Fate (Deridia #11)

8.2

“I didn’t...” She clasped her hands tightly together. “I do not know how to answer that.”

His eyes slid toward Lucian. “Then perhaps you might.”

Lucian smoothed the paper down in his lap. “She is in no danger,” he declared firmly.

“You dislike my father. And perhaps that gives just cause to be mistrustful of me. Of how I might treat my mate.” He shifted, and she was certain he wanted to look her way, but he didn’t. “I honour our bond. What anyone else might find... troublesome about how it came to be, or the rightfulness of her pairing...” he leaned forward ever so slightly. “It is no longer any concern of ours.”

She wished that might be true. Felt the swell of hope that maybe she might have the whole of him, would never have to even think about his family ever again.

But then she thought of Orma. Of the friend she’d hoped to gain.

And she felt a whole new sort of guilt that she could so happily extricate herself and her mate, and leave her behind.

“I just need to know if it’s true,” Firen insisted. “Are these laws in place to protect the bond?”

Vandran frowned, glancing between the two of them for a moment before he answered. “They are,” he answered slowly. “I do wish, however, I had a better understanding of your intention. Is this about inheritance? There is some leeway given on selecting one child over another, but it is generally a matter of practicality.” He leaned back and rubbed at his chin. “If it is about the tower...”

Firen shook her head fervently. “I do not care about that. I mean...” she took a breath, and her hands tightened together. “I care for Lucian’s sake. I’m sorry about what he’s lost because of his father.” Because of her.

No. That was accepting blame that was not hers to shoulder.

“I was not of the understanding that you had any living siblings.”

Lucian answered calmly, as if it was a query he received every day. “I do not.”

“Then there are laws to protect you, should you wish to bring it before the Hall when the time comes.” His smile was thin, but genuine. “Not that it helps your current predicament.” He gestured toward the paper. “I am curious, Lucian. You never thought to look? To see your entitlements?”

Lucian placed the sheet back on the desk, but kept it facing the both of them. “It did not seem relevant at the time. I... placed my trust in error, or so it would appear.”

As if he was to blame for his father being... what he was.

“I’ll not make you begin again,” Vandran offered, bringing out a pen and one of the small books cluttered about the desk’s surface. “I find your willingness admirable, but I will amend your cycle if I find your education lacking in other facets.”

It wasn’t anger she felt from Lucian. It wasn’t embarrassment either. But it was uncomfortable all the same. He did not like being seen as inadequate. Lacking. And she could well imagine why, given his upbringing. But he offered no defence, no assurance. Just sat and nodded and took whatever Vandran attributed to his name.

She did not need to defend him, either. He was clever—had to have been, to have survived so long. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t comfort him, even if it was only to place her hand on his arm and squeeze it just once, retreating with a little smile when he glanced her way.

“You’ll be brilliant,” she murmured, and he rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the bond warmed and he wasn’t angry with her for touching him in view of someone else.

“And what of you?” Vandran asked. “Will you be joining our ranks in the law? You would have to begin at the start. No skipping years just because of your mate.”

It pleased her that his offer was sincere, and for one fleeting moment, she actually wondered if she might accept him. To work and learn beside her mate. To study the laws for herself so she knew what protections existed besides what she was simply told through rumour and histories.

“I like to work with my hands,” Firen answered with an apologetic tone. She held them out and wiggled her fingers, hoping he would not be insulted by her preference.

“A pity,” Vandran added with a sigh. “My daughters were much the same. “Too many years, they said. Favoured their mother’s side. I’ll not protest the fine cheeses that come through my doors. Only that I could not convince at least one of them this was a worthwhile pursuit.”

Firen reached for the pot and refilled their cups. “They must have trusted you to protect their interests.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s true. But they expect me to live forever. And as much as I’d like to, I don’t think that will be possible.”

He grew more sombre and pulled his cup back toward him. “My seat will be empty sooner than I would hope. And I’d like to ensure there is one to fill it that cares about the regular people, as you put it.” He looked at Lucian, his expression as serious as she’d yet seen it. “Will that be you?”

