Page 7 of Fate

“That doesn’t excuse rudeness,” Firen countered, trying to push the entire exchange from her mind in favour of more pressing pursuits. She’d made friends at many fetes. This needn’t be one of them.

“No,” the girl agreed. “It doesn’t.”

There was a wistful, sad quality that gave Firen pause, and she stopped scanning the room to turn to her properly. “Are you all right?” She kept her voice gentle, because it mattered if she wasn’t. Firen might have her own aims, but she was not so neglectful that she could not set them aside for a little while, even for the sake of a stranger.

The girl waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Tired, I suppose. The sameness becomes grating after a time. Is that why you’ve come?”

Firen relaxed and her smile was much more genuine. “Exactly.” She bowed her head and offered her name and waited for the other to do the same.

“Orma,” she answered, her eyes drifting over the drifting bodies in the room rather than look at Firen properly. She possessed a sickly quality, Firen realised. As if she had one of the wasting sicknesses that mother spoke about in hushed tones and rueful glances as they looked over their children burgeoning on their majorities. They never explained what it was, not fully, but Orma fit what Firen always assumed it meant.

Her cheeks were a little sunken, her eyes dull.

Firen took the seat beside her.

Her purpose niggled at her. That she was wasting time and her father’s gift of the golden circlet in her hair, and yet she felt compelled to sit. To offer comfort, if she could.

Orma gave her a half-smile, shaking her head slightly. “You needn’t bother. We won’t meet again.”

Firen’s stomach gave an uneasy lurch. “You’re poorly, then?”

Orma hummed lowly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just have a feeling you are about to meet your someone. And there won’t be many more fetes for you.”

Firen might have been heartened at such a proclamation if she wasn’t more certain that this girl—Orma—wasn’t very well atall. “I won’t go looking a moment longer if I’m not sure you’re going to be all right. I could fetch a healer?”

Orma laughed. A bright burst of sound that might have been considered good-humoured if not for the hint of bitterness about the edges. “I thank you, but no.”

Firen flexed her fingers in want of fidgeting, but that was not comely and she suppressed it as best she could. “Well. Then we shall sit awhile.”

Orma glanced at her with a frown. “There’s no need.”

Yes. There was. Firen did not know the reason for it, did not know this girl or her troubles, but she was certain there were some—too private and personal to share with an utter stranger. But she could offer her company and support, if only for a little while, so she would.

They were approached a few times, but beyond polite nods and eyes that drifted a little too often toward Firen rather than Orma, they were left quite alone. It was a strange feeling when she was used to the rush and excitement of mingling itself. To sit and to watch, preoccupied with something other than the possibility of bonding...

It was not unpleasant.

But she thought of her mother, waiting. Her father and his gift.

“You should go,” Orma urged. “I am perfectly all right, I assure you.”

Firen hesitated, wiping her hands on her skirt. She loved the way it moved; she loved the way it felt against her legs, bared from the usual manner of dress that kept her modest even in flight. Orma’s dress was worn at the edges, most especially at the hem where it scraped too heavily against the cobbles. How many walks had she taken to this room? To sit and stare glumly rather than participate fully? “If you’re sure...” ExceptFirenwasn’t. Not when she was ominous about not meeting again.

Orma shook her head, her eyes rolling briefly toward the rafters—where yes, there was a new couple, engaged in a rather amorous kiss on the balcony.

They’d be shooed out in a moment, Firen was certain. Off to a respective home. This might be a place to encourage bonds to form, but it wasnotmeant for such blatant displays.

Although she couldn’t blame them. Not a bit.

Perhaps she’d be overcome just as similarly when the time came. When the relief and the joy meant...

“Where else do you intend to go?” Orma asked, and Firen blinked, trying to stop her foolish fantasies.

She related the locations of the others she knew of, trying to imagine Orma making the same trek as she intended.

“Not high towers, then?”

Firen glanced at her, shaking her head. “Which is that?”

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