7. Mate
Orma didn’t know what woke her.
It was still night out. The lamp had been snuffed when Athan came to bed.
She shifted, squinting into the dark, trying to make out his form beside her. The moon must be sleeping because it was particularly black in the room, so she huffed and settled for putting her hand toward him.
She expected a muffled sound in protest. A sleep-filled murmur that she should go back to sleep and they could sort out anything in the morning.
But the bedding was cold, and there were no protestations, and she sat up with a terrible feeling somewhere between the bond and her gut.
It was a patient, that was all. She must have slept deeper than she thought, and he’d be next door, tending to whatever emergency had pulled him away from her.
But the unsettled feeling wouldn’t pass, and the bond was strangely quiet. Almost... remote.
She’d ask Brum what he thought.
There was a slight chill in the air but she did not bother to dig out a shawl from her trunk. All was quiet in the house, and she crept down the stairs, this time her care coming from nerves rather than consideration for her hip. She peeked in the sitting room, but he wasn’t in his chair. Not sprawled out on her chaise.
She grew doubtful. Maybe she should have looked in the spare room after all, to see if perhaps he’d slept poorly and wanted his old bed for company rather than her.
She heard Brum padding through the kitchen, and the sound was more comfort to her than she had expected. She wasn’t alone. Not fully.
There was a hint of light in the kitchen, and she moved as quietly as she could, afraid of disturbing the Brum if he’d settled.
He was on his cushion, his large head settled between his two paws, and he glanced up at her, his tail thumping in welcome.
Orma swallowed, her attention drifting quickly from the Brum, and toward the man seated at the table.
There were books. Many of them. Far more than her father had sent from their initial visit. The papers were unsheathed and spread out across the whole of the tabletop, a few escaping to settle on the floor instead.
His head was buried in his hands, and she crept forward, afraid of startling him. More afraid of knowing what was happening.
He’d been fine. Seemed fine. He’d petted and held her and whispered all the right things about how much he cared for her.
They’d shared a delicious supper after she’d napped for a while, and he’d kissed her sweetly when they’d gone to bed together.
A small, bitter part of her wanted to ask if he was dwelling.
But that was petty. Wretched.
And he was hurting.
He was doing his best to hold it back from her. She could feel that now. His body was tense and every so often his shoulders would heave and it took her longer than it should have to realise he was crying.
Silently.
With his mate’s terrible history laid out in front of him.
He hadn’t waited for her. He’d delved into the entire messy business and she was supposed to be cross about that, wasn’t she? They were supposed to share in it, so she could feel in control of her own records.
Why then was there relief?
He’d left her alone. Gone to her family home and brought back the whole of that dreadful shelf.
Then tormented himself while she slept.
She approached quietly. She should say something. Chide him.
Love him.
That was just the whisper of the bond, surely.
Her heart hammered away in her chest.
Or maybe not.
He was hers, and he was hurting, and while she might not have been the direct cause, it was still for her sake.
She didn’t want to frighten him—if their positions were reversed, she would startle badly if he snuck up behind while she was in distress.
But words were small, and touch was better, and so she settled for pushing as much affection and comfort as she could through the cord between them. He didn’t seem to notice, not until her hand was on his shoulder.
He stiffened. Flinched.
Then brushed at his face with far more force than was necessary as he tried to tamp it all back. “Athan...”
“I know I should have waited for you,” he admitted, a strange dullness in his tone. “You’ve a right to be angry.”
She moved her hand from his shoulder to brush through his hair at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly. “You think I’m angry?”
He made a strange, strangled sort of sound. “I am.” It was barely audible, but a confession she felt through her very bones. Her fingers paused, and she almost asked if he was angry at her.
But paused.
Took a breath.
How many times must he reassure her on that front? He did not think her a disappointment. She did. He did not regret her as his mate. He was angry with her parents, with her healers, but not with her. Never with her. She was a child. She’d been hurt and her trust had been abused, and perhaps she hadn’t been the bravest when she’d reached her majority. But he held none of that against her, and she...
