Page 14 of Sunder

Her lips thinned, but her hand came to his chest, pushing him back out gently.

Gracious, even when she was being robbed of her mate with little explanation.

“She is too good for you,” Orma declared when he shut the door and waited to hear the bolt fasten behind it.

“Isn’t she just,” Lucian agreed. He took a few steps through the courtyard before he broached their aim. “Is this really just a walk?” He asked it gently, but it was still enough for her throat to tighten and to desperately wish she’d never come.

“No,” she said instead, her voice small and almost inaudible. “It’s not.”

He was polite enough not to give her one of his smug smiles. Not to tease or mock or do anything at all that might discourage her from the attempt.

Wise, because if he’d even allowed his eyes to glitter, she would have waved him back to Firen and taken to her bed for a full season if she must.

Sleep would come eventually. It had to.

But he merely stood. Waiting for her.

Right.

He’d offered a cart.

Because asking to be carried was an embarrassment. Something reserved for over-tired fledglings and not the woman she was supposed to be.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tonic she’d stashed there. Not of pain, although she likely would need one of those soon enough. Energy was what she was after—the thrill that urged her toward a fete to watch the couples there.

For a hint of the magic that buoyed her, lifting her spirits and making the world seem a far kinder place than she’d known thus far.

His brow rose slowly as she drank down the noxious liquid. She’d begged the healers to stop trying to mask the taste with fruits and sweet syrups. At some point, they only made the bitter brews worse, lingering on her tongue and spoiling the flavours that should have reminded her of harvests and festival treats.

“Do I wish to know what that was?” he asked, leaning forward slightly as if he might ascertain the contents from the lingering scent alone.

“I only have enough for me,” she answered, her hand hovering over her pocket where others were stashed. “Unless you’re too tired from your day?” She was being polite—offering him an out that she almost hoped he would take.

“For you? Never.”

She doubted that. Doubted he’d be willing to drop just anything if she had need of him—most particularly if Firen grew less obliging. She’d not abuse his willingness. Would not use his kindness against him.

She certainly would not grow teary over it.

She felt the prickling in her skin, unpleasant yet familiar. The tonic at work, lending her strength she didn’t think she had anymore. “I don’t want to do this,” she admitted, more to herself than to him

Lucian gentled. Reached for her, but she shook her head. “Do you want more time to think?”

She snorted, shaking her head certainly. “That is the last thing I want.”

He hummed. “Of course. Well, then.” He opened the courtyard gate and ushered her out.

She rubbed at her forehead, a pressure coming between her eyes.

She was going to do this.

It felt strange to try.

To feel the threads, to coax them from their terrible knot in her chest. To urge them out, to lead her. She’d never done it before, did not know if she was even capable—he’d been so near before, they’d acted of their own accord.

It did not feel as she expected. Instead, it was almost a release. As if she’d held in a breath too long only to feel the burn and relief all at once as precious air came once more. The threads themselves were dim, and she had to squint too hard to make them out. That was her, wasn’t it? A shadow. A figment of something more.

She took a breath. Then another.

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