Page 13 of Sunder

It might grant sleep—but it also might be of the more permanent nature.

And she did not want that. No matter how miserable she was most days...

That wasn’t what she wanted.

She sniffled. Rubbed at her face.

And decided this wasn’t really deciding at all. This was simply another step. An adventure.

Which would have sounded far more appealing if she felt better, but she didn’t.

She rinsed her mouth and scrubbed at her face with cold water. Dressed in her darkest clothes.

And slipped out of her window.

It was not the first time she’d escaped that way, and likely would not be the last. But it was not a fete she wanted. Wasn’t threads and bonds and the earnest smiles she craved.

It was sleep and rest. Which evidently, this required.

It made her knock more forceful than was reasonable. Made her scowl and cringe when it was Firen that opened the door rather than her cousin, and she certainly had not earned even a moment’s ire.

“Orma!” Firen urged, pulling her into the kitchen. It was not so very late, Firen in her nightdress, but there was little else to suggest she’d been pulled from sleep. Dark, but the moon was high and lit her way admirably. “Are you well?”

Orma smiled dimly. Always the question. Always the one that lacked an answer anybody wished to hear. “Not really,” she answered truthfully. She did not need to ask for Lucian. He emerged through the doorway, hair mussed and looking strikingly different from his usual crisp appearance.

He looked her over, and she did so tire of that. Of the appraisals. Her chin rose, which likely formed unflattering shadows on her already gaunt cheeks, but so be it. “Will you take a walk with me?” she asked her cousin, Firen looking between the two of them with all the bewilderment Orma might expect if Lucian had kept his word.

She could share or not share whatever she liked.

It had been given in comfort, but now it felt like yet another weight. Another talk, more advice.

Choking at her. Drowning her. Pressing and twisting until she...

“Yes, of course,” Lucian answered, already heading back toward his room, presumably to change.

Which left her with Firen.

And questions she did not want to answer.

“Do you mind?” Orma asked, trying to head off any need for an explanation. “If I borrow him? It shouldn’t be too long.”

Couldn’t be. She had so few reserves left to draw upon.

“He’s your family,” Firen assured her. “If you need him, you need him.” So simple, but there was a glint in her eye that suggested he would be missed, and she did not particularly favour having to share him at this hour.

Of course.

She should have come in the morning. Or perhaps stolen him from the Hall in between assignments.

Her insides twisted, insisting she was an inconvenience. A mistake.

She rubbed at her nose, and there were no tears, the thoughts too old to cause fresh pain.

Lucian appeared before she could form any sort of apology. He did not have to think carefully about his attire—he was used to the harsh black that came with his station.

“Shall we?” he asked, opening the door and ushering her out.

But not before ducking back in, his hand curling about Firen’s ear as he whispered softly to her.

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