Page 107 of Fate

Ellena did not smile back, but nodded absently. “You’ll do fine.”

Which felt a greater compliment than was reasonable, yet still warmed her all over because it was the first that felt genuinely given.

They did not ascend to the loft, and Firen was grateful as Mama urged them to the kitchen for their tea. She hadn’t any idea if it was typical to show off one’s personal quarters, but she found herself happy to keep them separate. She’d spend part of the morning tidying the bed and folding clothes that had somehow escaped out of her wardrobe, but those could be to her benefit alone.

Ellena’s head turned about when they entered the kitchen. Mama was right when she said it was not large, but there was room enough for the table, and bright windows that let in morning light, which she thought her flowers appreciated.

“No room just for dining,” Firen commented before Ellena could do so. “I thought we might sit here. But if you’d be more comfortable in the sitting room, we could go there or...”

“This is fine,” Ellena stopped her before she could continue to prattle on with more options.

Mama urged her to sit, gesturing toward one chair as Mama took the one opposite. Which left the head for Firen—not that she would sit yet. She had water to pour, and treats to put out on their pretty plate painted with blue flowers along the edge.

Nothing matched. Not the cups and not the individual plates she’d set at each table so they would not have to resort to putting pastries on cloth napkins. She was certain Ellena had a set of dishes that were all from the same artisan—poured, painted, and fired to be displayed all on the same table.

Hers were little treasures she’d collected when she could afford them. A piece here, another there. Ones that were pretty and caught her eye amongst the other remnants. She hoped her table might be seen as charming. She’d spent a good portion of the night preparing herself to accept any criticisms Ellena mightput to her, but she could not pretend she was ready for any of them.

Firen asked a silent blessing over the pot before she poured. Perhaps it was a silly thing to do, as tea could do much, but it could not mend everything. “I’m afraid my only contribution is the table and the tea. Everything else was made by someone else.” She’d considered trying to make something, but every time she plucked a recipe from her meagre selection, she grew too nervous and dismissed the venture entirely.

“You’ve more knowledge than I have, then,” Ellena countered. “Even my tea is prepared for me. I do not even make the selections for my guests. I say only how many are to attend, and it all appears.” She did not say it boastfully—it was simply how she lived. What she knew.

And Firen was reminded yet again how little they knew one another.

Mama’s head turned marginally toward Firen, but she did fully glance her way. “I cannot tell you how much I longed for just such a service when my children were small. Sometimes the last thing in the world one wants to do is cook.”

And so it went. Little revelations that were smoothed over by Mama—or Firen, once she got the hang of them.

Ellena never visited Oberon in the Hall?

Mama was certain her mate would prefer his workshop all to himself without her intrusions, either.

Lucian spent little time at home?

Neither did Mama’s sons. Not after they had mates and most particularly once the children came. Visiting had to be done in their own homes—much easier when there were little ones about. Didn’t she agree?

Which inevitably led Ellena to giving Firen a rather thorough glancing over, as if she might tell if a child had rooted there. Should she be honest? Tell her of Lucian’s hesitations?

Those were private. Personal. It was one thing if Lucian was there to speak for himself; it was quite another to speak his mind for him.

She had been very good. Hadn’t tugged on the bond at all, even when the temptation swelled each time Ellena’s words grew a little tighter, a little less gracious. She was trying—Firen could see that quite plainly. But every time she relaxed, so would her caution.

It was not awful. Not enough that Firen had even considered stepping out of the room to cool her breath and the rising of her blood, but there were little things that troubled her.

The frown she gave when Mama talked of her sons’ fledglings. The glances over her shoulder that seemed to grow in frequency the longer they sat and talked.

It took Firen far too long to realise the source. Her first thought had been she did not like being seated in a kitchen, or that their conversation was not to her liking.

But then there was a sound, and her head turned, eyes over-bright as she turned almost fully in her seat. There was no tinkling of bells hidden behind walls. Just the sound of the latch being pulled, the door opening wide.

Firen was the first to stand, as she had the best view of the door itself, but Ellena was not far behind. It was not a competition—Firen did not purpose to be the first to hurry to greet Lucian. It was instinct only that had her fluttering her wings down the hall to quicken her steps as they skimmed along the bare wood.

“I did not know you could come,” she chided, for he could have left a note to reassure her.

His smile was sheepish, but he accepted the kiss on his cheek by gripping her waist, no matter how briefly. “I wasn’t sure I could manage it. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He did not release her, but his attention went over her shoulder, and Firen turned her head to see Ellena watching the both of them, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Lucian,” she murmured, almost contrite.

No.

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