1.2
So she got to her feet, and stood her ground, and made sure she held his gaze as she chided him. “No, it isn’t.” Her voice did not waver and her hands did not shake, although perhaps that was simply because of her hold on the book. “There have been many who have insisted I find him. Ones that frighten me a great deal more than you do. And if I can hold them off, I can surely keep you from him as well.”
She hadn’t meant for her voice to tighten, for her temper to flare. She wasn’t sure she had any of it left in her, as her bouts of childhood indignation had long ago been tamped out.
Lucian appeared slightly taken aback by her outburst, and he said nothing for a moment.
Until her mortification spread through her, the words harsh and without merit.
Not true. Not exactly.
But he hadn’t earned them.
He simply was the one she would be safe enough to speak them to.
Tears welled, and she shook her head, fully prepared to scuttle back to her tower and cover herself with blankets and self-recrimination alike.
But his hands settled on her shoulders before she had managed even a full step away from him. “It is different,” Lucian argued, voice thick but sincere. “Because you could not trust their motivations. What they might have done if they found him unsuitable. ” Her breath caught, the mere idea of it enough to make her shrink inside. “He could be limbless. He could have some sort of mutation that turned his skin purple. I do not care, so long as he was kind to you. That you cared for him and I might see you smile.”
She did not deserve his consideration, but she could not help crying.
Could not help how she allowed herself to sink against him as he held her, the silly book still trapped between them. “Have you sought him out?” he asked gently. “Is that the trouble? You know they would not approve?” He laid his hand on the back of her head, and she thought Firen had taught him a great deal how to comfort a woman through her upset. In childhood, he’d been stiff and offered nothing but the occasional pat if she was particularly distraught.
She didn’t think she could explain to him. Not fully. Not when those fears ran so deeply. She felt like she would flay herself open in this very courtyard, bleeding and broke and unable to pull herself together again.
“It was worth it, you know. I would not trade Firen for anything. Not even for my father’s approval.”
Orma sniffed once and nodded, pulling back from him. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “I know that.”
Lucian’s hand went through his hair, tugging lightly. It made him look like his boyhood self again—all frustration and hard angles and knobby elbows. Perhaps not that part, because his robes covered much, and he wore a dignified set of sleeves to cover the rest.
There was much more he wanted to say, but he didn’t.
More ways he wanted to press at her. Reassure her.
She cut in before he could make up his mind to do so. She couldn’t bear it, not even from him. “Let it be,” Orma pleaded, patting his arm and taking a few steps back so he could see her intention to leave. “Please.”
He grumbled something too low for her to hear. “For now,” he allowed, and although she was certain he did not mean it as a threat, it still felt like one. “For the moment,” he amended, although there was a teasing lilt to his voice that brought a smile, no matter how small, to her lips.
“Is that master of yours teaching you to be relentless? I am not sure that was a quality you needed perfected.”
“Firen,” Lucian admitted. “Turns out I like to get what I want. And that was her.”
She swallowed, strangely touched by his candour. His affection for her was more than apparent, but they were careful of her. Their touches did not linger, their glances were short and polite.
She did not doubt it was much different when they were alone.
“I am glad for you,” she assured him. “But it is different for me.”
Orma did not want an argument, only for him to understand. Which he couldn’t, not with how little she was willing to give to him.
“If you say so,” he countered with a glance that suggested she was abominably foolish, but she quieted anything further.
Thanked him instead.
Because he was sweet when he did not have to be. Lingered on her behalf when there was somewhere much more appealing.
Someone more appealing.
“Another time,” she amended, for she did like the idea of time spent with the both of them.
Liked it better if she did not feel such an intruder on their private happiness.
She’d almost made it. Almost put enough distance between them so she could retreat in peace and without further discord.
But of course Lucian had to be so frustratingly himself.
Evidently, his time with Firen had not taught him when to retreat. When it was better to let an argument lie.
When he did not need to have the final word, despite the pride he would most assuredly claim he did not possess.
“What is the worst that might happen?” he asked, his voice raised enough to cover the distance between them.
She flinched, her eyes darting around in case any had intruded upon them enough to hear.
But there were none.
