Page 60 of Fate

The windows were the worst. Granted, the floor was not much better. But soot had a way of finding its way into every nook and cranny, and she could not promise that she was particularly good at keeping the door slid shut every time she’d run back into the kitchen for her lunch. Which meant the shutters were coated, the floor was thick with grime, and they soon discovered it was better for one to scrub while the other flew down to the pump for fresh bucks of clean water. Over and over. Until her arms ached and her heart was full, and it was such a pleasant feeling that she was nearly giddy with it.

So consumed with her own emotions, she could not make out Lucian’s. He worked with the stern determination she expected of him, but if he felt little tendrils of horror at their week-long accommodation, he kept quiet.

Let her work. And fuss and prattle about how she’d fetch a pitcher with fresh flowers to sit on that table in the morning. And yes, it had to be placed there because then he could make use of the table once the beds were in.

Which was another matter entirely.

They argued a bit. She thought it best to negotiate the beds down the stairs and out through the kitchen. He thought that ridiculous because they could simply fly them out the windowand around to the back. Simple, but it meant trusting that she would not drop the mattress and squash some of her mother’s kitchen herbs in the process.

She did not think it a coincidence when Da just so happened to walk down the hallway in need of water. A likely story, when Mamaalwayskept a fresh jug in their room for just such occasions.

But she would not deny that it pleased her to see her father and mate make short work of the mattress. Then the frames—because they were not slovens, Lucian muttered just loud enough that she could catch his grumbling. She was too excited to take offence, and Eris had no need of her old bed.

Firen would take that one. Perhaps it was silly of her, but she did not like the idea of her mate sleeping in her sister’s old things, no matter how many times they’d been washed and cleaned.

He was hers, after all. And she was allowed to be just a little covetous of his person, even in imaginary arguments with her sister.

It was late when she brought in the bedding. The stars were bright and twinkling, and even her enthusiasm was not enough to keep out the tiredness that seeped into her bones. There had been too many happenings for a single day. Too many tears, and she longed for the feel of curling up in clean bedding in a room that smelled of soap and just a hint of her father’s workshop.

She could not stop her smile when she walked into find Lucian pushing the two beds close together. They did not equal his lone bed back in the tower, but it was the gesture that warmed her. He wanted to be near her. Maybe even needed it. In a strange place with people that, hopefully, soon would not feel like strangers at all.

The linens would not accommodate both cots, and she thought a little mournfully about his over-large coverlet as shepiled quilts, some overlapping, others strictly for each respective bed. At least it gave the appearance of a single bed, and she liked that. Hoped he would not mind it terribly much.

She wasn’t convinced it was adequate, not when his hand reached out and pulled at one of the quilts, squinting at its edges. It was one of her oldest, and she did not doubt that the edge could use a fresh patch where she’d scrubbed too hard at the thinning fabric. “Were these bought?” Lucian asked, his finger skimming across the patchwork of mismatched prints.

She suppressed a laugh. She was certain she could find a stall that sold such goods, but they would be rare. This was just... home-craft. Hobbled together from scraps and leftover bits, because waste was frowned upon when something could be useful with a bit of time and effort.

“Of course not. Mama made that one.” She pulled up the corner of the one she was currently fussing with. “This was one of my first. One of Eris’s is probably in here somewhere.” Had she even spoken of all her siblings to him? Made him a little diagram to study as he’d done for her?

She swallowed, smoothing the quilt back down. “They’re warm,” she promised him. “Not what you’re used to, I’ll grant you, but I think you’ll be comfortable.”

She peeked at him, hoping that he would accept her hospitality with grace, because this was all she had to offer him.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” she amended, because she shouldn’t make assumptions. She must be open to his complaints—to do anything she could to make this week a pleasant one for the both of them.

“It’s fine,” Lucian assured her, although there was something odd in his expression that suggested it was not as fine as he claimed.

She stopped her fussing with her side—not that it would be her side. She’d let him pick, because they were in her territory now, and it seemed the courteous thing to do.

She would hang something on the far wall. Not a tapestry—she hadn’t the least idea how long one might take to make, and she had no experience to even attempt one. But something pretty. It might make it feel a little more like home to him. Wood instead of stone, but that shouldn’t matter, should it?

Firen tucked herself against his side and brought his arm around her shoulders before smiling up at him. His own smile was slow in coming, but he did not pull his arm away from where she’d placed it. “Thank you,” she murmured, and meant it. She’d been so certain she’d come here alone. That she’d spend the night weeping and doing her best to come up with solutions so tomorrow would not be as wretched as this day had turned out to be.

But now...

Now they would change. This time into their nightclothes. Perhaps up here. Perhaps he would be modest and want to exchange his dirty work clothes in the privacy of the washroom in the main house.

She’d let him do it this time. Give him a moment and not fret that he’d slip away without telling her. She’d... trust him.

“For what?” Lucian asked as he allowed the quilt to settle, his inspection apparently over.

“For hauling buckets and scrubbing with me. Somehow I do not think that is how a lawmancer’s apprentice spends most of his evenings.”

He snorted, his fingers curling about the ends of her hair that had fallen loose from her haphazard attempts to hold it up. “A rare evening, to be sure.” He brought his mouth closer to the top of her head, his lips skimming there. Not a kiss, not a caress. Butsomething intimate and just between the two of them. “Consider it penance. For what you had to endure earlier.”

Her throat tightened, as did her hold on him.

“They’re your family,” she reminded herself. Reminded him. “I don’t want...” She stopped, drew in a long breath, and released it slowly. She would make no allowances for cruelty. She would abide no word or deed against the sanctity of her bond. But she could be gentle. For Lucian’s sake. Keep her harsher words for other ears, if she dared even speak them at all. “I hate to see you so torn,” Firen said instead. “I want to be selfish. Keep you all to myself and stitch you into my life and my home.” She buried her face in his chest and shivered a little as his fingers skimmed her back as he played with her hair. “I thought this would be easy. Always seemed like it was for other people.”

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