Page 125 of Sunder

She wouldn’t go so far as to sit down at the table. Better to keep here, where she might smell if the edges caught enough to burn.

“I am,” Athan assured her, giving Brum’s head another pat. “Leave our home undefended? I think not.”

Brum’s tail made a loud swishing noise across the clean floor.

She did not ask who those invaders might be, and she didn’t need to. He’d distracted her, which was his aim, and she sank against the counter, fiddling with the cloth she’d grabbed to pull the hot pie from the oven—heedless of Athan’s warning it would not be ready so soon. “I want tonight to be nice,” Orma confessed, giving him a miserable sort of look.

“It will be,” Athan assured her.

“For you,” she insisted. “I want... I want you to like them. Because they’re the best family I’ve got, and if I can’t charm you with the best, then that just leaves the rest of them, and they make you worry about...” she stopped, her wings wilting.

Athan did not rise. Did not come and take her by the shoulders and tell her everything would be all right.

“Come here,” he said instead, more firmly than she’d expected of him.

She made a half-hearted gesture toward the oven, and he shook his head. Beckoning her toward him.

She sighed, not knowing why she felt a knot of dread, as if she was about to receive some sort of reprimand. Athan wasn’t like that. Never had been, and never would be.

Her lips twitched when he took hold of her wrists as soon as she was near enough to do so. Helped her negotiate around the Brum, who seemed perfectly pleased to have his charges situated so close to one another.

Then down onto his lap, where he tucked his arms about her waist and perched his chin upon her shoulder. “If they were beastly—which they won’t be. If they were wretched and mean and served only the most hideous meal for our supper, I would love you no less.”

“But...” she began, ready with talk of regrets and how much better he deserved.

“Not a bit,” he insisted. “And we would go to see them as long as it made you happy.”

A knot tightened in her stomach. “I want you to be happy,” she murmured, turning her head so she could look at him. “I want to give you what family I can.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? When she saw how sweetly he taught her. When he spoke with such reverence of his parents and his master, she could picture him with a child. One to help and guide. To teach about healing. To make sure there wassomeone as kind and compassionate for the future generation ofHarquil.

“I shall have an apprentice one day,” Athan said after a moment’s consideration. “Perhaps younger than I was. And if that is not sufficient, we shall see about a mate for Brum. Or a host of little orphans to trouble him.”

His grip about her tightened, and his lips met her covered shoulder. “We will not want for family. This, I promise you. Whether by blood or by choosing, you will be loved. Will have someone to love.”

Her eyes watered. And it was the stress of baking, that was all. It wasn’t the way she warmed all over when he spoke to her that way. When he knew what she needed to hear and gave it freely. Not pretty lies to serve as a balm for now, a punishment for later. Always genuine.

He was happy to have whatever life, so long as it was with her.

She shifted further so she could wrap her arms around him. Could hold him to her and let the bond suffuse with all the affection she felt for him. “I’m happy for it to be you, for now,” she murmured. “And the Brum.”

His lips quirked upward, and his hands were soft as they smoothed up her sides and around her back. “How fortunate am I,” he observed, pressing her close. Breathing her in.

The old her would have snorted at that. Would have listed off all the reasons he was ridiculous, how much more he deserved.

But this Orma, the one that was loved. Loved in return...

She could nestle close. She could smile and accept his words as truth.

Because she felt entirely the same.

Then sat upright. Couldn’t even take time to glower as she lurched off his lap and hurried back to the oven. “My pie!”

While Athan laughed, and that really was wretched of him, but her heart was light even with her momentary panic.

And when she opened it, the fruits were bubbling nicely, and the crust was golden. A little lopsided perhaps, where it had swelled more on one side than the other, but no less appealing as she placed it on the counter and stared.

She’d done that. With her own two hands. With knowledge in her own head and skill in her hands, no matter how new it might be.

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