Page 9 of Bound
Another grunt.
Braum cast him another look. “Do you know her well?”
He shouldn’t ask about her. It was wrong, wasn’t it? Although why he couldn’t say. They should have stayed together. Exchanged family names, their occupations, their lodgings.
She hadn’t wanted that. Or if she had, she’d hidden it well.
He frowned at the memory.
“She’s been my neighbour since she was yea high,” might have been a fledgling, the gap between his hands was so small. “Her mother then. Just her now.”
Braum glanced his way, uncertain if that meant the mother had deceased or if she simply chose not to attend now that she had a daughter old enough to manage it on her own.
“You know what she is, don’t you?”
Braum’s eyes narrowed. “I do not know your meaning.”
His lips curled slightly upward. “Half-blood. Right here in our little market.” There was nothing little about their market, and Braum did not appreciate the apparent relish the stranger took in sharing that bit of gossip.
But the knowledge of it tugged at him. The diminutive wings, the lack of recognition in her, while he...
“You seem old enough to have heard talk of it when she was born. Raised quite a stir.”
Braum had enough of the man’s tone. The pleasure he took in sharing details of Braum’s mate when she was not there to defend herself.
But they were not accusations, were they? Merely facts regarding the nature of her birth.
That was being shared with him because...
He stood a little taller. “Have you need of anything else?”
The man took a step backward, his hands raised to show he’d meant no harm. Which perhaps he hadn’t. It had been a wretched day. An important day.
The most important of days.
And yet he was here.
Alone.
He saw a mostly intact pouch peeking out from the corner of the log and yanked it free with more force than was strictly necessary. It tore, but only a little. Braum was sorry for even that.
He did not want to open it while being stared at, so he pocketed the pouch and made his way back into the thrum of the crowd.
He needed a cart. Needed to get this done.
And then...
Then he would make further enquiries.
The thought settled poorly.
He did not want to pluck the details of her life from other witnesses. He wanted to ask her directly, to hear her responses and to absorb each and every one of them. Perhaps hold her hand as they spoke.
He shook his head, scowling as he took to the skies. He wanted his usual team. With hesperused to the climb, with experienced handlers that would shake their heads at the mess Jamen had made. Perhaps smack him upside the head as they passed.
Would he have noticed her? If the beasts had not startled, if he had simply walked by her. Would he have known to turn his head, to look at her? To recognise her for who and what she was?
He wanted to think that he would.