Page 18 of Fate

But she needn’t make him feel worse. From the way he was tugging at his hair, was glancing at her with full assurance she would soon fly through the window once more. He knew theirs was not an equal pairing. Not in the way he thought. Not her with her home in the fourth district. With hands that knew hard work rather than ample book-learning.

But because her father would never dream of treating her mate with anything less than respect and welcome. Because there would never be talk of disinheritance. Of being without a home or coin enough to live.

And it made her sorry. Even if he did not know to be.

She sat down beside him. Did not take his hand, but she wasn’t leaving. Not at the moment.

“I came to you,” she reminded him, feeling silly for recounting what had occurred only an hour or so before. Was it longer? Maybe it was. They’d flown. They’d quarrelled.

They’d... kissed.

Her heart gave a flutter, absurd as it was.

“How can you be blamed when you were precisely where you were meant to be?”

Withher, she wanted to add. But didn’t.

He gave a derisive sort of laugh. “Father has a way of finding fault. So for what it is worth.” He turned his head to catch her eye. “I am sorry for what I said. And for whathewill say. When he knows.” His voice dropped to a mutter. “Because he’ll have to know.”

Perhaps a better mate would offer to keep it hidden. To spare him whatever censure his father would give him. But the prospect of that was unthinkable. Almost... as if there was shame in it, which there was not. Not a bit of it.

“I could take you home. We could live in my old room and you could apprentice as a smithy.” Her hand went to her circlet without a bit of self-consciousness. “Make pretty things like this. Tend the stall with me. You’ll have to smile more if you wish to sell anything, but I can train you. I’m rather good, I hear.”

She meant every word of it. Not every son did as their father did. Some worked with their father’s-fathers. Some took after their mother’s kin.

Surely there were no laws about that in his father’s books.

But he looked at her as if she’d recited the tale of the birth of the second sun, not a conceivable plan for them both. For their life.

For their children.

Her heart gave another flutter, one that pulsed and lingered in places she could name, but only because her mother had shown her in a book once.

Well. And because she was thorough with her washing and she wasn’t a complete fool about matters.

But it was different tofeel.For stories to become known. For vague whispers to turn into very real sensations. Desires that settled so rightly and yet... didn’t. Because they were at odds, weren’t they? Even now.

So there could be no pleasant exploration. No encouraging those first, fleeting pulses to their conclusion. But they certainly were distracting. Another ache she was supposed to ignore.

Wasn’t this supposed to be the end of all the longing? The wanting? Because shehadhim now. The rest shouldn’t matter.

She swallowed thickly. “I’m quite serious,” she added, in case he did not know.

“I do not doubt that,” Lucian answered, not with the mocking tone he’d used earlier, but a weary one. “But as you do not wish to abandon your family, I do not care to abandon mine.”

Firen could not argue with that, even if there was a small impulse to do so. They did not sound particularly kind. Did not sound warm. Accepting. Not the sort of people she could imagine helping to raise her fledglings.

And yet...

She had faith that bonds were made for a reason. So perhaps Lucian was merely being dramatic. That there were hopes, yes. Always that. Even Mama had hope for certain mates from certain backgrounds—mainly when the house needed repair and she might call upon favours rather than coins to see the kitchen tap fixed, or the stones near the roof reset after a winter storm.

They hadn’t met her. Didn’t know her. And once they did, it could all be just fine. There was no going back, no pretending they might ignore one another.

But she could be sorry, for Lucian’s sake. For the consequences he seemed to think would be very real.

She didn’t want to be in this strange room. It was growing darker as the light from the moon shifted, and she could see too little of him. She wanted home. Wanted her father’s fierce optimism that everything would be all right.

Wanted more, her mother’s pragmatism. Everythingwouldbe all right once you planned well enough and had the determination to see it so.

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