He opened his mouth. Never had such a charge been levied at him before and his earlier determination faded from immediate thought. “I do not understand your meaning,” he managed to get out, his voice tightly controlled, which he was pleased about.
Penryn raised a hand, pointing it in his direction. He did not immediately catch her meaning, though the dull throb should have been a great enough indication. Did he imagine that it flared more painfully than it had a moment ago? He was suddenly tired, weary beyond measure, and he wondered at the power she held over him. A tether, to be certain, but what else?
She lowered her hand, her pointer finger disappearing beneath her thumb as she made a fist, loosening it quickly as if she had forgotten about her new bandaging entirely, glancing at it in surprise. “I do not want to quarrel,” she said instead, surprising him as her voice softened. “I only meant to say that I can tell when you are hurting as well and you are allowed to ask me for help also.”
“I am sore,” Grimult corrected. “There is hardly danger in that. Your wounds could have opened and bled, leaving you vulnerable.” He made a vague gesture toward his back. “I will grow used to the pack.”
Penryn sighed, shaking her head. She stood, with more grace than he would have imagined with someone without wings to balance their movement, and she took a step toward him.
He should question her, should make enquiries of her intention once he saw her hand come up and settle precisely where his wings were most tender. Her touch was gentle, caused no more pain than had occurred before, but he found himself stifling a wince all the same. What was wrong with him?
“At the very least, you can allow me to help ensure the straps are on correctly. I do not recall your feathers looking like this yesterday.”
Shame bolted through him, hot and mortifying. A fledgling was often chastised for the state of their feathers, and to be confronted so as an adult...
He took a step away from her, unable to keep his head from bowing quite so low. “I will grow used to it,” he added stiffly, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.
He could feel her frown of displeasure.
“That is absurd,” she commented, her own voice tight in her effort to control her irritation. “Suppose any sort of beastly creature comes tumbling into our camp. Do you not want to be at your best form?”
He did look at her then, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You doubt the sages’ choice? That I shall not prove capable of protecting you?”
Penryn opened her mouth, words clearly at the ready, more than willing to spill out without care or further thought, but she closed her eyes and drew in a careful breath before trying again. “I am saying,” she answered slowly, either because she thought him very simple, or because she was selecting each word with care. “That you are valuable, and that I care about your condition as well as you care for mine. And I see no need for you to be hurting unnecessarily.”
It was difficult to argue that point. She had made it clear from the beginning that she wished their partnership to be of greater accord than the sages would have preferred, and he, however foolishly, had agreed.
He was not prepared to rescind his promise now. Not when he had disappointed her enough for one day.
“The instructors,” he said instead, struggling to find words of his own. Was it equally forbidden to speak of his own training? It was one thing to teach her from his own knowledge, but tell directly of the instructors’ lessons?
His mother always liked to tell him that he thought too much, and it would lead to trouble if he didn’t come out of his own mind now and again.
Perhaps this was what she meant.
Penryn didn’t understand, and he was the only one who could explain his position. She could laugh if she wished, could tell him he was being ridiculous, but at least she would know.
“Many of their lessons,” he continued at last, settled on his own decision to be forthright, “stated the importance of distance between the two of us.”
Penryn seemed unfazed by his revelation, so he continued, wondering if she simply did not understand yet. “I am not to touch you and...” They had not, strictly speaking, said anything about the Lightkeep’s touch. It had never entered his mind that she might want to, that it would become an issue at all.
Until now.
Because she cared for his comfort.
“And it had not occurred to me that you should desire to do so.”
“Grimult,” Penryn began firmly, but not unkindly. “This is hardly a seduction.”
Even the word being used was enough to make him want to take another ten steps away from her, but he managed not to do so. Barely.
“Of course it isn’t,” he agreed, still not quite able to look at her. Even Aemsol had agreed that it was not in Grimult’s nature to attempt any advantage on the Lightkeep and that had been a comfort to him. But now, with Penryn offering to help...
It was not that he wished anything to happen between them. Not in the least. But there were proprieties, strict codes of conduct that he did not want abused and put aside throughout the course of their travels, lest other liberties be taken as well.
But mostly...
He was afraid.
Of himself, and most decidedly of her.
Penryn watched him with narrowed eyes. “You are going to have to explain yourself, Grimult, because I do not understand the problem.”
The thought of that was loathsome, and he very much considered declaring he would need to make a careful investigation of their perimeter rather than talk any further on the subject.
But he could well remember how awkward and cold things had grown between them when he had failed to speak,
