Page 29 of Sunder

Not slightly longer about the top, so it might fall just so.

Perhaps he had no family to remind him to attend to his hair. Or no groom to come see to his feathers and his hair in a timely fashion.

Was that to be her job? Her mother saw to such things. Settling the appointments, changing them if Orma was too sickly to sit for the ministrations.

She was a woman in age, but not in responsibility, and it made her feel even more a failure as she sat and he held her hand and tried to tell her all the reasons they were the same.

Because he had a Brum and his profession was suspect.

She had visions and was half-mad and half-dead already.

“Have you much family?” Athan probed, squeezing her fingers lightly. “That you’d be reticent to leave?” Orma blinked slowly. “Only, I wonder why you think we should not live together. I should like to.” He smiled at her again, and it was a charming, practised sort of smile that made her frown deepen. “Just so there is clarity between us.”

Her eyes darted toward the window, the door, and he was hushing her before she was even aware of her desire for escape. “I was going to ask if I should tell them of your whereabouts tonight, but perhaps not.”

She nodded dumbly. She hated the idea of it.

Hated the disappointment in her mother’s eyes when she saw Orma had not magically transformed into the very picture of health.

Her father’s face when he realised his daughter had not joined with one of the other great families, adding another tower to their household estate.

Mama would censure him. Drag him into another room and she’d hear the snippets of raised voices and firm reminders that Orma was delicate. Special. And he should have put those expectations aside long ago.

Then they’d grow quiet.

And Father would appear chastened and Mama would look at him with a tinge of disappointment for a day or two, and then it would be over.

“Perhaps not,” she repeated, her throat tight and her heart sore. She rubbed at her nose and made herself look at him. “Have you a family?” She hated to think what they might say about her. How opposite she must have been to their hopes and imaginings.

“I did,” Athan answered, as if expecting the query and keeping his voice purposefully light. “Blight took them quickly. One after the other. And then I was apprenticed by the healer called to help them, and I dedicated myself to the craft.”

He said it with pride, and a tinge of apology.

It seemed an interesting thing to do when medicine had failed them. Blight was harsh and killed quickly, even when one was young and hearty.

Or so she’d heard. It had never come to her district, and if it had, she would have been carefully sequestered until all signs had been purged.

“I’m sorry.” She looked down at their hands. Squeezed lightly because she meant it. It must be a terrible thing to lose one’s family. Even if they could be wretched, could hurt as well as love.

Would she lose hers? Because of him?

She was supposed to be all right with that. To prattle off the wrongs done to her and stride away into her new life, pleased to be rid of the worst of it all.

But that wasn’t her.

She wanted to please them. To see them happy. To make up for the years of worry and strain she’d seen etched into the lines of their faces as they tried to make her well.

They sat quietly for a moment, sharing in a bit of peace and understanding between them, and it was far more comforting than she would have thought. The bond was there, not pressingand reaching and urging her for things she was not ready to contemplate.

It was just a warm presence in her chest. Whispering how right this was, that she was to be his comfort, and he was to be hers, and if she could simply stop being so afraid then all might be well...

He spoke first, shifting slightly. And she thought of his knees, and then of her knees, and how terribly they would have ached to be positioned against the hard floor for so long, and she tugged at his hand to urge him upward. “You shouldn’t...” she swallowed, wondering what she meant to offer. For him to share the bed? To rest with her?

The bond flared, insisting that would be precisely what she should do, and did he not look strong and capable of protecting her while she slept?

Her mouth was dry, and she had not finished her water, and her words were more a whisper than sound. “You should sit,” she insisted, tucking her legs closer to her so there was more room on the bed.

His bed.

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