Page 104 of Fate

“Bed,” she declared.

His nose crinkled. “The crumbs...”

“Will be swept up by me. You need a lie down. While I tell you about tomorrow.”

He rubbed at his forehead, the little line between his brows suggesting she’d confused him utterly. “Don’t you mean today?”

“No. I mean tomorrow.” She filled the tray and followed him up to the loft. Where she was rewarded with him shrugging out of his robes, leaving him in shirtsleeves and trousers. She wouldn’t mind him stripping down further, but he seemed contented enough with the effort and reclined onto the bedclothes.

She followed, settling the tray on the bed beside him before making an elaborate gesture with the cloth as she spread it over his shirt. Then followed it with a plate she placed on his middle.“From the market,” she declared. “One of my favourites, so be kind.”

He took a bite with far more suspicion than was warranted. The pastry crumbled, but that was what the cloth was for. A base for all the cheese and vegetables that she couldn’t name because the words were strange on her tongue and she’d asked the stall-keep too many times how to pronounce them and she knew he’d tired of repeating it.

“Any objections?” she asked, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed so she could look at him.

“Yes,” Lucian muttered, taking another bite. “The days are too long, and despite what Vandran says, he seems intent to fit eight years of study into one. Willing to accept me as a ninth my wing.” That part was muttered into the pastry as he poked about the contents. “You meant with the food, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Firen agreed, taking a bite of her own meal. “But that’s all right.” She loved the flavours. Loved how one vegetable had been pickled in some sort of sweet brine, which contrasted nicely with the salt of the cheese.

Liked better that Lucian was home, and she might share it with him.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” Lucian asked, taking another, larger bite. Which was answer enough of how well he liked it.

“Well,” Firen hedged, suddenly wondering if he would find some objection in it. “I invited our mothers for tea.” He stared at her, his pastry hovering over his plate, not quite making it to his mouth. “Here,” she added, voice a little smaller than it had been. “We hadn’t talked about that part. If... if I shouldn’t have said where we lived, or if that will make things worse with your father since I know he’d like nothing more than to make trouble for you, but...”

“Take a breath,” Lucian urged, and she realised her words had strung together and he likely had understood little beyond their mothers coming. “Start again. When did you see my mother?”

She told him.

All of it.

About Eris first, although she tried to keep that part shorter.

About Ellena’s appearance at her mother’s stall.

About promises and bonds and how much she clearly loved her son.

“I feel sorry for her,” Firen finished. “Is that wrong?” She abandoned her plate on the tray and lay down next to him. She’d let him sleep in a moment. Take the dishes and tidy everything while he rested his weary mind.

His arm came about her. Pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve a kind heart,” Lucian complimented. His voice was low and raspy with want of sleep, and she nuzzled into him briefly. “More than we deserve, probably.”

She hummed. Kissed his chest just the once, then leaned forward to place a kiss on his mouth as well. The proper greeting she should have given when he came home, but she was certain he’d forgive her tardiness. “I don’t know about that.”

She moved to stand at the side of the bed and collected the remains of their supper. Then, with exaggerated movements, brushed any remaining crumbs from his shirt and trousers while he fussed and flinched as if she was going to be brutal about it.

Which she wasn’t.

Might have teased him a little, but only just.

“Go to sleep,” she insisted. “Then you can tell me all your plotting when you wake up.”

He laughed, but it was a breathless, sleep-filled sound as he rolled onto his side away from her.

Well. Away from the lamplight.

So she lowered that too, and if she leaned down to kiss his cheek, that was her prerogative.

He’d not said if he could make time to join them for their tea. Had not scolded her for telling his mother where they lived.