Page 48 of Fate

When he’d unlatched the shutters, she did not know, but he’d obviously had the foresight to expect he would not wish to make use of the front door.

Then it was to the tailor shop. Then...

He rubbed at his temples as they left, and Firen cast him a worried glance. The dress fit well. At least by her standards. There was more tongue clicking and fussing, insistence that it should be nipped here and there. If it was the market, Firen would be suspicious that they merely wanted more coin for their troubles, but it wasn’t, so she kept quiet about how the whole thing was constructed of drawstrings and laces, designed to fit and move as a woman ebbed and flowed with time and fledglings.

Clothing that couldn’t was frivolous. Wasteful.

Like having a dress for one supper, no matter how important.

But those were the practical thoughts. Then there was the thrill at the extravagance. That it had been picked just for her.That she did not have to spend her evenings attending to each detail. Just... come in. Say that she liked it. Watch as his eyes darkened as she swished and flounced before he called the tailors back in to tell them of their selection.

“Are you hungry?”

He wasn’t looking at her. She could see nothing of particular interest that should hold his attention, but he was being thoughtful of her. Of her needs, without her having to insist upon them.

“A little.” Perhaps a bit more than a little, but not enough that she would risk running into either of his parents in the tower’s kitchen.

He nodded, running his hand through his hair. “Are you all right carrying that?”

The gown had been wrapped in paper. Then more paper. Then a third layer that was absurd because the second layer had been waxed so not even a rainstorm would have seen any damage to it. A ribbon of crisp white was tied about the entire concoction, the smiles genuine when they looked at Lucian. She expected them to lessen when they looked at her. And perhaps they did, but only just. His mate, they seemed to recognise. And they wanted her pleased, because that would mean more custom.

Firen laughed. “It’s hardly heavy.”

Lucian nodded. His clothes must be heavier. Severe in cut, the outer robe that drifted beneath his wings was of a thick wool that billowed rather imperiously as he walked. Difficult to launder, Firen decided.

A future chore of hers? Or, he had mentioned a service...

He led her to another of the shorter buildings nestled between the towers. He seemed lost to his own thoughts, and he did not hold her hand as they moved, just trusted her to keep to his side. They were shops. With a second storey on top—perhapseven more than one. Lodgings? Clever in design, as one would not have to sacrifice days away from home to tend a market stall as Firen had.

They might have flown, but he chose instead to walk. His stride a little too long, even for her legs. She slowed her pace. Then did it again, simply to see how long it would take for him to notice that she lagged behind.

Two buildings. And he paused, turning his head left and then right, before turning around entirely and watching as she made her way slowly back to him. “I like these buildings,” she declared. Some of them were of the same white stones as the rest of the city, but some had been added later. Wooden beams showed the greatest differences, crossed and supporting plaster and what bits of stone were used for the foundations.

Lucian’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at them as if he had not even realised they were there at all. “Why?”

Firen shook her head, smiling to herself. “I do not know. I like how that one placed a planter box outside the window, see? For kitchen herbs.” She pointed to the one she meant. Crisp and green against the dark woods and unrelenting white. She would put flowers. Then begrudgingly put herbs when she tired of having to fly all the way down to the garden for a forgotten sprig to flavour her soups. “Don’t you?”

He squinted in the glare of the suns. “I have never seen those before in my life.”

Firen laughed, but it was a scoffing, incredulous thing. “You do not walk this way often?”

He gestured toward one of the shops, a sign hanging overhead with a basket of breads sticking out of it. “Nearly every day.”

Firen cast him a look, and he frowned slightly. “I often have a great deal on my mind. It keeps me from peeking at kitchen windows and their herbs.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was hardly peeking. Just admiring.”

He kept moving, opening the shop door and gesturing for her to enter. “I’m sure there are plenty of things to think highly of. A window would not be one of them.”

An absurd statement. It was not just about the window—although a fine pane and a comely outlook were hardly to be dismissed. It was more than a window box and herbs. It was... a life.

A family lived up there. Working and living and yes, it was most certainly worth admiring.

Must they disagree on everything?

He held open the door and ushered her in. She’d expected a stall within a building. A counter and some baskets to make selections.

Instead, they were met with an approaching woman, her smile warm as she looked to Lucian with recognition, then at Firen with something that could only be considered surprise. “A room, or would you care to view our selections?” Formal, as if she had made the same queries hundreds of times before, but there was a certain interest that suggested she would gossip about Lucian’sguestin the kitchens just as soon as she was able.

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