Page 52 of Bound

She didn’t like him hovering near the door. Didn’t like the way he was so obvious in his attempts not to look at her things. It made her feel even more awkward, more frustrated at the entire business.

Made her want to evict him and insist he bother her no more.

And if her stomach gave a funny sort of lurch even to think it then...

She poured the tea. First in the pot, where the shrivelled leaves swirled and burst inside the confines of their pot.

Then to the mugs. With the delicate sieve to keep out the leaves that her father had given to her mother for...

She frowned, not recalling the occasion. Birthdays were muddled things. Mama had tried to talk of rotations of the suns and calendars and the like, but Wren had retained little of it. There were seasons. Those mattered. Were real and known. The rest...

They were stories, that was all. Real to her mother, but not to her.

“Sit down please, Braum. You’re making me nervous.”

He did not comment that she always seemed anxious. But continued to stand until she turned to look at him, a brow raised in question.

“Are the seats allocated in any particular way? I would not want to intrude.”

She bit her lip. They had been. Once.

She pointed to the one nearest her. “That one’s usually mine. Merryweather takes whichever has her favoured cushion.” Or she’d perch on the table. But perhaps that would offend some people, so she did not mention it.

The chairs had low backs. Her mother had often complained about them, grumbling about having to accommodate wings she did not have. But they’d come when her father lived there, and she hadn’t seemed to mind so much when he was at her table.

She made a circle of biscuits on a plate. She would have to make more if... if she was going to keep company.

She swallowed.

A friend.

Her friend.

She tried to settle the thought, and it clamoured wrongly through her mind. But she turned. Placed a mug in front of him, the biscuits in the middle. Then took her favoured chair.

He was seated across from her, which was a novel experience. Not with her back to him. Or her compromise of just to the side.

But where she could look at him too closely, where he could watch her in turn.

Better to sip her tea. To nibble at a biscuit and wait until any of this made sense. He pulled the mug closer to him, his hands curling about it. It was the wrong thing to offer, especially since he had likely flown a rather long way, but he did not complain.

“Would it help,” Braum began slowly, staring down at the steam that swirled up from the cup. “If I taught you along the way?”

Wren took a thoughtful sip. “I suppose,” she agreed slowly. “Although you would still be doing far more than I’m comfortable with. Not unless you give me something specific you want in return.”

He glanced up at her, and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. “This,” he declared. “I want this.”

So serious. So firm in his resolve.

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to supply precisely what he meant. Sitting with her? The tea and biscuits? They were perfectly ordinary things, according to her mother. Surely his sister would even provide them during visits.

Or perhaps they were human niceties. Leftover from a world that didn’t mean much of anything at all, now that...

Now that Mama was gone.

She could think it. Could feel the little ache and not let it consume her.

She swallowed. Skimmed her finger across the smooth lip of her mug. “Could you be more specific?” she prompted, her words slow. Careful. Because she dreaded his answer.