Page 7 of Sunder

Family, he’d reminded her. Which meant her welcome was obvious.

Family, she’d reminded him. Which meant it was not.

He’d smiled, and understood in ways that his mate was only beginning to, and she’d squeezed his arm and thanked him quietly before returning to her true home.

To her room.

With its low lamps and muted colours.

Nothing too stimulating. Too harsh when her eyes were burdened by the strain.

“Where is Firen?” she asked, because it was clear his attention had shifted in want of her.

“Market,” he answered with a shift of his eyes. As if he could picture her there, and...

Longed to go to her.

But he didn’t. He’d checked here first, just in case she’d come home early. And found Orma instead.

Sat with her.

When all he wanted to do was go.

She made to stand, but her head grew muzzy and she couldn’t quite manage it. She would. In a moment. She’d go. Perhaps not fly—she’d learned that lesson the hard way.

But she could walk, and she would. It was not that far.

“You should go,” Orma insisted. “Keep her company. You’re intruding on my solitude.”

He blinked once, slowly. Then turned his head and looked at her fully. “If you’d wanted that, you’d be back at home.” He ducked his head to keep her eye. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She wouldn’t lie to him, not when he was more than capable of catching her little deceits. “I’d not keep you,” she said instead.

“You could come,” he offered. “You are not lacking in funds.”

“No,” she agreed. “And I thank you for the offer, but I must decline.”

It hurt to do it. Because she wished she might go. But the very prospect was enough to overwhelm her. So many people, so many threads, tangling and coiling and some bursting out in search of their mates, and only some settling where they belonged...

She did it. On occasions. When a mood came upon her, when she longed to taste it. She’d sneak away, dressed in what finery she could muster without help to don it.

She’d attend a fete. Would watch the colours and revel in the sensations of it. The rightness. The smiles and the dances and the wisps of new love that she swore she could feel for herself.

It would leave her feeling dreamy and hopeful. Would lighten her steps and give strength to her wings and then she’d...

She plucked at the pages of her book, frowning softly.

“Orma,” Lucian repeated. So she mimicked his name in much the same tone, a warning and a question all at once. She was rewarded with his scowl, and that was all right, because it was better than his pity. “I’m allowed to worry about you.”

“If you must,” Orma sighed, stretching out her legs and allowing her skirts to part and her sandaled feet to whisper against the flowers that pushed valiantly through the cobbles.

Weeds, her mother would say, a crinkle to her nose as if they were troublemakers rather than survivors.

“I’m also allowed to encourage you to do what you must,” Lucian continued, his expression far more severe. “Do not be like me. Do not try to please them forever. It won’t work. Itisn’tworking.”

She blinked at him, processing. “Is that you what you think I am doing?”

He leaned in closer, an intimidation trick he’d picked up from his father, although he’d be horrified to learn of it. “Of any of us, you can find him. Today, if you were brave enough for it. Put an end to all this. Save yourself.” What had begun as a command ended with something far more akin to a plea.

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