Page 88 of Sunder

Stooping was tiresome, so before long she eased down onto the floor, her legs spread out in front of her to prevent her knee from aching in a bend.

It was only then that Athan looked up from his own book, frowning down at her. “Was that intentional?” he asked, nodding toward her position.

Orma kept from rolling her eyes at him, but only just. “I did not fall,” she answered primly, situating her skirts better as she turned her attention back to the books. He would not distract her again.

“You should have a cushion at least,” Athan fussed, already rising from his seat.

She saved him off, running her fingers along the smaller books that made up the lowest shelves. Thin. Made for small hands.

Orma pulled one out, glancing at Athan to make sure it was all right, but he was pointedly returning to his own book, allowing her to do as she pleased.

She smiled faintly, opening the cover. The front page was torn, the second was scribbled over with a vibrant purple ink that had faded into a sickly blend of indigo with red about the edges.

Orma flipped the book so Athan might see it. “Was this your handiwork?” she asked, tapping her finger against the page.

Athan glanced at it. “My father’s,” he answered fondly. “My mother would always turn to that page and use it as a reference on how not to treat books.” He shook his head, a small smile about his lips. “She was fastidious about his books. He collected them, but I think her passion was for their care and upkeep.”

Orma flipped to another page. Lists of colours, their spelling in crisp, blocked letters, the pigments themselves holding well against age. She could picture Athan as a fledgling, tucked up in his father’s study, peering through these same books. Perhaps his mother sat above him, sounding out words and declaring the names of the colours when he faltered.

She ached inside. For his loss. For all that might have been taken from their future.

“You all right?” Athan asked gently, the bond alerting him to her shift in mood.

“I would have liked to have met your parents,” Orma offered, because that was as near the truth of it as she dared go. “I’m sorry they are not here.”

Athan’s smile was warm as she reached down and squeezed her shoulder. It was a strange position to be in, but she leaned against his arm and sighed, just a little. “They would have liked you,” Athan assured her.

Orma snorted before she could hold it back, but she did try to keep her self-recriminations to herself. Parents would want for far more than her. She might have an impeccable lineage, but Athan did not seem to think such things mattered. They would care that she couldn’t cook for him. That she needed a minder sent to the house to insist she remember to drink water on her bad days.

They’d think her a child, not a mate.

Orma fiddled with the spine of the book before she eased it back with the rest of the set. There was a knot in her throat, matched only by the one in her stomach, and she felt Athan’s hand move from her shoulder to fiddle with her hair. “What’s wrong?” he tried again, and she rubbed at the bond in her chest, willing the sudden surge of emotions to die back down.

“I found a cookery book,” she blurted out, because the rest of it was too awful to talk about here and now. “And I don’t know what most of the items are, so I thought I could look for a book on vegetables. Father has books on botany, but it’s mostly about forage and herbs, not how you know if a root is for eating or for a potion, and I thought... I thought I’d try to learn. As a surprise. But I’ve spoiled it now.”

She allowed her eyes to flicker upward, and if they were wet, it was only from the dust on the bookshelves. Never mind that they were tidy, even by her mother’s exacting standards.

“You might have asked,” Athan reminded her gently, then shook his head. “But I can understand wanting to do it on your own.”

Her eyes burned.

“This bothers you, doesn’t it? Always needing someone?”

She nodded, her words tangled up in her throat and in her head, so it was the best she could manage.

She did not expect for him to reach for her. To bring his arms about her middle as he plucked her up from the floor and settled her on his lap. Which did not at all help her feelings of inadequacy. Of being... not too young, but...

Stunted.

It felt a betrayal of her parents to consider herself such. They loved her, did their best by her. She’d been given tutors the same as her siblings. She’d read what was given to her, or she’d... tried. For a time.

“You are uncomfortable?” Athan queried, looking over her posture. It wasn’t him. Or... it wouldn’t be if she allowed herself to relax into him. To enjoy his embrace, to feel him rub at the leg that troubled her, his hands stronger and more effective at relaxing over-taut muscles.

She took a breath. Then another.

He did not think her a child.

If he wanted to hold her on his lap, it was because she was his mate and he wanted her close to him.

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