Page 49 of Fate

“A room.”

She took them through to a hallway, then into small, individual chambers that boasted tall windows—closed, although the shutters allowed light in. Then there was the table and low, cushioned benches.

If there was more to her usual hospitalities, Lucian put a stop to them as he gestured for Firen to sit and ordered a full spread and two mugs of house brew.

The woman left again with a nod, and Firen sat, her excitement dimming with her confusion on what such a space could possibly be for. “You come often,” she repeated. “Why?”

Private rooms simply to eat? Did they not have homes?

Lucian made a sound low in his throat. “Deals are better struck when stomachs are full and mugs are empty.”

She supposed that would be true, but it still felt strange. Better still for deals to be made beside a kitchen hearth. But she knew nothing of such matters.

“Deals with...”

She settled her package beside her on the bench, hoping Lucian would tell her more of his actual profession. She’d never had cause to utilise the hall of justice, never had a complaint against a market-goer that could not be settled by the Proctor.

“Merchants, mostly.” He waved his hand, as if that was of least importance. As if ports and trade were not how most everyone made their livings.

He leaned forward, his hands steepling as he regarded her. She refused to acknowledge the way her insides squirmed, as if he was about to find fault with her for no reason at all.

Instead, she leaned forward also, perching her chin on her hand as she looked at him. “I’ve never been to a place like this,” she admitted, although doubtlessly he could tell. “Or been secreted away for private dealings.” She smiled, and she found it was genuine. “Do you intend to fill me up so that I’ll look dainty and demure at supper, barely eating a thing?”

Lucian rolled his eyes. “More like I intend for you to be full so you’ll eat nothing at all, lest it be poisoned.”

Firen’s smile fell, and the door opened, the woman’s arms full of a large tray, heavily laden with all sorts of delights. Little pots of spiced jams, bread cut into slices, others cubed. Salted meats and vibrant fruits, all cut and arranged in a way Firen could never hope to duplicate.

Then there were the mugs, silvery and with intricate handles—and Firen squinted hard to make out if perhaps her father had been involved in their making. She would look at the bottom for his stamp, but that would likely be rude.

The woman retreated, leaving them with too much food and a threat hanging awkwardly between them.

“That was a jest,” Lucian clarified, reaching for his mug. There was something pale and lightly bubbling inside, little wafts of mist rising from the cup as he tipped it to take a full sip. “Eat whatever you like, here or at supper.”

But Firen frowned down at the food, not mistrustful of him. Not exactly. But those were not the teases she was used to—most particularly when she was more than aware that her presence was seen as a blight rather than an exciting fresh addition to an established family.

She took a breath.

Stood up.

And she could see Lucian already tensing, the way his jaw worked and his eyes darted about as if preparing himself to catch hold of her.

She’d only run the once. Well, twice. And she could not promise she would not resort to it again.

But as she moved about the table, she did not make for the door. Instead, she settled down beside her mate, and felt his confusion mixing with relief. “All right,” she agreed. “Show me which of these are best and then... and then you can talk me through tonight. And just how I will not be poisoned, and who will be there, and how not to embarrass either you or myself.”

An impossible goal, she was certain.

And at the look he gave her, Lucian thought much the same.

But he nodded.

And perhaps she did not hear all about merchants and foreign trade agreements. But she did learn that he liked the spiced jams the best. That he preferred cubed bread to the slices. That he always bit into the fruit first rather than pop a whole segment into his mouth at once.

And if she had to learn about people that she did not know and most certainly would not like her, she found it was better to do it with a fully belly and an empty mug, just as Lucian had said.

Most especially when he was the one that moved just a little closer so their arms might brush and occasionally, their hands too.

And that was her favourite part of all.