Page 62 of Sunder

Not that she was going to treasure it, or anything. He hadn’t asked, which was rather wretched of him.

But why did she hope he would do it again?

“Live with me, Orma,” Athan murmured, his voice soft and his eyes sincere. “Share my home. Be my mate in all the ways you are able.” A lump settled in her throat, and she certainly was not about to cry. Because that was foolish, and he was being sweet, and one did not have to weep for little kindnesses. “And maybe you will even consider sharing this marvellous bed if I can convince your parents to part with it.”

She wished he could see how the bond shimmered about them. The way it pulsed and glowed when he was gentle and she was receptive.

It was a beautiful distraction during entreaties he should not have to give. There should be negotiations. Offers of other dwellings that came from her lines while they bickered about her work and his. About children and timings and all the other normal conversations a newly mated pair ought to have.

Except he’d built his life. He trained and studied and made it full and lovely because she’d hidden herself away.

And there it was. The little tendrils of despair that trickled through her heart and made the tears fall. “You deserve so much better than me,” she managed to get out before she curled inward. Which wasn’t the tight ball she was used to, but instead made it so her head was on his chest and his arm came about her, and she wasn’t thinking about hands and kisses and skin against skin, just the way it felt to be held so tightly when she was sad.

His fingers delved into her hair, stroking lightly and pulling free the little tangles that appeared during their flight here. “Not true,” Athan promised. “We might not know how just yet, but we’re perfect for one another. We just have to be patient while we work out the reasons why.”

She snorted, shaking her head and allowing her body to relax into him. He nuzzled against the top of her head and the bond warmed her all over. “Is that all the answer I’m to expect?” Athan asked, and she supposed she could not use the bond to do all the work for her.

“No,” she murmured, plucking at a loose thread on his tunic. It should be snipped, but she hadn’t the will to search out a sharp blade to trim it off. “I mean...” because she’d waited too long, and he thought that was what she meant to say, and she shook her head, battling with too many feelings at once. “I want to try. I just... you’re going to be disappointed in me. Down the line. When I can’t be all you’d hoped for.” She sniffed and buried her face against his chest. It was all right to talk about those things, wasn’t it? For fears to be voiced rather than carried. “Then I’ll need to come home and maybe some of my things should be here.”

Her voice was small, and she waited for the irritation. The heavy sigh and for him to finally grow impatient with her. “Or,” Athan said instead. “You’ll be wrong. And I will love you, eventhe bits that are frightened and anxious. And you’ll wonder why you were so afraid of me. Of us.”

She hiccupped just a little and she might have been crying in earnest, and he tucked her in closer and kissed the top of her head because he seemed to like to do that when she was close. “Does this count as cuddling now?” he asked, knowing full well the answer.

“I suppose it does,” she choked out, because grousing was better than crying.

Again.

Athan hummed, and held her close, and it was all right because he agreed her bed was best.

???

“You don’t have the room,” Orma reminded him.

She wondered how long it might be before he remembered, because it was at least the fourth time she had said it.

Never mind his house, her trunk could only hold so many things. There were dresses and gowns and a never-ending stream of nightclothes, because for a long while that was the most she’d ever worn. Then there were the little pictures, some ornate and finely crafted, commissioned pieces her father had done for her to commemorate her name-days. Other, more personal items that her mother had asked for Lucian’s mother to paint—the two of them, with Mama’s arm about her, glued to a hard board and an elaborate metal frame surrounding it which would certainly not fit in with everything else.

“You cannot leave such a thing,” Athan insisted. He tucked it under his arm and glanced toward the window. “I’ll fly it home right now if it comes to it.”

She looked about the room at all that he wanted to take. It was important; he said. Memories.

As if they all held ones she wanted to bring with her to her new life.

But... it was possible she would want to have her portrait with her mother in her new home. So she could look at it and think fondly and perhaps fly back when she was able and share tea and talk for an afternoon.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Orma allowed, and was rewarded with Athan’s answering smile.

“None at all,” he insisted. “And stop saying my home is too small. You haven’t even seen all the rooms yet.”

She rolled her shoulder just a little. She’d seen his room, and that’s where she would be, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps it would be more appropriate for her things to be situated elsewhere.

She glanced over at the spot he’d vacated so he might begin his work.

No. Not another room.

Which meant not takingallthe things, lest he be pushed out of his own bedchamber.

Gifts her father had brought her were neatly arranged on shelves. Trinkets of animals of various sizes, some whittled from woods from across the sea, others made of metal. Others were made with stones nestled into the wings of a great creature said to live on the highest mountains, and she had only to brush against it with a fingertip and it would twirl upon its stand, the light of the suns sending dancing lights about her room.

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