Page 109 of Fate
They asked him about his work. About what he was learning—all of which he answered with the vague sort of nothingness that filled a great deal of time while revealing nothing of import.
It was a strange thing to witness, when he’d been so candid with her parents before. It was his mother, then, that made him keep the particulars to himself. He was reading a great deal. Yes, there was plenty to eat, and no, he had not withered away since his mating, but was Ellena sure she hadn’t?
She passed her hand over her robes self-consciously before giving him a tight smile. “The tower is empty without you.”
“Mother,” Lucian sighed, but said no more.
She sniffed and waved her hand. “I know. You can’t come back.” She said it so morosely that Lucian leaned forward, catching her eye a little too long.
“How unhappy are you? Truly?”
Ellena swallowed, her eyes darting toward Firen and her mother.
“Really, Lucian, this isn’t the place.”
But he held firm, his voice serious. “Yes, it is. Our talks will be here, now. These people will be our family. So I need to know how you have been feeling.”
Ellena grasped tightly to her napkin, looking very much like a hunted woman, penned and flighty. “That is not for you to fret about,” she insisted.
His brows rose, and he sat back in his chair. “Do I appear to be fretting? Or making an enquiry?”
Firen frowned ever so slightly. Reminded herself she wasn’t to interfere. To overstep. They had a dynamic she was only beginning to understand, and yet...
Mama’s caution was fresh in her mind, but she still found herself reaching out. Grasping hold of that hand that trembled beneath hers, and smiled at her softly. She was in no danger. There was no threat here, despite Lucian’s firm tone. “You’ve had quite a lot of change in a very short time. And I think you thought you lost someone very dear along the way. I hope you know you haven’t. That you’re welcome here. That we care about you.”
Ellena lost hold of her composure, her eyes welling and tears spilling. “I have not forgotten my promise, Lucian,” she insisted. “You will bury me someday, but not because of something I have done.”
Firen glanced at her mother, who watched them all with a grim sort of awareness. They had not mentioned this part, had they? Had not shared what despair and hopelessness might do.
Ellena sniffed and wiped at her eyes as best she could, pulling her other hand free of Firen’s. “This is morbid talk. Not at all appropriate for a family tea.”
Lucian frowned, but nodded. “You are right. My apologies.”
He’d slipped into some other person. No—just another version of himself. Stilted and formal. Clipped words and precise niceties, and she did not particularly care for it.
She stood.
Took hold of her chair and was more than aware of how they watched her as she went to Lucian’s side of the table and set it down. It was an awkward fit, not helped at all when he did not shove his own seat over to accommodate her, but that was all right.
Anything to remind him of where he was. Who he was.
“This is better,” she insisted. “I’m sorry,” she told their mothers. “We rarely sit across from one another, and it felt a little too strange for me.”
She would not comment on how they usually took their meals. Her feet sometimes tucked on his chair, her posture not at all proper as she lounged about and hummed happily to herself to have him close by again. She would have kept their hands tangled if he’d let her, but he insisted there would be some propriety during meals, which meant he wouldn’t let her sit in his lap either.
Which she understood better, because that would mean battling food stains in the laundry as she inevitably grew distracted and spilled—either on herself or onto him.
But he’d allow her stockinged feet to slip beneath his leg. Would let her sprawl and giggle to herself as they ate at her own table. Nothing scandalous about it when it was just the two of them nestled in her kitchen. Their kitchen.
She wouldn’t do it now, although she could feel some of his trepidation through the bond that she might, and she could not help the curl of her lips as she glanced at him, letting him wonder if she would embarrass them both in such a way.
Mama passed down her cup and plate, although she’d emptied both and felt over-full at the prospect of more of either.And she might have rolled her eyes a little, but there was a faint smile at the corners of her mouth. She wanted Firen happy in her mating, and would overlook some peculiarities that accompanied the newness of it.
Firen wanted to ask if there had ever been a time, no matter how short, that Ellena had longed for Oberon’s company. That he’d been tender and indulgent, nurturing the bond so it might grow strong. A buoy when life brought inevitable hardships.
For as good as Firen’s imagination might be, she could not picture it.
Perhaps it had been wrong of her to move beside him. To take hold of his arm and pull it to her, just briefly. To make him look at her and watch as his expression softened. Only to succumb to the rolling of his eyes as he plastered on a scowl. “We are with our mothers,” he reminded her—although there was a warmth in him and in the bond that she’d needed to see again.