Page 56 of Sunder

“We should go,” she murmured, testing her resolve. “We should,” she repeated, buoyed a little further because it settled rightly.

Most especially when his hold tightened as he hugged her to him. “Excellent.”

And he was proud of her, which shouldn’t have mattered, which should have influenced nothing at all.

But it did.

And she smiled.

???

They were sitting.

Which should have been good.

It was better than being evicted without ceremony—for the door to remain barred, opened only long enough for her trunk to be shoved onto the stoop.

Except it did notfeelbetter.

Not when they were in the formal sitting room. Reserved for company and teas hosted by her mother, where ladies of her equal station would come and gossip and enjoy their refreshments with straight backs and impractical gowns.

Not that she’d been invited for a long while. But she remembered them.

It hurt more than it should. Being here. It was for Athan’s sake, most likely. Because the fabrics were the finest, and her parents liked everyone to see their wealth and appreciate it.

But it made her feel an outsider in her own home. Most especially when she did not know if it was her home any longer.

When they’d come to the door, Father had opened it. His face was stern as he looked over Athan. He’d spent a long while rifling through his trunk, and this time she’d been certain of the reason he’d discarded most of them. Stains abounded. Some looking more like spilled medicines, as some of her own clothing had suffered the same fate when her hand grew weak and she’d spilled an elixir all down her front.

That dress had swiftly been whisked away and dyed, the incident forgotten by any but Orma.

She’d looked at it closely for any signs of the mishap, but there were none. All fixed and mended, as Mama would say. Patting her hand. Making Orma’s insides squirm because it was just the same as when she was little, and it wasn’t supposed to be this way. Others got to be strong and capable. To not have to worry about hands or wrists giving way. Of hobbling up and down the few steps on the stoop of the house. Of having toendure parents discussing new sorts of railings to install, and if they hired one with enough talent, it needn’t look like anything but yet another ornament. No one would question it.

Athan didn’t have anyone to whisk away his clothing at the end of a long day. To dye them perfectly so no one would see the fine dots about the wrist, the slash of colour across the forearm.

He should have a waxed overcoat if healing was so messy.

The bond nudged at her.

He had her.

She glanced at him, seated with a table between them, a fine set of dishes heavily laden with her favourite morsels from the kitchen. That meant something, surely? Except her parents rarely were the ones to set the menus—they had people to do that. Ones that would hear Orma’s name and send the ones she liked best, more habit than kindness.

Mama kept smoothing her hands down her perfectly situated skirt. Then she would glance toward her father. Who would look back at her, and purse his lips, and the silence would stretch on.

Orma kept looking at Athan, and he had the audacity to appear wholly unbothered by it all. He had a slight smile at his lips, and he was sipping from the delicate cup Mama had gestured toward—ever the consummate hostess.

Orma thought it was awful. She thought she might burst at the seams, all nervous energy and a crippling fatigue that threatened for dominance.

“So...” Mama began, the first to break the silence. Orma wasn’t surprised—she could handle tension about as well as Orma could. “How are you feeling, dearest?”

Father gave her a sharp look, as if they had already agreed not to ask, but Mama ignored him.

Orma’s hand itched to come to her chest and rub, but she settled for stroking her wrist where the threads curled. “Fine,”Orma murmured. Sat up a little straighter. “Or... better. I’m not really sure yet.”

There. A bit of hope for her mother.

Who took it and processed it, and beamed at her daughter and assumed that meant all would be well after all.

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