He would keep his own boots on, as the instructors had explained that it was necessary to be constantly prepared for any action required of him. But surely it was all right for her to be more comfortable?
He should stop staring, but his eyes kept drifting to her person as he watched her try to get settled, her cloak and skirts making it difficult to situate herself properly beneath the blanket. Most especially as she kept attempting to do so on her back.
His brow furrowed, concern ever mounting for the wings that must ache so very terribly, especially if she meant to crush them so completely.
“Penryn,” he began carefully, knowing he was overstepping, should not mention it at all, but could not bear the thought of her discomfort for so long. He could perhaps understand the necessity of hiding such an identifying mark before the crowds, before initiates that were supposed to know nothing of her before being chosen, but what purpose did it serve now?
“Yes?” she asked, turning slightly so she could see him even with her reclined state.
He swallowed, wondering if he could really be so bold, but knowing that he had to be.
“You may release your wings, if you like. I do not know why the sages would require you hide them, even now, but... we can keep that between us. They must hurt terribly being bound like that.”
He was met with silence, and in his panic, in his embarrassment, he made himself recline as well, so she might not see how thoroughly mortified he was or overstepping so completely.
But when her answer came, it was not what he expected, nor could he directly reconcile.
“I appreciate your concern, Grimult,” she answered softly, just enough that he might hear over the crackle of the flames. “But I do not have any to set free.”
Six
Questions filled Grimult’s mind, ones that would be wildly inappropriate to ask aloud. He had seen people with damaged wings, of course, if an accident or malice had led to injury that did not allow one to fully heal. He could not recall if he had ever had the misfortune of seeing someone completely without before.
Until now.
She said the words calmly, if sadly, and he realised then the significance of how the Lightkeep was selected. Their sex did not matter, but evidently their spirit required an absence of wings—for what reason he could not imagine. Born only once a generation, requiring a Guardian to see to their Journey because simple flight would not be possible.
He swallowed, tucking his wings a little tighter against his body. A life without them?
But Penryn would have known no different, and that was a comfort against the shiver of horror that went through him. It was little wonder she stared at his wings as if trying to ascertain how they worked at all.
It also explained why the dwelling of the sages did not tower on pillars, as Penryn would have to be carried everywhere, and the indignity of that... of treating her as a fledgling who was not yet capable of flight on their own...
The urge to flee her company was great. Not because he held any great fear of her, but because he had forced her to confess something that was clearly meant to remain a secret between them. It seemed so obvious now that she had spoken so, however. The slope of her shoulders, the way the fabric skimmed the edges of her back, unhindered by a mound of feathers, contained or otherwise.
The urge was there to apologise, but that did not seem wholly wise. This was her mark, was what showed unequivocally that she was their Lightkeep, and that was not something to be pitied.
Even if he was having difficulty quelling the well of compassion that wanted to seep forth at the prospect.
She shifted in her bedroll and he caught sight of her biting at her lip before she turned her back to him.
And he felt distinctly that he had hurt her somehow, perhaps with his silence, or perhaps with the entreaty he never should have made in the first place.
Sleep was slow in coming and he was certain that had a great deal to do with the discord festering between them. Unable to bear it any longer, when he rose to replenish the logs for their fire, he moved quietly in her direction, determined to make things right.
But her face had relaxed into sleep, her hands tightly held up toward her chin, her body slightly hunched inward. The night had grown colder and despite their proximity to the flames, she appeared to be suffering from it, so with only a moment’s hesitation, he reached down and tugged her blanket more fully around her shoulders, hoping it might coax her into a deeper, more restful sleep.
Knowing she had been able to sleep finally allowed him to do the same, and he dreaded how tired he would be in the morning. He had slept poorly the night before, though even now it felt incredible to think that he had been stationed in the dormitory only the previous day.
The Journey was long, but it doubtlessly would feel even twice the distance simply due to the monotony that each day would bring.
Or so he hoped. The less it was punctuated by dangers and tension between himself and Penryn, then better.
Exhaustion finally took him, yet it was the kind of sleep that led him to jerking awake some hours later, the sun already risen. He blinked, eyes searching quickly for sign of Penryn.
She sat on her bedroll, her arms crossed about herself as she watched him. She had tidied her hair already, or else it had been remarkably undisturbed by her slumber, although something about her appearance suggested she had been awake for some time.
He felt quite the fool.
“You should have woken me,” he informed her, scratching at his eyes as he berated himself. How silently had she moved that he had not heard? Or was
