Page 14 of Bound
He sighed, a deep, tired thing that spoke of age and heartache of his own. Choices, Mama had said. With the twisting of her lips and the furious brushing of Wren’s hair as she braided it before bed. Better make them good, because you’ll be living with the consequences. And she’d kiss the top of Wren’s head when she’d felt small and nervous and ask if she was a consequence.
A mistake.
“You, my little bird,” Mama had promised, eyes bright and warm. “Were my gift. Not supposed to be possible, they all said so. And yet here you are. All mine.” And she’d squeezed her so tightly that Wren had to wriggle free with a laugh so she might breathe at all, and when did it all stop hurting so?
She took a breath. Released it slowly. “Thank you for checking on me.” She made herself look at him. “Truly.”
He frowned, and did not move. Her mother always said she was too hard on him. That she pushed and shoved far more than he deserved. Never physically, but with all the staunch determination that kept her little homestead going.
“If you needed my help, would you ask it?” It was not the half-hearted niceties that she might have received at the market. When politeness overcame old memories and trespassed conventions. It was a genuine query, and she took a moment to consider her answer.
She almost said no. That there were lines she had placed within her own mind. What was allowed. What was just enough to honour her mother’s plea to forgive her father as much as she was able, while also satisfying her own loyalty to the family they had once been.
The girl that had been so lost without her mother that she had been vulnerable. Prey.
And her father had not seen, had he? Had smiled and encouraged and perhaps even grew relieved that he would not have to worry for her so any longer. Because she had a mate, after all.
But she didn’t, did she? Just a bunch of lies and a bruised heart and...
She shoved it all away.
Temperance. Calliope. Thorn’s field. Those things mattered. The rest certainly did not.
“I would like to think I would,” Wren answered as truthfully as she could. And she watched his shoulders droop before he nodded. She might be so prideful for her own sake. But if it meant having no grain for her animals, if it meant no mince for Merryweather’s breakfast...
She wasn’t desperate. All was well for now.
There just was not enough time in the day, that was all. But she’d manage. Always had.
“I suppose if you will not ask, then I shall simply act accordingly.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his hand, his mouth forming into a grim line. “Will you allow me to speak to the Proctor on your behalf? There should be compensation for your lost wages.”
Her throat tightened, and her blood grew hot and insistent that she could manage such matters on her own.
Wren’s stubbornness could be a beautiful thing. Her mother had always said so. Or it could mean she’d hurt herself and everyone around her. “Choose wisely, please,” she’d say with that pleading look. “Maybe don’t choose... this particular matter.”
And Wren would yield. Because she trusted her mother more than herself.
But she had only her own judgement now.
So she swallowed back the stubborn set of her jaw. Made herself look at her father and accept his offer of assistance with as much grace as she could manage. “That would be... helpful. Thank you.”
To not have to make the trip again so soon. To waste time and risk trouble...
Her stomach gave one last twist before it settled, the relief greater than her prickled pride.
Some of the tension eased out of him. His eyes grew a little warmer and for a moment, she thought he would reach out. Squeeze her shoulder in a show of familiarity. But he didn’t. He allowed her to dictate that part of their accord, so uncertain of his welcome.
“Could you give me a figure on what you lost? So I will know what to negotiate?”
She couldn’t keep his eye. Looked out at Thorn and saw one of the youngest grimbleswas climbing up his back, bellowing to its mother all the while. “Whatever is offered will be fine.”
Her father huffed and shook his head. “There is fine, and there is fair. You could not finish your full day’s allotment.”
Wren closed her eyes. “I’m not like the other merchants. You know that. They’d prefer me not to sell at all, so yes, I will take anything that is offered and they will hear no complaint from me on the subject.” She peered at him from the corner of her eye. “Or you, if you would like for me to keep my position.”
His mouth tightened. It bothered him. That she was pushed to the sides. It had bothered him when her mother would hide her wings as a fledgling. And when Wren had grown older and more embittered by the whole mess, she’s bitten out that it would have been easier if they’d simply taken her wings as a newborn. Useless as they were.
She remembered the fury in her father’s eyes when she’d said it. The way he’d stormed from the house to keep hold of his temper.