.”

Yes. There was. Firen did not know the reason for it, did not know this girl or her troubles, but she was certain there were some—too private and personal to share with an utter stranger. But she could offer her company and support, if only for a little while, so she would.

They were approached a few times, but beyond polite nods and eyes that drifted a little too often toward Firen rather than Orma, they were left quite alone. It was a strange feeling when she was used to the rush and excitement of mingling itself. To sit and to watch, preoccupied with something other than the possibility of bonding...

It was not unpleasant.

But she thought of her mother, waiting. Her father and his gift.

“You should go,” Orma urged. “I am perfectly all right, I assure you.”

Firen hesitated, wiping her hands on her skirt. She loved the way it moved; she loved the way it felt against her legs, bared from the usual manner of dress that kept her modest even in flight. Orma’s dress was worn at the edges, most especially at the hem where it scraped too heavily against the cobbles. How many walks had she taken to this room? To sit and stare glumly rather than participate fully? “If you’re sure...” Except Firen wasn’t. Not when she was ominous about not meeting again.

Orma shook her head, her eyes rolling briefly toward the rafters—where yes, there was a new couple, engaged in a rather amorous kiss on the balcony.

They’d be shooed out in a moment, Firen was certain. Off to a respective home. This might be a place to encourage bonds to form, but it was not meant for such blatant displays.

Although she couldn’t blame them. Not a bit.

Perhaps she’d be overcome just as similarly when the time came. When the relief and the joy meant...

“Where else do you intend to go?” Orma asked, and Firen blinked, trying to stop her foolish fantasies.

She related the locations of the others she knew of, trying to imagine Orma making the same trek as she intended.

“Not high towers, then?”

Firen glanced at her, shaking her head. “Which is that?”

Orma picked at her fingernail, humming softly. “Just where it sounds. Where all the important folk mingle.” She glanced at Firen again, frowning ever so slightly. “Theirs is tonight. I thought you might go after this.”

Firen sat back a little too sharply, her wing catching against the wall and giving a little pain of protest. “I haven’t met everyone here.”

Orma rolled her eyes again. “You saw them up there. It happens, or it doesn’t. If he was here, you’d know already.”

Firen’s throat ached. “Trying to be rid of me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light but feeling it an all too real possibility.

“No,” Orma disagreed, blinking slowly as if she hadn’t considered the possibility. “You just seem... like a rather lovely person. And if you want this... I should hate for you to waste your time here. Not when you could look elsewhere.”

She cast her eyes about the room once more. She’d do another turn, at least. To be sure. But if there was the possibility of a more efficient evening...

There could be no harm in it.

She did not ask why Orma had no plans to attend. That was her business.

But she did ask for directions.

And when she was confident that this room held nothing more than the possibility of average food and men with becomingly dark wings that would eventually belong to women that were most assuredly not her...

She left.

And was not as disheartened as she might have been.

◆◆◆