She would not make light of it. Not when it was of such importance to the both of them. Wouldn’t tease and nudge at his shoulder and ask him herself.

But she did shift. Did turn her head so she could look at him properly, because...

Had that not been part of her concern, as well? That she would be the exception. That he was gracious to her family simply because they were hers, and not because he knew to be kind to all peoples.

Not just the ones that filled coffers. That could buy influence and ancestral homes in equal turn.

He sat very straight and looked Vandran in the eye, although there was something in the bond that said he was truly speaking to her. “It will.”

That was all. No eloquent speeches denouncing his father and his prejudice. No prolonged promises.

Just one.

And she was absurdly proud of him for it, and it took everything in her not to throw her arms about his neck and hug him to her, as she whispered out her thanks that he was the man she’d hoped he’d be after all.

“Excellent,” Vandran declared, and he did not seem to mind when Firen beamed at her mate and took his hand and gripped it for just a moment, before settling back into her cup. Something had gone right. For once.

She’d not bungled everything. Lucian hadn’t either.

Vandran stood, moving toward one cabinet on the far wall. There were shelves laden with books—just as there were everywhere. But there were drawers at hip height, and he opened one, then another, evidently looking for something. “Here we are,” he declared, after rummaging through a stack of papers. He could use some help with his organisation. Or perhaps he was one that found order in the mess. Where everything had a place, even if it made no sense to anybody else.

Da would have been like that. If Mama didn’t come through often and remind him that his children also had to use the workroom, and wouldn’t it be nice if they knew where to find the tools and supplies?

The sheet was folded and worn about the edges, marked on both sides. A diagram of some sort? “I might be lacking in some areas,” Lucian added dryly, “but not so much that I require a map of the facilities.”

“No,” Vandran agreed. “But your mate is. And this will be her home now, too.”

He handed the paper to Firen, and it unfolded into a much larger sheet than she might have imagined.

Everything was labelled. The rooms—crossed out and reordered, presumably when new people claimed old offices. “I cannot promise they are all accurate any longer. I’m afraid I stopped updating it a long while ago. But it should help, all the same.”

“Thank you,” Firen breathed, finding her eyes welling in the most absurd fashion. “Truly. I...” She swallowed, and she tried her best to refold the map as cleanly as possible. “I hope you are wrong. About your health. I hope your daughters are right and you will live for a very long time. You are most kind.”

He waved off her words, but he smiled at her softly. “You’ll be all right,” he promised. “You’ll need to see the registrar. Perhaps update where your allowance is being sent.” That was added with a sharper look in Lucian’s direction. “You cannot afford to pander to your father any longer. I want a man of strong conviction. I will hold you to your promises.”

Lucian bowed his head and touched his hand to his chest. “Of course.”

Firen clutched her map in her hands and followed Lucian as he rose. “One more paper,” Vandran insisted, handing that one to Lucian. “Your schedule. It might seem rigorous, in the beginning,” he offered as a warning to Firen rather than to his new apprentice. “Only have to test him on a few things first.”

Firen stood on tiptoe, trying to peer at the schedule and just how offensive it might seem to a newly mated pair. There was quite a lot written on it, but some of the times were slanted so far that she could not make out their meaning with only a glance.

“I’m grateful,” she said instead. “And I’ll remind myself of that when I miss him.”

Lucian was quiet beside her as they left. Firen did not mind. She had her new map to study. It was easier to read, as it had obviously been filled in when Vandran’s hands were steady and properly able to hold the pen. She whispered the name of the offices as they passed. And if they were out of date, as Vandran had suggested, Lucian did not correct her.

“Do all these people really work here?” she asked finally, when names began to blur and she thought it hopeless she’d remember them all. It grew more exciting when they passed the large doors that made up one of the several audience chambers. The archways were well ornamented, with shells and driftwoods, and even what presumably made up a tangle of seaweed. Maybe how it was beneath the surf, because she was far more used to it washing up in giant briny clumps of bright red and burnt orange.

