Page 67 of Fate

“Not even a fair one?” Mama teased, nodding toward the stove. “Kettle is hot. Fetch yourself a cup before you fall over.”

She wasn’t as flustered as all that, and there were other needs that needed attending first. “In a moment,” she hedged. She didn’t like it, but she slipped away to the washroom, peering as discreetly as she could as she passed the table.

His penmanship was a spiked scrawl of black ink—legible, she was sure, if she had a good lamp and time to work out the lettering.

She could not recall the last time she hurried so much. The bond was quiet, so Lucian was not angry about his task, but that was little comfort. He was trying, for her sake. To be a good mate despite their... difficulties.

And she wasn’t certain she was trying in the ways she should. It was easy to defend herself, her family. But Lucian needed more from her.

No more running off.

How many times had he asked that of her?

Her throat itched and her mother was right about needing a cup of tea.

She wasn’t used to feeling awkward and uncertain in her mother’s kitchen. But as she took a mug and watched as hot water splashed onto dark, shrivelled leaves, she breathed in deeply. Calm. Lucian was calm, so she should be, too.

She cut a piece off the loaf on the counter, not fully aware of herself while she did it. She placed it on a napkin, only to hear her mother’s pointed sigh, then replaced it with a plate while she took the seat beside her mate.

This couldn’t count as being nosey, surely. Not when her own mother was involved. “So what’s this?” she asked as pleasantly as she could. As if this was normal and expected rather than enough to send her heart into fluttering palpitations.

Mama sipped at her tea before answering. And it wasn’t infuriating. Itwasn’t.Even if it somehow made Firen feel the outsider in her own mating.

Lucian’s hand reached out beneath the table and settled on her thigh. He squeezed it gently, his attention still on his work.

“You’re not making him draw up some sort of contract for us staying here, are you? Da said it was all right.”

Mama gave her an exasperated look. “That is what you take me for?” Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head briefly. “Settle your feathers, dearest. You’re taking up the entire table.”

Firen flushed, and she glanced behind her to find that yes, her feathers were standing on end, and they were intruding rather a lot because she’d settled so close to Lucian, and it took three full breaths to get control of herself.

“You are a wonderful woman, dearest. I know this. Your mate knows it. But making plans is not one of your strongest attributes. And you need a plan.” She reached out and tapped the papers.

Firen’s eyes drifted downward and if she squinted hard enough, she could make out the words.

Not words.

Names.

Was she supposed to know them?

They were not her siblings, to be sure. So it was not a matter of pressing them into other accommodations.

“Do I know these people?” she asked, still bewildered. Distant relations, perhaps? Maybe it was about other sorts of work, something closer to Lucian’s skills without having to resort to smithing by default.

“No,” Lucian answered, his hand leaving her leg, and she missed its weight instantly. “But I do.”

She looked again. They were not his relations, either. At least, none of the ones he’d told to her. Not the ones at the horrid supper.

She squinted, one sounding at least vaguely familiar. “This one. He’s...” He’d come to the market. Rarely, and when he did, there was always a flurry of whispers to accompany him. With robes decorated in gold filaments that glittered as brightly as his smile as he mingled amongst the merchants.

His pride and joy, he’d said. About the market and its many stalls. Started lower than a Proctor, but look how high he’d risen.

Which was meant as a buoy to the masses. They could rise in rank and station, just as he had done.

And while the smiles had been polite, the chatter afterward had been less than friendly. They liked their lives. Their craft. They were under no law, no compunction that tied them to their lifelong trades. Firen had thought little of it at the time, her head too filled with the life that would come after the market—or in truth, scanning each passerby for any sense that her mate was nearby.

“Not my preference,” Lucian finished for her with a grimace. “But he is the oldest of them, and he has only daughters. None of which had an interest in the law. His disappointment has echoed through the Hall for years.”

---