It was a quiet day. The warmth would set families toward the water, to fly and dive and make use of the beaches for picnics and other frivolities.
The fear came first.
The anger came after.
Hotter and brighter, her teeth setting, her grip tightening as she turned back to face him. He suddenly felt very much her enemy rather than the friend who had comforted her only a moment before. “You dare to ask me that?”
He did not seem troubled by her anger. Dared to appear at ease as he sank his shoulder against the tree, allowing it to support him rather than stand properly on his own two feet.
He really was insufferable.
But he was kin, so what did she expect?
“I dare,” Lucian affirmed. “Because it is a poison eating away your insides, and you will not let it out.”
She took a step forward with no great thought of doing so. She was not one for violent outbursts—she retreated. Stewed. Until the hurt was covered over by something near a callous and it did not bother her unless it was poked at.
“Always so confident,” she bit out. “That everything shall work out in your favour.” It wasn’t like her. None of this was. But she couldn’t bear to hold that wretched book any longer, and she found herself tossing it away from her with something far too near to disgust. Not a toss. A throw. Which was a horrid thing, because it was part of a collection, and it had done no wrong, and yet still it was a victim of her ire. Lucian watched it go, brows raised as if he had never expected such a thing from her. She could not blame him—she hardly recognised herself.
“The last time I followed,” she continued, and there were no tears this time. Only a flare of energy that set her threads to shimmering, and she could not even enjoy it. They would dim soon enough, and with them, what remained of her strength for the day. “It led to the most horrible pain I could possibly imagine. And everyone is so certain. Now that I am older, it will be different. Everything will settle into place and I will be well again.”
She wished she had her book back. Wished she could chuck it at him instead. “No one knows that. I certainly don’t, and I can see them.” Her hand turned to a fist, and she pushed it against her chest. “I am afraid.” It was more of an admission than she had meant to give, but she had intended none of this, had she? “No, I am terrified. And yet I have to also endure everyone’s pressure to simply get on with things.”
“Orma,” Lucian reached for her, and she shook her head firmly. She would not accept his comfort, not now. “That is...” He paused, allowed his hand to drop and at least he was not standing so casually against the tree any longer. “I did not intend it as pressure.”
She sniffed, although there were no tears to hold back. “Intended or not, I feel it.”
He frowned. “Then for that, I am very sorry.” She had expected him to argue for longer, so his quick acquiescence briefly stunted her tongue. “Can I suggest a compromise?”
It was not a nod she gave—more of the barest dip of her chin that might be taken for agreement. She hadn’t meant to be beastly to him. Or to the book even now he was stooping to retrieve. Wiped it off with his sleeve, but did not offer it back to her. Probably for the best, lest she use it as a weapon against him.
Her insides cringed just to think of what she’d done. What she’d said.
She’d meant it, but that made it worse. She could not claim a momentary lapse, full of apologies because it was all temper and nothing of truth.
“What if,” Lucian mused, thumbing through the book, presumably in search of damage. She might not forgive herself if there was any. “We find him. Just the two of us. I can order you a cart if you cannot fly the whole way.” She looked down at the ground, horrified he might realise that would be part of the trouble. Had she truly grown so sickly?
A foolish question. She need only a glance at the looking glass to know she had.
“We judge his character from afar. And if we find him lacking, we leave again. And I douse you in so many tonics, you won’t have any hope of feeling anything at all—pain or otherwise.”
Orma swallowed. Hope flickered. Small, yet terrible.
“What if we are in disagreement?” she asked quietly. “Would you call out to him? Secure his attention and believe your judgement superior to mine?” Because if he knew, if he saw, it would be over. There would be no returning home, no nursing her wounds privately any longer. He’d be there, insistent and worried, as he peeled back the layers of her hurts and made her relive them all over again.
She hated the prospect of it.
Wanted to give a firm refusal and be done with it.
Then why wasn’t she?
Why did she stand, worrying at her skirts and imagining this ridiculous plan and all the ways it might go wrong?
Might go right.
She rubbed at her eyes, feeling the beginnings or a wretched headache settling behind them. “Why are you doing this to me?”
She did not know if her query was to her cousin or to the Maker, but she supposed it did not really matter.