She was going to believe him.
Her attention drifted briefly to the pages in front of him. She swallowed thickly when she saw the diagrams, the careful notes they’d taken about the incisions, the appearance of her womb, underdeveloped given her age. They were hopeful results would prove favourable very quickly. She’d been slow to wake, and it was recommended that for any further procedures, a half-spoon less of tincture be given.
Athan slammed the book closed.
He moved so quickly it startled her, but before she could say anything else, could ask if he was all right, if he needed to talk, or... if she should find someone else he might talk to if it was too difficult for it to be her...
He turned in his seat and wrapped his arms about her middle, burying his face in her torso.
While he cried.
For her.
For what might have been.
She could not recall seeing her father cry. Not once. He’d hold her mother and his jaw would tighten, and he’d look so severe, as if his gaze could abolish any problem if he stared long enough.
“It’s all right to be angry,” Orma murmured because...
Because no one had ever told her that. Always smooth it over. Tuck it away. Remember to be grateful for all the effort everyone took on her behalf. Be brave. Take the medicine. It’ll work this time. She just had to have a little faith.
And somehow along the way, they’d managed to kill that little flame inside of her. The one that knew, that knew with the whole of her being if she could just reach her mate, everything would be all right.
They hadn’t asked, had they?
Athan did.
He wanted to know what she thought. How she felt. Didn’t ask her to shove it away so it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. He wanted her to talk, to share. And it was all so strange and...
Really rather wonderful.
No, they hadn’t killed it. Because she felt it now, strong and urgent. They should have listened. Shouldn’t have assumed they knew better.
Shouldn’t have frightened her into keeping Athan a secret. Should have encouraged her to find him, no matter his station, no matter his blood. Because she needed him, and he was hers, and that was enough.
Her arms came about him, holding him close. “What brought this on?” she prompted, skimming her fingers through his hair. She felt oddly calm. As if there was only so much room for feelings, and Athan was taking them at the moment. And that was just fine with her. “I must say, I did not like waking up to an empty bed.”
That earned a chuckle out of her mate, and he brought his head up, propping his head against her sternum as he looked at her. There were tight lines about his eyes, and she was struck with how little he’d been sleeping. He’d stopped waking her throughout the night to check her breathing and her heart, but perhaps he hadn’t stopped checking on her in other ways. To see if she was still there, still beside him.
“I didn’t like doing it,” he promised her. “But I couldn’t... I wanted to just get it over with. To see it all written out, and then we can tuck them away and move forward.”
Orma nodded, for she felt much the same. “This is more than we brought with us.”
Athan gave a sheepish sort of grimace. “Your father was awake. A little confused perhaps, but he understood well enough.”
Orma took a breath, refusing to be upset that he’d seen her family without her. She was going to trust him. He would look after her, whether or not she was within earshot.
“Athan,” she murmured, touching his cheek gently. “If you feel some regrets, that’s all right, too.” She didn’t want him to have to pretend. Not for her sake.
It was his turn to reach for her. To cup her cheek and hold her still while he held her attention. “I’m upset for you,” Athan clarified. “For your childhood. If there are regrets, is that I couldn’t have endured it for you.”
He had such a way of making her feel things. Where her insides squirmed in a way that was impossibly pleasant. How she grew flustered and found him so endearing, with just a look. A kind word. “Might I confess something to you?”
Something in his tone suggested it would not be more sweetness, not a sheepish admission of his affection for her.
She nodded, because she would deny him nothing. Not when he’d given her everything.
He did not answer immediately. He took a breath, and brushed his thumb against her cheek, and he looked so supremely sad that it made her ache inside. “I’ve been imagining going to the Hall.”
Orma’s breath caught. “Finding a lawmancer. Handing over all of this and trying to find some measure of justice for you.”
Her father was a judicator. One of three. The others were settled in their own towers, doubtlessly aware of the delicate nature of her situation.
