Page 34 of Bound

“No companions this morning?” he said at last, setting down his empty cup as he picked up the bowl. She hoped she had not made it too sweet—it was a trait from her mother that her father did not share. “I am shocked they allow you out of sight.”

She stirred her breakfast carefully, able to watch as the cream mingled with the berries, swirling into deep purples and splashes of orange. “Merryweather likes to sleep until the suns come up. She does not approve early workdays.”

Braum turned his head, frowning ever so slightly. “I did not intend to wake you before your usual hour.”

Wake her? He hadn’t made a sound.

“You didn’t,” she assured him. “Her chores differ from mine, that’s all. Some of us need more hours in the day.”

He nodded, although he did not ask what responsibilities Merryweather took upon herself. She tested all the food, of course, saving Wren’s stomach more than once when she staunchly refused a cut of meat from a new vendor. Upon closer inspection of its middle, its preservation was less than adequate.

Wren had been more than cross at the waste, and she’d argued with herself for days if complaining to the proctor would constitute trouble.

She’d decided it would, and would simply be grateful for Merryweather’s superior senses. Her mother’s herbs could do much, but she doubted even they could spare her the misery of spoiled meat.

There was also how the pests that plagued the barn and feasted on the sacks of grain mysteriously disappeared when she’d decided to make this her home.

Her bowl was empty. So was his. He stacked his neatly into hers as soon as she placed it on the tray between them, thanking her for the meal. She nodded, wanting to ask if it had been to his liking. If she should know for next time if he would prefer something else.

Then scolded herself firmly.

Because there would be no more morning meals beneath a tree. Instead, they’d be in her favourite chair with Merryweather batting her head against her shoulder. And that was good too, so there was no reason for the brief pang of disappointment.

None at all.

“I should go warn Thorn about his guests making a return.”

She stood, but before she could stoop to take up the tray, Braum held it out to her. “Is there a point in asking if I might help wash before I begin?”

Her mouth grew dry, and she shook her head before she had made any conscious decision to do so.

He stood with a sigh. “I thought not.”

She did not know why he said it in such a way. As if she’d insulted him somehow. He’d commented on how uncomfortable she’d been when they’d been in her kitchen, and that was true—no matter how irritating she found it that he’d noticed.

That she hadn’t hidden it better.

“You’re doing more than enough,” she reminded him, and if she addressed their dirtied dishware, then... that was simply her prerogative.

She did not await his answer. Or his looks, or his hums, or the frowns that he seemed to wear most of all.

She had her own work to do, and a Merryweather to appease as soon as the second sun made its appearance.

???

Thorn’s low howl alerted her to the trouble. It was not followed by his customary growls when it was a predator—or a stranger, in Braum’s case. So she hurried but did not run, climbing over the fence and squinting to make out his form. All four of his legs were in the pond at the far end, and he howled again, huffing his frustration.

There were many things Thorn could do. Swimming was not one of them.

“Bother,” Wren groaned, walking now. Not an emergency, not yet anyway, although she could even hear the grimbles bellows from here.

She did not know why the younger ones liked to swim to the small shoal in the middle. Perhaps it was curiosity, or perhaps it was because the tall rushes that sprouted there were too much of a temptation.

“Lost a few, did you?” she commented as she neared Thorn’s side. He gave a huff, giving her only the briefest glance before he stared pointedly at the wayward charges outside his protection. “I know. You want me to fence it in. But you won’t thank me when they have nothing to drink. And neither would you.”

No huff. No glance.

Not even one of reproach as she leaned down to remove her boots and stockings.