Page 73 of Soulbound

"How is she?" Lucien asked.

"Sleeping," he replied, for Lucien had been in several times during the day to check upon Cleo. Whatever anyone thought of him, they loved his wife. "She wants to delve back into her Sidestep Through Time book, as she thinks there's something important within it she needs to know, but I made her put it aside. She needs rest."

"A premonition?"

"I don't know." She was hiding something from him. "It gives me an itchy feeling. A knowing."

"Cleo's intuitive senses are the best I've ever encountered," Lucien admitted. "She's probably picking up on something, and you're probably feeling the echoes of it."

"She can read the book tomorrow," he replied, still troubled. "I don't want her to overtax herself."

"If I can give you a little bit of advice in regards to handling your wife... don't give her any ultimatums. Try and make her think that resting is her idea."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm learning that lesson."

Lucien shared his dry amusement. "If it's any consolation, it's worse when your wife is mistress of over four hundred sorcerers. Especially when you were the one who suggested she take the role."

Sebastian's smile died. "Your wife hates me."

Thunder grumbled in the distance, as if to agree.

"She doesn't hate you. But this is not a conversation to be having here, outside Louisa's room. This way," Lucien murmured, heading toward the orangery at the end of the house.

There was little choice but to follow. It wasn't as though he had anything particular to say to the man, but it wasn't as though he had anything better to do either, and there was an odd yearning in him tonight. The urge to talk to someone, though damned if he knew why.

Or what about.

These people were getting to him. He barely knew them, but there was something about belonging here that made him feel itchy.

A ridiculous notion, for he'd never belong. Ianthe had all the reason in the world to hate him. He'd helped kidnap her daughter, and his mother had used the opportunity to blackmail her into stealing the Blade of Altarrh from Drake.

They ought to hate him.

Collar notwithstanding.

Lightning flickered on the horizon as Lucien led him inside the orangery. The windows faced the city, with beautiful views over the Rathbourne gardens. No sign of those views now, with a rainy darkness descended over the house, but the view within was glorious enough. Someone had clearly spent a great deal of time cultivating the orangery of late. The leaves of over a dozen fruit trees beckoned lushly.

Summoning a white mage globe, Lucien left it sitting on a shelf, and shut the door. The ease with which he tied off the sorcerous weaves made Sebastian vaguely envious.

"Ianthe doesn't hate you," Lucien murmured, sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs in the corner, and gesturing to the other.

Sebastian shook his head to the seat. Too restless for that. "If she could poison my tea, I'm fairly certain she'd consider it."

"With a strong emetic, perhaps. Her feelings are conflicted. Every time she looks at you she sees your mother, and she sees her daughter in the hands of your mother. But Louisa says you protected her." Lucien clasped his hands over his middle, eyeing him with those enigmatic eyes. "Lou's quite fond of you. Apparently you're terrible at tea parties though, which gives Ianthe pause. The idea of you sitting down to a child's tea party is a difficult one to swallow.”

Heat stirred in his cheeks. "It was one afternoon. Morgana wasn't at the house, and Louisa was upset."

"Nobody quite knows what to make of you."

"Likewise." He circled the room. "You're potting lemons." It seemed such a strange thing, to connect with Lucien on this level. The stillness of the room brought him peace. He felt like he could breathe here, the way he couldn't elsewhere.

"Drake thought it might help me to meditate and heal my aura." Lucien shrugged, pushing to his feet as if to follow. "This close to winter, it's not as though I can go and walk around barefoot on the lawns."

"Bishop said your powers have..."

"Waned?" Lucien arched a brow. "My psychic senses scarred? I believe that's the description you're looking for."

He shifted awkwardly.