Athan wouldn’t know that.
“Athan...” she murmured, not knowing what she meant to say. The concept horrified her. For her private matters to be shown to a stranger. To be talked about, looked at...
It was enough to make her want to be sick.
He ran his hand down her torso, smoothing over her hip. “I do not want your parents banished. Please do not mistake me.”
Her throat felt too tight and her skin itched all over, but she stood her ground because he’d asked her to listen. “It’s the others. The ones that might even now have patients relying on them. And they will sit there, with all the hurt they’ve caused, and think themselves good.”
He bit out the word as if it was a poison, and she could well imagine why. Athan was good. A good man, and an excellent healer. If he’d been summoned to her case, regardless of their status as mates, he would have seen a little girl hurting in ways she’d never known. He’d have talked with her, urged her to share all she could. Found a solution that didn’t involve cutting and...
She wasn’t mutilated. She wasn’t. There were scars, and she’d never bear a child, but it wasn’t the same, was it?
Her eyes burned. Her throat, too.
She would make them tea. It was a meagre skill, and she would have to ask him for help with the stove, but it would give her something to do. Something tangible.
Her feet wouldn’t move. Not when he was still touching her. Looking at her.
Waiting.
For her to accept? To agree to go? To share her story and insist that each of those men be brought before the Hall to face the tribunal?
Her father would be there.
Accusations would land upon him as well. He’d allowed it, hadn’t he? Each and every procedure.
“They did nothing wrong,” Orma reminded him, her voice wooden. “The bond wasn’t complete, therefore it wouldn’t constitute interference.” The words weren’t hers, and Athan seemed to realise it, his eyes narrowing as he sat back.
He almost removed his touch, but he kept a loose hold on her hips as if afraid she’d scamper away from him.
“You believe that?” Athan asked, trying and failing to keep the incredulity from his tone.
Orma looked up at the ceiling and took a breath, holding it until her lungs burned before she released it. “I believe,” she began, trying to choose her words carefully. Trying even harder to keep from being sucked into memories she couldn’t escape. “That I love you for wanting to fight for me. For caring so much about what happened to me.” She took another breath, quicker this time. Managed to bring her eyes down so she might look at him. “I admire your dedication to others. That you’d want to save them from...” her words failed her, so she gestured over the mounds of papers and the horrid books. “As my mate, you’d have a right to petition the court. To claim interference. You might even win.”
His mouth opened, but she shook her head. “But I love my family. I do not know what that says about me, or if it is some failing on my part that I do not wish to betray them, but I don’t. There have been none like me for generations. No one else will endure what I did. If you go, if you tell of what happened, you will go alone.”
It hurt just to say it. To feel a wedge driven between them, a piercing, tearing sort of pain because the bond was badly jostled. They were supposed to discuss matters. Compromise. But on this...
She closed her eyes, willing the awful feeling to go away. To bring the calm back, the urge to be the one to comfort instead of desperately wanting him to soothe her. To pet and murmur until all was quiet.
She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t cry and whimper.
She needed to speak for herself. Needed to be more than a patient hiding in her bed.
Athan brought his arms about her.
Tugged her forward.
Not to settle across her lap as she’d done before, but to straddle him as she sank down with a startled gasp.
They were nearly at eye level, and she searched for his anger. She wasn’t supposed to make declarations like that. She should be quiet and yielding, should support him in what he thought best.
Isn’t that what Mama did?
Or... was it?
That’s how she was in public, but everyone had heard some of their stronger arguments as they seeped beneath their door, back when her bedroom was located nearer the others.
She should stop talking before she made matters worse, but they kept pouring out. Much like her tears always had. She wasn’t certain she liked this better.
“This is my life,” she insisted, brushing her hand against one of the piles. She didn’t swipe it onto the floor, but she very nearly wanted to. “Mine. And... I know it affects you, please don’t think I don’t realise that, but...”
