Page 32 of Fate

He grumbled something low in his throat, but she could not make out what it was.

She wanted the sweetness back from the night before. Wanted the tenderness they’d found in fervent touches and desperate kisses.

She grimaced, thinking of her teeth, and hurried into the washing room as Lucian settled into his chair to glare into the fire.

That was fine. She enjoyed sitting on his lap there. Would like it better after she’d attended to her more personal matters.

She did not take long. If she’d thought of it, she would have brought her dress in with her so she could appear with a little more dignity as theydiscussed.But she hadn’t. But her hair was combed, and that was a feat all its own. She brought the tangles on herself, going to bed without proper braids in it. Or so her mother would have said.

She’d been less gentle with it than she ought to have been, but she was eager to return to him, glowers and all. Perhaps he was simply not fond of mornings. Eris was rather like that. Most particularly when they were cold, and the bed was warm, and couldn’t Firen tend the chores just this once?

Which of course was really more than once, and Firen loved her sister, so did it truly matter? She hadn’t thought so. But now...

Would Varrel tend to the kitchen fire? Be happy to cook their breakfast even if he had to leave early before the fishing boat left without him?

“Did you eat?” Firen asked a little sheepishly as she approached him. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long, honestly.”

His smile was distant, but present. “Exhausted you, did I?”

She settled on the arm of the chair, not quite willing to sprawl across his lap without a proper invitation. Maybe tomorrow. “Thoroughly.”

Her hand moved toward his hair, wanting to push it back and feel its texture once more. She could not account for why, buthis head turned, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you doing?”

Firen huffed, trying not to be hurt. Perhaps he did not have an affectionate family. Where touch was such a common occurrence that there was no need to question such matters.

Perhaps there was more to discuss than she thought before.

She curled her hands in her lap, trying to be placid. Trying not to entertain the thought of sitting on the floor again before the fire while she collected herself. “I like touching you,” she answered truthfully. “I... do not know if I can stop, but I can try.” There was no denying that particular hurt, even as she offered it. “If you want me to.”

He rolled his eyes briefly upward before he returned his attention to the fire. “No. I... it was just unexpected, that’s all.”

She relaxed, if only marginally. She did not reach for his hair again, and this time leaned down and placed a kiss to the top of his head instead. It did not have to be all scowls and suspicion between them. But maybe... maybe he didn’t know that.

“We could go somewhere,” Firen offered, reaching for his hand to give it a careful squeeze so he would know she was not too cross with him.

His eyes shifted so they could drift over her. “As much as I appreciate your immodesty in this chamber, I do not think your attire is entirely appropriate out of doors.”

She shoved as his shoulder, partly in play, partly because he couldn’t possibly think she would not dress first. Except... all she had was a dress. Which made flying a challenge now that there was daylight.

She would not dwell on how he was more comfortable with her nudges than her caresses.

“I just thought it might be easier somewhere else. Somewhere with food, perhaps.” She smiled ruefully, because she had beenthe one to sleep long, so she was likely the only one of them that had foregone the morning meal.

He stood from his seat and picked up a plate settled on his chest. He’d covered it with a cloth, but removed it to place upon her lap before he added the plate on top. Then it was back to sitting and brooding and avoiding looking at her at all.

Mama would have kissed Da for the gesture. Even if the bond was the one that prompted such things, it did not mean one should not be grateful. To punctuate little kindnesses with thankfulness, some in words, others in touch.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

But rather than smile at her, kiss her cheek—even squeeze her hand, he merely nodded his head and continued his vigil over the state of the fire.

The foods were not what she was used to for a breakfast. Stewed grains she knew well. Drizzles of fruit syrups and sometimes sprinkled with spices she found intriguing at the market.

These were an array of delicate pastries. Curled into intricate shapes, some studded with dried fruits, others glistening with sweet glazes. If fetched from the kitchen, his mother—sibling?—must be a fine baker to produce such items of quality.

Or perhaps he’d foregone the kitchen in favour of one of the shops she’d seen nestled between the towers themselves. Where a family made their profession perfecting a craft Firen had never even attempted.

She understood the napkin across her lap when a single bite made a shower of buttery flakes rain down onto both cloth and plate alike. “You said there were matters,” Firen reminded him as she swallowed and did her best to contain the rest of her crumbs. “Or would you prefer I finish before we talk?”

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