Page 51 of Fate

Others gave her smiles that were decidedly mocking, as they made similar gestures in a way that suggested it was in jest rather than a respectful return.

“Firen,” Lucian added as they continued to look at her. “Of my house.”

She glanced at him, wondering if she should have mentioned that herself, but it had not occurred to her. Those were pleasantries to exchange later. To enquire after families and work and the like.

But not here.

A few hummed.

Then there was Oberon. At the far end of the table, a cup of something already in his hands as he turned to look at his son. “Do you not meanmyhouse?”

They stared at one another across the long room. Firen did not know where to look, but she felt the urge to step between them somehow. To protect her mate even from his own father, absurd as that might be.

But she kept still.

“Oberon,” one uncle cut in before Lucian could make either his concession or his argument. “You might have inherited this tower, but that does not make the house solely yours. Otherwise I could make an argument that perhaps it is mine, as I am elder, and my tower is taller than yours.” Oberon turned his glare to his—brother? Cousin? She could not remember all the names and people that Lucian had told to her, and she wanted desperately to take hold of his hand and feel his reassurance.

But she didn’t.

It wouldn’t be appropriate. That’s what Lucian had said while indulging in too many savouries, with her resting her head against his arm every so often as she ate. That no, he did not mind her closeness, and would she stop looking at him that way?It wasn’t a rejection. Just... to perhaps keep it away from his family for the time being.

Which had hurt, even if she nodded and said she understood. And accepted a refill to her mug from a pitcher on the tray, and another slice of bread and a nudge from his shoulder that buoyed her far more than any of the rest of it. “I’m trying to look out for us,” he reminded her. And she wanted to believe that. If there wasn’t some niggling concern that he was mostly concerned with looking out for himself alone.

Except now, with that anxious stomach making her nervous, with words spoken and tensions already rising, she felt the bond warm ever so slightly. Felt him... pushing comfort toward her. Privately. Just between the two of them, with no touch required.

And she glanced at him, more grateful than she cared to admit, even as he kept his attention on his family and their discord.

He cared about her. He did. But this was... delicate.

She could be understanding.

Could comport herself well, regardless of what Ellena thought about looks and beauty and common manners.

Oberon gave Lucian a cold glance before settling his attention on Firen instead. “Perhaps you would care to admit your true house, before we quibble about the status of our own.”

Firen swallowed. Did not shrink. Merely smiled graciously. “I belong to my mate, as he said. But if you mean the rest of my family, we are artisans.” And she would hold herself among them, even if her skill did not match her father’s. “Metalwork,” she added, because she realised it might be taken in a multitude of ways. “Jewellery is a specialty.”

And brought in the most coins, but she did not speak of that.

Ellena’s sister looked her over. “And yet you wear none.” She looked at her husband as if that revealed a great more than anything else, and Firen noted the cuff about her upper arm,the twining cords of golden thread braided through her hair. Adornments, perhaps even by her father’s hands, and it was true—she possessed few.

She wore many. In the market, her wrists jingling with bangles and chains, the better to show their beauty as they glittered as the light caught their facets. But anything could be bought or traded. Only a few precious gifts were tucked away in pouches within her chest, and she had not thought to wear them.

“It is a family supper, aunt,” Lucian cut in before Firen could decide on her reply. “She had decoration enough at the fete.”

One uncle turned to Oberon. “If she attended the fete, what are wedoinghere? I do not care to have my time wasted.”

He punctuated this declaration by roughly pulling out a chair and waving for his mate to take the seat beside him, presumably so they could begin eating and have the evening over with that much more quickly.

“And how manyartisansdo you know are invited to our fete? Answer me that,” Oberon tossed back, taking his seat at the head of the table. He did not take notice if Ellena sat, and Firen had to push back the sudden thoughts of being so unhappy in a mating that one would... that even fledglings, young or grown, might not be enough to keep one from doing something drastic and permanent.

Had they held this sort of supper after that event? To pick at it and make Ellena feel small? Or had it all been covered up with promises that did not seem to include things like kindness or affection?

The others settled, and Lucian guided her toward a seat. How he knew where they were meant to go, she did not know, but it left him staring across the long table at his father, as far away as he could get. A choice, or an assignment? Closer to the door when they were both ejected from the family line.

“The question seems to me,” one aunt interjected. “Is your objection to the girl, or to your son?”

Oberon glared at his sister. “I think the issue one and the same.”

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