“Orma,” Athan cut in, brushing his lips against hers ever so briefly. “Orma,” he repeated, because her breath was in short little pants. His hand smoothed up her back, then down again. Over and over. Until she could breathe again. In and out.
Because he was doing it with her.
They were all right.
He wasn’t angry.
She was allowed to tell him what she thought. This was a discussion, not an argument.
He wanted to go to the Hall.
She wanted to fly out the window and disappear into the great mountains beyond.
“You have been deprived of too much already,” Athan continued, when at last she could coax her eyes into focusing on his features rather than her own imaginings. “It was only a thought, not a plan. A wish.” He smoothed her hair behind her ears. “But if the sacrifice is you and your happiness, then it will be one that is unfulfilled.”
A weight settled in her chest. “I want you to have what you want,” Orma reminded him. “I don’t want to get in the way.”
He huffed out a breath and shook his head, and there were whispers of a chuckle hidden at the edges. “I want you.” He kissed her, just once. So softly she might not have thought it real except she’d kept her eyes open and she knew he’d moved. “I want you to be happy.”
A strange sort of impasse. The same desire, but both so certain they were in the other’s way.
She let herself shiver. Let herself feel the uncertainty and the pressing worry that no matter what she tried, she would make this man miserable.
Then she swallowed.
Took a breath.
And kissed him.
Perhaps he was content with almost non-existent kisses, but she wasn’t. She could fret. She could state her intentions and they might not perfectly align with his.
And they would kiss anyway.
Because they belonged to each other, and this was right and real and when he answered her hesitation with active participation...
She knew she’d done right.
Perhaps she should be troubled by what was spread out beside them. Should be considerate of the Brum nestled by their feet.
Tomorrow, she would be. But now, in this not quite night, not quite morning, she would kiss her mate and make her claim, and she refused to doubt herself. Doubt him.
The bond glowed. She didn’t have to look. Not with her eyes tightly closed and her attention more focused on his lips against hers, the feel of his fingers through her hair as she clutched him closer. Had she moved? She couldn’t remember?
He broke away first. Which would not be all right, except that he nuzzled against her cheek and pressed kisses against her jaw while she was left to bring in tight, shivery breaths because she was becoming more than aware she was straddling his lap. “You said that you loved me,” Athan murmured into her skin. “Did you mean it?”
Had she? She couldn’t remember. Everything was a blur. But maybe that was something she’d learned to do. To forget during times of stress. To shove it away so it couldn’t hurt her anymore than necessary.
She could tell him that. She could pretend he wasn’t looking at her from the corner of his eye. Pretend she couldn’t feel the way he craved her answer so desperately through the bond.
She couldn’t give him that if she didn’t mean it. She couldn’t lie, not even to please him.
It settled over her so gently she didn’t even have time to be afraid of it.
She turned her cheek so she could press a kiss to wherever she might reach, and was rewarded when he brought his lips back to hers. Just once. Teasing. Coaxing.
Waiting.
For her answer.
Always patient, her Athan. Even when she could feel his insides twisting as he tried to make it all right if she rescinded it.
Perhaps it wasn’t the sort of love she’d have when they were old. When they’d built their entire life together. Found the Brum a mate and filled the corners of their home with over-large offspring.
It wasn’t even the sort her parents had—built of time and dedication and a loyalty that seemed unending.
But it was a start. Something tender. Untried. Or... nearly so.
But it was enough.
Enough to make it genuine when she looked him in the eye. When she pushed as much of those aching affections back at him so he might feel them for himself. “I meant it,” she promised him, her voice soft and her heart a great deal more vulnerable than she cared to admit.
He made a strange sound in the back of his throat as he brought them back together. Not a hum, not a groan...
A purr.
Soft and gentle.
That turned her insides all warm as he embraced her, his arms so tight about her she could scarcely breathe. It didn’t matter. Not when she felt all his joy rushing through her as steadily as the stream in his back garden.
She’d done that.
Done something right at last.