Page 54 of Fate

She did not answer him. Not when it would be choked and surely mocked the moment she left the room.

And they let her go.

He let her go.

And she did not for a moment believe that he would fight for them, fight for her. He would sit and glare and nod when it was appropriate, and she would have to endure...

What exactly?

She could not bear to even indulge in a moment’s consideration of what it might feel like. For as often as shedallied with regrets, to know there would be no one else? That he was gone, living out his days in this wretched place with those horrid people, and find thatpreferableto the family they might make with one another.

She allowed the door to the dining hall to close behind her, then stood in the central hall feeling as despondent as she ever had. There was nowhere to go. Home, she supposed. With her parents and their understanding. But it made her ache all the more, because they had one another, and loved each other so. While she...

She swiped at her eyes and opened the main door. She did not want the street and the people. Not when they’d look and wonder at her. But she needed out. Needed air, and the skies were hers. They could evidently take much from her, but not that.

There was a niggling thought of the dress she wore. The hair she’d taken such care with, tucked away in Lucian’s bedchamber. Trying to feel pretty and herself, filling her head with fantasies that could not have been further from reality.

She wanted the sea. Wanted to dive and not come up again. Not until these feelings of betrayal were purged out of her. Until she could smile and forgive him, forgive them, and pretend that everything would be all right again.

She did not fly.

She walked instead. For all their talk of finery, there was little land that belonged to them. Da had a bigger lot, where he had his home and his workshop, and room for a garden beside.

They had a courtyard. Walled with yet more stone. Useless, as any could simply fly overtop if they’d a mind to it. But it wasn’t about that, was it? It was for privacy, for seclusion. So they could set themselves apart and think nothing of nodding to neighbours and being friendly.

There was even a fountain in the middle, and it might have been pretty if she was not in such a foul temper. There were trees, but they were cut into severe shapes. It was early yet for flowers, but there should have been evidence of their beginnings by now. Pushing through the cobbles beneath her feet, ignorant of how unwelcome they were in a garden with far too much stone.

It wasn’t useful. Ornamental. That was all.

With a bench with mosses creeping up its base, in hues of deep rose and brown. As if the stone itself was bleeding.

She sat.

Allowed herself to grieve. To cry. Because no one would come after her, she was well aware. She would be expected to go back, to apologise for her discourtesy, and they’d tell her it little mattered because they knew she would be uncouth and ill mannered, so why was she pretending to be otherwise?

What was happening to her? She used to have such a cheerful manner. Anyone and anything would be her friend, and she could forgive easily with a hug and a kind word, and everything was right again.

But there was a bitterness taking root, and she did not care for it. A resentment toward Lucian that would accomplish nothing. Beget nothing but heartache and misery, likely only for herself.

Because Lucian did not care.

It was an ungracious thought, one that made her tears pour all the harder. Because she feared it was too near the truth.

She could feel him, even now. Feel the anger that festered, and she wondered how much of it was truly directed at her. For existing. For not being of high enoughquality.

She tucked her arms more firmly about herself, the dress she’d felt so pretty in now feeling silly and absurd. As if it couldcover the faults that were so outside of her control, yet were determined to make her responsibility.

“Would you mind if I sat with you?”

Her head popped up, hands already coming to swipe at her eyes as she saw Orma standing in the courtyard’s entrance. She looked truly poorly, and even if Firen wished to remain alone, she would not have been able to deny a sick woman the use of the bench.

“Yes, of course.” Then paused as she watched her move closer. Which was rude. To watch the shuffle, the uneven gait. To wonder if it was some defect from her birth, or some injury that even now seemed to cause her pain. “They won’t wonder why you went after me?”

Orma smiled, a weary quirk of her lips that held nothing resembling good humour. “They notice little when they are yelling at one another. I’ll go back soon enough.” She sat, sighing a little as she eased down onto the unyielding bench beneath her. “I am sorry.”

Firen snorted a little, shaking her head and staring out at the tree circled in stone. Its roots pushed some of the cobbles out of alignment. A little rebellion. She loved it for that. “Why did you send me there? Why were you eventhere?”

She had not meant her voice to sharpen, and she stifled her urge to apologise.