Page 88 of Foundling

Attalus’s serious gaze found hers, and Leita’s heart lurched in her chest when he reached out for her. He was always reaching for her, touching her, yet this felt different. How was it he always knew she needed that little something more?

Leita went to take the hand he offered, relieved when he reeled her into the comfort of his chest. He held her close as they stood in the grotto, the air still and quiet.

“I know nothing about this, really, but I’m trying to learn,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “It seems to me the faelands might need a little coaxing.”

“I’ve tried,” she grumbled.

“I know you have, agae. You’re nothing if not devoted.” He kissed the top of her head, perhaps softening the blow of what he was trying to say. “Someone who’s been hurt so badly finds it difficult to trust, though. They need softness, gentleness. Patience.”

Leita didn’t think they were strictly talking about only the faelands now. “I’ve done all I can to make it trust me.”

Attalus rumbled soothingly. “I doubt you can make it do anything, an entity so ancient. Their trust must be earned.” Smoothing back her hair from her face, he told her gently, “You’ve tried other things—now, you might have to be gentle with it. Let the faelands come to know you.”

Leita tried to swallow past the knot in her throat but couldn’t. “I think I’ve forgotten how to be soft and gentle.”

His smile was heartbreaking. “Then practice on me,” he suggested.

Her instinct was to refute him. That he was only flirting. But the longer she looked, the more genuine he seemed. Leita wanted to argue, but really, what did she have left to try?

Damn it all, she feared he might be right—and that was terrifying.

She buried her face in his chest, not wanting to accept that truth just yet. “I don’t know how to start,” she mumbled.

His grip tightened around her as he said, “Tell us about your mother and sister. Perhaps the faelands remembers them, too.”

The sting of what he suggested wasn’t so bad within his arms, but Leita held on tight anyway. It wasn’t something she wanted to do—she’d prefer never to speak of them again, instead holding them close in a deep, dark place inside where their memory wouldn’t hurt so much.

That was the only way she’d been able to carry on without them. All these centuries later, Leita wasn’t far away from the orphan girl who’d been cast across the border, severed from all she knew so she might survive. In that deep, dark place, Leita knew she was still that girl, scared and alone.

To take the hand offered was terrifying, for what if it was rescinded? Or, what if it brought her somewhere even worse?

Those had always been the possibilities that haunted Leita’s life. Everywhere, from human village to wilderness to the palace of Fallorian, those questions were the root of all her worries and troubles.

Leita clung to her azai, wishing she wasn’t so small.

Whether she’d said it aloud or he felt her need through their bond, Attalus whispered, “I have you, agae. You’re safe.”

Leita took a shuddering breath, gathering the air and courage she’d need. Finally, in slow, halting words, she said, “I was almost as tall as Lilibet even though she was twenty years older…”

22

Much later, after an intimate dinner on the balcony and reading correspondence together, Leita returned to Attalus’s words. She tracked him from where she stood at her desk, watching as he divested of his larger pieces of jewelry.

He’d never be without horn caps, a few earrings, smaller necklaces, and a ring, he claimed, but otherwise he took off his big jeweled necklaces, bangles, gold bracers, and ear caps. “I want to be comfortable, after all.” Leita just smiled, a little bewildered, a little amused, and happy he was happy.

Honestly, he still resembled a dragon sleeping in a pile of treasure whenever he climbed atop the bed.

But those weren’t the words she lingered over. “Then practice on me,” he’d said. Practice being soft and gentle. Leita couldn’t say she wasn’t intrigued. In fact…she might want to start right now.

“Attalus?”

“Yes, agae?” He cocked his head in her direction as he unfastened an earring. His slitted pupils enlarged when he saw she approached and larger still when her hands ran up his chest to settle over his hearts.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“I made you a promise, didn’t I?” He grinned ruefully. “Although, perhaps remind me which thing I said.”

“That I should practice on you.”