“No,” Lucian answered, looking absently toward her map. She waited for him to expound—to give some explanation as to where they might have gone or why their positions had not been filled. But he didn’t.

One of the large doors opened and she caught a glimpse inside. All too brief, and just enough to make her wish she could sneak inside and look her fill. There were people seated. More than she’d expected. Whether they worked in the Hall or were there on important business, she couldn’t tell, but she paused, hoping it would open again.

A man had exited, and he nodded toward Lucian once before he went on his way.

“Come along,” Lucian urged, taking her by the elbow and leading her away. She peeked at her map again. Registrar. An entire office just for that. Did that include receiving a permit for a market stall? Or was the position solely for managing the workers of the Hall?

Her list was growing too long for one night of questions. Better to make it a week’s worth. So as not to overwhelm him.

“Did you mean it?” he asked as they passed through the outer doors. Which is not the way she would have thought to go, as the map made it appear as if the office was connected on the inside, but she would trust Lucian’s judgement.

For now. Although she was the one with the map.

He had only his years of knowledge that evidently had not included a trip to this very person.

“Did I mean what?” she asked, following with her finger as they followed the row of buildings butting up to the half-tower that made up the Hall itself.

“That you would miss me,” Lucian answered stiffly. “When I was working.”

Her steps wavered, and she drifted her attention from her map so she could look at him, her brow furrowed. “You know I do. That’s why we had to have that talk about tugging at the bond. You said it was unnecessary and distracting.”

He shifted, not quite looking at her. “I maintain that both are true. Most particularly because you were doing it because you thought I would not come back.”

She ducked her head, rubbing her finger against old parchment before she rolled her shoulders. It was accurate enough, although she did not like it spoke of so plainly. “So,” he pressed. “Was it true?”

It seemed such a silly thing to need to hear. So blatantly obvious that she might have thought he was teasing her if his eyes were not so earnest in the way they tried fervently not to look at her.

She took a step closer to him and grasped his arm with her free one. “I miss you when you are gone,” she declared, as sincerely as she was able. “And I always want you to come back to me.”

Something calmed. Something that had been raw and ragged between them, although she hadn’t realised it until that moment.

A doubt he’d carried. Worried over. That she hadn’t really wanted him.

Which... was absurd.

Except when it wasn’t.

Because she’d thought it, hadn’t she? When the regrets had gone so deep that it had burned through her. Made her think things... feel things...

That shamed her now.

“All right,” Lucian answered, and she huffed out a laugh.

“You will not say it back? That you long to be back with me when you have to go away? That there’s nowhere else you’d rather be?” She did nudge at him, because she was his mate and she could touch him even if there was a chance someone would stop long enough to pay attention to them.

He quirked a brow at her, but his eyes were soft, even his expression was hard. “Do you need me to?”

She shook her head, exasperated with him, but it was only in play. “No. But maybe I’d like you to. Keep things fair.”

She made to move on, her attention back on her map. They really should have kept to the interior, because this meant they’d have to...

His arm crept about her middle, pulling her back against him as he leaned close so his lips were at her ear. “I long to be back with you when we are parted,” he breathed out, so gently she might have missed it if the words had not been her own. “There is nowhere I would rather be. No one I would rather be with.”

He did not even kiss her. Did not press his lips to her cheek, her temple, her neck, and yet she felt her skin tingle as if he had. It was not fair to say such things when it would be less than appropriate for her to turn about in his hold and kiss him until she was breathless. If she was keeping a list of questions for when they were in private, he surely could keep a list of wonderfully romantic encouragements that he could offer one by one. Until she was warm all over and wanted him. Needed him.

“You think you can talk to me that way and not take me home after?” She gripped her map and warred with herself, wanting nothing more than to tuck it away and be with him, which was... a thoroughly distracting development. They had things to do. And it was quite unfair of him to get her all bothered.

Even more so when he chuckled near her ear. “That is what I am attempting to do.”

