Page 87 of Sunder

When she was ready.

When she was comfortable.

Which should have been far in the future, shouldn’t it? Because...

She’d had reasons.

Good ones.

Why it was important to wait. Or why it was a simple absolute that they would be.

But as she gripped his hair, her body warming, pulsing, fluttering with something that must absolutely be want, she had a difficult time remembering what those reasons might be.

???

It wasn’t long before the hard wood of the desk proved too much for her hip.

Athan didn’t mind. Just simply helped her down after her apologetic admission, and their kisses ended even if the touches didn’t. He held her hand as he moved her toward the chair, this one plush and welcoming for tired joints.

“Do I get to know what we’re looking for yet?” Athan asked, giving her his best approximation of a stern look.

She might have responded to a pleading one, but this one was easy to shake her head in refusal. She’d had enough of those, and she’d indulge them no longer.

“No,” Orma countered, offering a little smile so he would not grow cross at being deflected once again.

She rubbed at her hip and willed the dull ache to die down. It would. Eventually. But it could hobble her just as easily if she pushed too hard when it was painful.

“Well, then,” Athan mused, looking at the many books. “I could ready you titles? Or give you stacks to look at?” This brought a frown to the corners of his mouth, and she could well understand his hesitation. Her father had an order to his library. There was a ledger one must use when taking one away, then make a separate notation when it returned.

She didn’t know if Athan utilised a similar system, but she did not want his entire library torn apart on her behalf.

She got to her feet, keeping most of her weight to her good leg. “I’ll just look, if that’s all right.”

He gave her leg a dubious glance, but did not argue with her. She squeezed his hand when she passed him, because she was grateful for his trust. Mama would have fussed. Her father would have ordered her to sit, then remind her there were plenty of people she could call upon to fetch and carry for her.

Athan wanted her to do as she pleased. Believed she knew her own limits, and that... that was something rare in her experience.

He nodded, pulling out a book, seemingly at random, before he settled into his own chair. It suited him. This place. The books about him, the colours of the stained woods. The deep blue of his seat.

He was offering privacy, she realised slowly. Without abandoning her in a strange room and an even stranger building.

She tugged at her skirts, refusing to think about their interlude on the desk behind her. She had a task. A needed one.

The shelves were orderly, if not readily clear on their subjects. Some spines were gilded with gold, others silver. Some were impressed with black ink, the colour worn off with time and great wear, leaving only an indentation of what they had been.

Some had no titles at all, only the scrawl of a forgotten hand describing the contents.

Medical, mostly.

The proper setting of a bone. A wing.

Tinctures and positions for birthing.

A few case studies on sickly children and the remedies that helped them.

Orma passed over the shelf entirely after that one.

There were a few on history, and she was mildly curious to know how far back they reached, but now was not the time for such things.

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