Page 85 of Fate

Even more so when he chuckled near her ear. “That is what I am attempting to do.”

Then he made to pluck the map from her, but she gripped it to her chest and did not allow him to have it. “You have your own,” she insisted. “This one is mine.”

He snorted, but released her as well as his hold on her parchment. “Mine is buried in a stack of first year papers back in the tower. I doubt I will see it again.”

She felt a sudden pang at that, but she refused any guilt. She’d done nothing wrong. But she could be sorry and held it out just a bit so he could see. “We should have stayed inside.”

He hummed, tapping a portion of the page. “There is an outer door, which, as I recall, is their preference.”

Firen squinted, trying to see mention of that, but could make out nothing but the two slashes along the wall that indicated a doorway. “Oh. Well, that should be written down. What if I go to visit someone and there’s another door that I’m really supposed to use, and I end up offending them?”

He glanced at her as they moved on toward the correct door. “Who exactly would you be visiting?”

“Friends. Because I’ll make them, you know. You’ll see. Or maybe I’ll start helping you at your job, and I’ll have to deliver papers. Or fresh bread if your meetings run too long.”

Lucian stopped in his stride. “You’re not a servant,” he reminded her tightly. “You are not a scrollward. It is not your responsibility to fetch and carry.”

Firen turned back so she might face him fully. “I know that,” she answered gently. Because she wouldn’t be insulted. Wouldn’t assume he meant he did not want her about or to know his business and his trade. “But if your hours are to be as long as Vandran warns, then it is possible I shallmissyou, and if the only way I might see you during the day is to bring you some refreshment, then I hardly think that too humble a task.” She gave him a rather pointed look. “Do you?”

There was that expression again. The glimmer in his eye that suggested he did not know what to do with her. Wanted very much to believe she was genuine—that she cared for him, that she wanted him. Missed him in equal measure when they were not together. But there was room for doubt. That pressed and settled in his jaw and the thin line that formed between his brows as he studied her sincerity.

That was all right. They had their whole lives together for all this to become common. Expected.

She was going to say something. Or... offer something. Not pity, because she feared that would not be any sort of comfort to him. But a touch, maybe. To remind him she was his mate, and she would not leave him.

But movement caught her eye. The tall, elegant frame. The pause. The glare that looked far too much like her mate as he noted the pair of them.

Lucian must have seen the change in her expression, for he turned, his own posture stiffening as he stood a little straighter.

Oberon was not close, but they were within speaking distance. Even Mama would say it wouldn’t be rude to give a greeting, although a young Firen had often pushed that particular boundary, calling to anyone she deemed close enoughto beckon to come speak with her, regardless of their intent to make a purchase.

She did not move. Did not even consider approaching. Good manners might have been to bow her head and lower her wings, but she did neither. Instead, she turned her attention to her mate, waiting for him to act first.

He didn’t.

Oberon approached, his steps measured. Thoughtful. The day seemed to darken about them, and she had to remind herself firmly that Oberon held no such power over the clouds and the suns, and it was only her own nerves that made the breeze feel colder. “And what could possibly bring you to my domain, I wonder?”

Firen prickled inside, because he might have a seat in the Halls, but that did not make themhis. Words were quick on her tongue—dismissive offerings. About how they need not fear his meddling any longer. Lucian had a new master now. One she was confident would be good and proper, unlike what he had known for the entirety of his years thus far.

But she didn’t say any of it. Let Lucian place himself between the two of them. “Father,” he greeted, and she was proud of the way he managed to keep most of the tightness from his tone. “You have objections to our use of a public pathway?”

A flicker in Oberon’s eye betrayed his anger, although his expression remained the very picture of neutrality. “I do when it leads you to a building where I know you’ve no assignment. One might consider it loitering. To linger where one has no business.” His lip curled in condescension. “Is that what you’ve become? A common beggar?”

Anger flared, hot and biting, and it took everything in her not to step out from around Lucian and fling back their purposes. Ones that were most certainly legitimate.

But she didn’t.

Took a deep breath instead and closed her eyes and sent as much comfort and affection as she could to her mate. Because the insults were his, and so was the hurt, because this was his father. Who should have loved him, should have cared for him, and... didn’t.

She would. For all her days. She would make sure he knew what it felt like to be wanted, whether he worked in the Hall, or joined one of the fishing boats and they took to the seas.

Well. She would fly. Never cared much for boats. And she’d seen some of the anglers, their attire quite different from what they would wear in the city, and she could well imagine how fine Lucian might look, glistening from the sea-mists and bright suns...

“A student of law and governance,” Lucian answered tightly. “I do not believe I’ve ever heard that reduced to beggar before, but you know far more than I do.”

“A student,” Oberon repeated. “Under which master? Because I have not seen you shadow my door. I have not seen you come to me for lessons or assignments.” He leaned forward, expression dark. “So yes, I call you beggar.”

She could sense the tension in her mate. Could see the way his fingers twitched in want of a fist, yet he did not allow it to form. “I always thought nothing occurred in the Hall without your knowledge. It seems I am to be proved wrong in more ways than I anticipated.” He bowed his head and turned his back to his father. Respect and disrespect, all in seamless motion. “Come along,” he urged her, and she nodded.

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