Then he made to pluck the map from her, but she gripped it to her chest and did not allow him to have it. “You have your own,” she insisted. “This one is mine.”

He snorted, but released her as well as his hold on her parchment. “Mine is buried in a stack of first year papers back in the tower. I doubt I will see it again.”

She felt a sudden pang at that, but she refused any guilt. She’d done nothing wrong. But she could be sorry and held it out just a bit so he could see. “We should have stayed inside.”

He hummed, tapping a portion of the page. “There is an outer door, which, as I recall, is their preference.”

Firen squinted, trying to see mention of that, but could make out nothing but the two slashes along the wall that indicated a doorway. “Oh. Well, that should be written down. What if I go to visit someone and there’s another door that I’m really supposed to use, and I end up offending them?”

He glanced at her as they moved on toward the correct door. “Who exactly would you be visiting?”

“Friends. Because I’ll make them, you know. You’ll see. Or maybe I’ll start helping you at your job, and I’ll have to deliver papers. Or fresh bread if your meetings run too long.”

Lucian stopped in his stride. “You’re not a servant,” he reminded her tightly. “You are not a scrollward. It is not your responsibility to fetch and carry.”

Firen turned back so she might face him fully. “I know that,” she answered gently. Because she wouldn’t be insulted. Wouldn’t assume he meant he did not want her about or to know his business and his trade. “But if your hours are to be as long as Vandran warns, then it is possible I shall miss you, and if the only way I might see you during the day is to bring you some refreshment, then I hardly think that too humble a task.” She gave him a rather pointed look. “Do you?”

There was that expression again. The glimmer in his eye that suggested he did not know what to do with her. Wanted very much to believe she was genuine—that she cared for him, that she wanted him. Missed him in equal measure when they were not together. But there was room for doubt. That pressed and settled in his jaw and the thin line that formed between his brows as he studied her sincerity.

That was all right. They had their whole lives together for all this to become common. Expected.

She was going to say something. Or... offer something. Not pity, because she feared that would not be any sort of comfort to him. But a touch, maybe. To remind him she was his mate, and she would not leave him.

But movement caught her eye. The tall, elegant frame. The pause. The glare that looked far too much like her mate as he noted the pair of them.

Lucian must have seen the change in her expression, for he turned, his own posture stiffening as he stood a little straighter.

Oberon was not close, but they were within speaking distance. Even Mama would say it wouldn’t be rude to give a greeting, although a young Firen had often pushed that particular boundary, calling to anyone she deemed close enough to beckon to come speak with her, regardless of their intent to make a purchase.

She did not move. Did not even consider approaching. Good manners might have been to bow her head and lower her wings, but she did neither. Instead, she turned her attention to her mate, waiting for him to act first.

He didn’t.

Oberon approached, his steps measured. Thoughtful. The day seemed to darken about them, and she had to remind herself firmly that Oberon held no such power over the clouds and the suns, and it was only her own nerves that made the breeze feel colder. “And what could possibly bring you to my domain, I wonder?”

Firen prickled inside, because he might have a seat in the Halls, but that did not make them his . Words were quick on her tongue—dismissive offerings. About how they need not fear his meddling any longer. Lucian had a new master now. One she was confident would be good and proper, unlike what he had known for the entirety of his years thus far.

But she didn’t say any of it. Let Lucian place himself between the two of them. “Father,” he greeted, and she was proud of the way he managed to keep most of the tightness from his tone. “You have objections to our use of a public pathway?”

A flicker in Oberon’s eye betrayed his anger, although his expression remained the very picture of neutrality. “I do when it leads you to a building where I know you’ve no assignment. One might consider it loitering. To linger where one has no business.” His lip curled in condescension. “Is that what you’ve become? A common beggar?”

Anger flared, hot and biting, and it took everything in her not to step out from around Lucian and fling back their purposes. Ones that were most certainly legitimate.

But she didn’t.

