Page 27 of Sunder

He sighed, but just a little. “How can I help you if you I do not know the source of your discomfort? I could provide a salve, or a compress, or...”

She reached for his wrist. Held it as firmly as she dared. “I need rest,” she insisted. “Sleep. To deal with...” she needed to be kind. Needed not to hurt him. “To address matters tomorrow.”

He took on a look of supreme patience, as if she was the wayward child that could not possibly know what was best.

She sat up straighter, smoothing her hand over the wet part of the covers where she’d spilled the water. “I’m sorry,” she began, not sounding sorry in the least. “But I have a poorly constitution. This is not new, and I have had many healers long before you. Nothing you give me tonight will change anything that is wrong with me, unless you’d like to provide me a sleeping draught, so my rest might be easy.” She let go of him. Went back to rubbing at her chest. Felt his deep displeasure settle through her bones, and she grimaced. “I’m not what anyone would have wanted. I know this. And I did not mean for us to meet, or for you to have to care for me. It was an accident.” Her throat burned. Her eyes too. She wasn’t pleading, but it was a very near thing.

He did not sit on the bed with her. Instead, he sank to his knees beside the bed and reached out and took her hand, holding it almost tenderly. “What was an accident?”

She sniffed. Wiped at her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You keep apologising. Saying this wasn’t what you meant to happen. That suggests you intended something—what was it?”

She flushed all over. But strangely, with him holding her hand, with the weariness that spread and settled through every part of her, it made it easier to talk with him. These bonds were for life. Putting off the truth of it all would only prove a hardship.

His thumb moved over the back of her knuckles, and she frowned down at the gesture. It felt... Nice. Not so soft that it tickled, but a warm sort of reassurance. He was there. He was listening.

And for a moment, she felt like that little girl again, seeing him from afar. Certain that everything would be perfect if she could just reach him. If he might turn and look at her and be her friend.

Seeing him now, he was older than she’d estimated in her youth. He spent time beneath the suns, not just tucked awayin an infirmary. His skin glowed slightly, with good health and good humour, and hers appeared sickly and grey in comparison.

“I’m not supposed to talk about this,” she explained as cautiously as she could.

His thumb did not stop its careful circles. “Not even with your mate?”

Tears welled. They shouldn’t, and she tried her best to keep from embarrassing herself with yet more upset. She was too exhausted for another bout of sobs, her muscles protesting the effort they’d already made for her. “Surely there can be no secrets too burdensome to share between the likes of us.”

He was unpractised with the bond, yet still pushed comfort and warmth in her direction. To make sure his words were not a chastisement, but an encouragement. That he was there, and he would care for her, and nothing she said would change that.

It wasn’t true though, was it? He thought he could patch her up. Settle her into a new regiment of medicines, this time with his oversight, and she would be better.

Or, like her mother thought, once the bond settled properly, all of her ails would simply vanish.

It had been the source of more than one argument once Orma had come of age, and no amount of her explanations proved satisfactory. Her fears were unfounded. Her anxiety about having a mate was leftover from girlhood traumas.

If she had enough faith that all would be well, it would be.

What calm had come from his tender touches left her. Could she tell him? Lay out the whole horrid business and be done with it?

She would worry. It would rob her of sleep and fill her mind for days otherwise. Until inevitably she had to act, had to tell, just as she’d had to find him.

But perhaps there were parts she might hedge around. Cover the important parts. Leave the rest for when she was stronger. Braver.

“I saw you,” she blurted. “As a girl. And... I knew.” Her free hand went to her chest. Not rubbing, just holding. Covering. “I was... far, far too young. But the bond went to work as it’s supposed to, and I’ve carried it ever since.”

Alone.

Twisting and scaring and leaving her with terrible dreams that stole her sleep and plagued her waking hours.

“Oh no,” Athan murmured, shaking his head. “Orma...”

She didn’t sniffle. Just met his eye as best she could. “I was born wrong. There was nothing you could have done. Nothing you can do now.”

His grip on her hand tightened. “That cannot be true.”

Of course he would think that. Because he was strong and capable. While she...

“If you say so.” She would not argue with him. He’d come to agree with her conclusion soon enough.

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