Page 116 of Sunder

Her head tilted to the side. “What do you mean, what?”

Athan’s eyes narrowed at her. “You are looking at me most strangely.”

“Oh.” Orma shifted in her seat and continued rubbing at the Brum, who rolled over so she might access some of his belly as well. “I was thinking about what happened to the books,” she tapped against the tabletop so he might know which ones without her having to bring up that particular subject again.

“Ah. They’re upstairs, if that’s what was worrying you.”

Orma took a breath. Smiled again. “I wasn’t,” she answered, far more truthfully than she imagined she would.

Athan looked at her as if he found her very strange indeed, and that was all right. It was a private revelation, and she could have those, even with the bond bright and coiling between them.

He shook his head at last, mumbling something to himself about silly mates and strange looks, and began a lecture on the importance of prompt attendance to kitchen messes, lest a host of sky-lint be drawn through the shutters and overtake the space.

“I know what those are!” Which should not have pleased her so greatly, and almost startled Athan with her enthusiasm for them. They weren’t terribly exciting at all—just tiny little flying insects that swarmed in great plumes in the summer evenings, catching the last of the sunlight and reflecting off their shimmering wings. She’d loved to chase them when she was little, her sister sitting primly off to the side, too old for such nonsense. Her brother had been older still, but he would scoop her up in the air and fly with her as they drifted higher than their mother cared for her to go on her own.

There was always a wistful sort of pang when she thought of her siblings. They deserved their own lives, their own families. They had proper mates and provided the heirs, and they were busy with work at the Hall.

While Orma...

She took a breath. Let it go.

Athan drifted toward her, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “How do sky-lint make you sad?” he asked, a little bewildered but always gentle with her feelings. “Frustration, I could well understand.”

She swallowed, turning her head to glance at him in what she hoped was a reassuring fashion. “I was thinking of my siblings,” she admitted. “They were so much older than me. I miss them, but I also... don’t. Is that awful? I hardly know them any longer. Which is probably my fault. I rarely went to them. I couldn’t help when my sister had her babies. And I always felt a nuisance to my brother’s mate.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to push back the sudden melancholy. There was no need for it, but ittried to settle, anyway. So she diverted. Back where it was safe. Where she felt sure and certain of herself.

So she leaned into his touch and thought of how he asked for her to tell him she loved him. How he needed to hear the words, not simply rely on the bond for reassurance. “I trust you,” she shared, feeling his heart swell to be told so. “That’s what I was... before, before. That I didn’t need to ask where my books ended up because you’d take care of it.” She paused, sighing a little as the moment settled. Of Brum at her feet. Of Athan at her side. “You’ll take care of me.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, his wing coming to wrap around her along with his arm. “Most happily,” he promised her, and although there was a part of her that would dispute that—that no one would choose a mate on purpose that was anything less than hale and hearty...

There was no mistaking his sincerity. Heenjoyeddoing it, strange man that he was. He liked tending to her.

“Now,” Athan asked, standing back to his full height. “Do you require anything else to eat, or is tea sufficient?”

She nodded to the chair across from her. “Just tea, and you in your chair actually getting to enjoy yours with me.”

He hummed, his own mug next to the sink where he’d taken intermittent sips. But it wasn’t the same as sitting and sharing, and he could not convince her otherwise.

He retrieved his mug and poured a fresh helping from the pot before he sat. It was... nice. Just to be. The last of the pressure in her head was easing, and her stomach was full and her heart equally so from the company she kept. Even if her foot had entirely surrendered under Brum’s weight, utterly neglected in circulation.

“Better?” Athan teased, easing back in his chair and watching her carefully. Not because he expected her to burst into tearsagain. Or to flee out the front door and disappear into the dusk. But just because he liked to look at her, or so he claimed.

She didn’t mind. She liked to look at him, too.

And in her opinion, hers was the better view.

???

Orma paced in the garden, Brum watching her from his head tucked into his front paws—distinctly irritated.

Athan had not been wrong when he said his time watching the fish in the stream was a serious business. She was a distraction with her movements, and he did not seem to appreciate it.

“Sorry,” she mumbled for the third time.

Athan had left her that morning. Which was fine. She’d told him to. There was a patient he particularly wanted to see, and although she’d felt better the night before, he’d insisted on another draught to banish the rest of her headache before it had a chance to return.

Which was sensible.

But it also meant she fell into a deep sleep, despite how much rest she’d had the entire day. And it meant when he’d woken her, full of apology and a heavy-laden breakfast tray, to occupy her time when she awakened for good.

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