Took a deep breath instead and closed her eyes and sent as much comfort and affection as she could to her mate. Because the insults were his, and so was the hurt, because this was his father. Who should have loved him, should have cared for him, and... didn’t.

She would. For all her days. She would make sure he knew what it felt like to be wanted, whether he worked in the Hall, or joined one of the fishing boats and they took to the seas.

Well. She would fly. Never cared much for boats. And she’d seen some of the anglers, their attire quite different from what they would wear in the city, and she could well imagine how fine Lucian might look, glistening from the sea-mists and bright suns...

“A student of law and governance,” Lucian answered tightly. “I do not believe I’ve ever heard that reduced to beggar before, but you know far more than I do.”

“A student,” Oberon repeated. “Under which master? Because I have not seen you shadow my door. I have not seen you come to me for lessons or assignments.” He leaned forward, expression dark. “So yes, I call you beggar.”

She could sense the tension in her mate. Could see the way his fingers twitched in want of a fist, yet he did not allow it to form. “I always thought nothing occurred in the Hall without your knowledge. It seems I am to be proved wrong in more ways than I anticipated.” He bowed his head and turned his back to his father. Respect and disrespect, all in seamless motion. “Come along,” he urged her, and she nodded.

“You have not been discharged,” Oberon called, and she could hear the hobnails of his boots against the cobbles as he came nearer to them. “Not from my tutelage. You, therefore, cannot seek another master until I have done so.”

Lucian turned his head, his steps slowing, but not quite ceasing. “You’ll forgive me,” Lucian answered, the space between them necessitating a louder voice, but he did not give it. “I have become rather shaken of late. It seems not everything you have told me has been... accurate. I have a master willing to teach me. And if you wish to bring our family squabbles before the Hall, I, of course, will have to answer. But until then...” He kept moving.

And Firen could well feel the glares that followed them, the threats that Oberon longed to make but could not—not when there were others about that might hear them. Would hear. If he lost his temper as he had and hurled each word with all the force of his displeasure.

They turned the corner. And Lucian stopped, leaning against the stone wall for support as he closed his eyes and looked thoroughly pained.

Firen did not hesitate. She didn’t ask if he was all right, did not ask if he wanted to go back and smooth things between them. Instead, she wrapped her arms about him and held him as tightly as she could, until his breath levelled and he held her in return. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, because she was. Not for anything she’d done, but because of who his father was. And neither of them could help that.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered, but there was a catch in his throat, and there was a shudder through him that betrayed just how much of a lie it was.

She didn’t correct him. Just laid her head against his chest until he stopped shaking, and let him be the one to stand straighter. To pat her shoulder as if she was the one he’d been indulging, and she let him do that, too.

“Registrar,” he reminded her, tapping the map still clutched in one hand. “You were leading us.” She hadn’t been, but she smiled anyway, and did her best to embrace the excitement she’d felt earlier.

She smoothed her map and her skirt, and wiped briefly at her eyes in case she had shed any of the tears that Lucian wouldn’t. “Right.” She hesitated, knowing he wanted to get moving. To set it all aside. “Lucian,” she murmured, because she was going to let it go. She wasn’t going to pester and would simply add all this to the top of her list to talk about when they were home again together.

“Firen,” Lucian sighed, and she shook her head firmly before he could put her off.

“Just one thing. Then I’ll leave it.”

He grunted once, and looked at her as if he fully expected some chastisement, and she hated it. Hoped that came from a lifetime before and not what she’d done since they’d known one another. “I’m proud of you. Very much so. I just... needed you to know that.”

He opened his mouth once then closed it again, too surprised at the turn of her thoughts to offer anything he’d already decided upon. Which was all right. She’d keep her kisses and the rest of her thoughts to herself. There was always later. With privacy and tangled limbs to make it all the easier to talk.

“Registrar,” she repeated, and it took five steps before Lucian caught up behind her.

Took another two before he placed his arm about her waist to keep her close as they walked.

Just because.

And if the Registrar thought her smile too wide or her manner too agreeable, she kept those complaints to herself.

So that was all right, too.