She heard Lucian’s measured steps forward, waiting for her to retreat. To fling something at him, whether in word or other projectiles she potentially hid upon her person, but she let him come. “The only one that will approach your mate is you,” Lucian swore. “He will not hear a word from me. If you say we go, we will do so. With as little fuss as possible.” His hand came to her shoulder, and he squeezed it just the once. “And I press and I argue because I care for you. Is that such a surprise?”
Her hands fell away, and she forced herself to look at him. To the crease between his brow that showed just how worried he was. For her.
All the anger left her in a single rush.
It left her light-headed and unstable, and he put his arm about her and kept her upright, and she felt all the usual frustration that she was weak and feeble and so needy.
“Come on,” Lucian urged. “Let’s get you home. You can think about it, all right? I won’t even mention it again. Not until you do.”
She was grateful he did not ask if she was all right. Did not ask what was wrong. She had no more answers than anyone else. Even the healers and their streams of texts and rote answers had quieted long before.
She was an anomaly. Something to be studied and poked at. More specimen than person.
“You going to carry me?” she asked, hoping it sounded like the tease she intended. Feared it came out sounding childish and tired.
His eyes narrowed, and he leaned down, peering at her closely. “You so bad off that you’d let me?”
She snorted softly and shoved at him, because the moment had passed. She did not trust herself to fly, but she would allow him to walk with her. Perhaps even nearer than was usual in case she needed to grab hold of his arm along the way. “No,” she answered crisply.
Orma reached out a hand for her book, but he shook his head slowly. “You might throw it at me again,” he explained, tucking it beneath his arm before he grabbed hold of her hand and placed it at the crook of his elbow.
“I did not!” she insisted, because it was true and she wouldn’t have him thinking otherwise. No matter how she wished she’d kept it long enough, she might have. “Take it back.” She tugged at his arm as they started moving. “I’ll not have you telling tales to Firen about me.”
He made a great show of furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “I think she’d wish to know. Let her have a few words with you when next you meet.” He smirked at her, and had to stifle the urge to shove at him again. If her wing spread slightly and caught at his hair, that wasn’t her fault, really. He was the one that positioned them so close to one another for the walk home. “For supper,” he continued. “Because you said you’d come. Soon.”
She had not said soon. And she hadn’t considered it a promise, either. More peace offering than genuine commitment, but he was determined to hold her to it.
“Are you threatening me with your mate?”
He hummed. “Maybe. She grew up with brothers. She can be fierce when she wants to be.”
His expression turned to one of great pride. No, more than that. He admired her. Loved her.
Orma swallowed as she saw the tendrils about him flare and glow. Would Firen feel the bond warm even with the distance between them? Would she know he was thinking of her?
Her throat tightened.
She thought of the boy often.
Well. The man he must have become.
Even when she shouldn’t. When it made the tangle hurt even more. When it made it all so bad that she had to take one of the many draughts afterward—still, she thought of him.
Dreamed of him.
She wanted it. Craved it so deeply, it was an entirely different sort of ache.
She was a coward.
Selfish, too.
Deciding something on her own that affected someone else so fundamentally.
“Can you...” she began, swallowing thickly. “I know you aren’t supposed to ask this. But can you... maybe... not tell her what I said? About... being afraid?”
“Orma,” Lucian murmured, his voice lowering as they passed a few people along the way. “You needn’t worry about that. You can share with her what you will, and when you choose to do it.”
Her relief was profound.
Her home loomed. A prison and a shelter all at once.
“Thank you,” she answered, pulling her hand away from his arm. “I can go the rest of the way. Unless you’re eager to see my mother.” His expression was answer enough, and she laughed lightly to herself. “I’m sorry for shouting at you,” she added, because it would plague her later if she did not say it now.
It was Lucian’s turn to chuckle. “That was hardly shouting,” Lucian soothed. “I am not certain you know how to raise your voice.”
Embarrassment flickered all the same. “It felt like it,” she insisted. “I was very cross with you.”
He hummed.
Handed her back the book so she might return it to the rest of its set. “Off you go,” he urged. “Think about my offer.”
Her throat hurt.
Everything hurt, actually.
“I will.”
And she meant it.
Even if she’d need quite a few tonics afterward, she would think about it all.