Page 100 of Fate

Which had been heartily disappointing to her, and it had been so long ago she was certain the tree would have grown to be a magnificent addition to their home, the fruit plentiful and perhaps even burdensome unless she dedicated herself to making preserves.

She did not startle her mother again. It was amusing once, but would be a little mean if she did it twice. Besides, there was a customer, and they might find their games off-putting, and coin mattered.

She landed gently, taking her time walking toward her family stall, thoughts occupied with what she meant to buy. Not juice. She hadn’t brought a flask, and the bottles were far more expensive. But maybe it could be considered a celebration, andshe should consider something fermented, something bubbly and rich that would sweeten their inevitable kisses and...

Her head tilted as she watched as Mama’s brow furrowed. They did not seem to be paying much attention to the wares any longer. Instead, the woman reached out and put her hand on her mother’s arm.

Mama glanced at it, then seemed to notice Firen, and gestured her over.

She came quickly enough, dread filling her belly when she made out just who the woman was.

“Ellena,” she greeted, a tightness in her voice that shamed her just a little. Gracious in all things. Forgiving.

Strong, too. She mustn’t forget that. “Are you in need of jewellery?” She added that part more sweetly, but it sounded disingenuous to her own ears. “Or chimes, perhaps? Something to liven up your garden might be nice.”

Ellena’s head turned, and Firen did not stop to remain beside her. She slipped inside the stall, the counter between them, and she forced a smile to her face even as she urged her wings to settle down. To show no hint of unease.

The chimes jingled merrily in the breeze. They really would do much for the tower’s garden. Make it feel less forgotten and neglected.

“Oh. Thank you but...” Ellena swallowed. She appeared tired, even beneath the obvious attempts not to seem so. “I had rather hoped to speak with you.”

Firen’s brows raised in surprise. “And you thought I would still work here?”

Which she would have. Or might be. She hadn’t decided what she intended to do.

Ellena’s eyes darted about, as if Oberon himself would soon come up behind her. Maybe he would, for all Firen knew, butsomehow she doubted he much cared for the bustle of the market. Not when there were so many common folk about.

“I thought you... might.” Her mouth twisted, and Firen was acutely aware of how much it had cost her to come here. To leave her stone walls just for a conversation.

She seemed the sort that was far more used to summoning. For others to await her leisure.

Perhaps it should have softened Firen some, to see her effort, and maybe it did. But only the smallest bit. “Me, or your son?” Firen asked, giving her a rather pointed look. “This is not his trade, as I’m sure you know.”

Mama put a hand on Firen’s shoulder, and she became more aware of how they’d pulled tight with a strain she promised herself she would not feel.

She took a deep breath.

“This is my mother, Aylin.”

Ellena had graces enough to lower her head, but only just. “We were becoming acquainted,” she assured Firen. “You look much like her.”

Which was likely a compliment, as Firen’s appearance seemed to be her lone attribute they did not fault.

Firen itched to sit down, but her manners were too well ingrained to do so when Ellena could not. “Thank you,” Firen murmured, because that was all she could think to say.

“This is hardly the place for a talk,” Mama insisted.

“Of course. I am keeping you from your work.” Ellena took a step to the side, as if there was someone waiting to take her place. There wasn’t. Most did not care to crowd about. If a stall was occupied, patrons would move on—coming back only if they had a particular need. “Only...” she huffed out a breath, and her hands clasped together tightly down by her hips. “I do not know where else to go.”

This was some sort of trick, wasn’t it? For Firen to feel sorry for her and offer their new address.

What might she have done if they were still situated in the workroom loft? Would she have walked through the smithy and sat on their shoved together beds and be glad of it if it meant seeing Lucian? Or would she have expected to be entertained in her mother’s sitting room, all the while insisting the home was inadequate for her son?

They were unkind thoughts, but they felt too real and came too readily to be dismissed.

“If you have a note, I will pass it along,” Firen offered as gently as she could. “Or...”

Ellena’s expression grew pained, although she tried to hide. “I do not...” She shook her head. “A walk, then. So we do not intrude on your mother’s stall. Please,” she added, her hand twitching out in want of Firen’s arm.

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