Yet it made Penryn strangely flustered.
She sat up, the better to focus on finishing her meal, and he got the distinct impression that if her hair had been unbound, she would be attempting to hide behind it.
“Did I speak wrongly?” he found himself asking, knowing already it was a mistake to do so. She was allowed her feelings, just as he was permitted his own, and he did not need to dissect them simply so he might understand.
She shook her head vehemently. “No,” she assured him, managing a quick peek in his direction. “You did not. I just...” she bit her lip, considering, and he did not press. She could answer if she wished, but he would not pester. “I do not think anyone has wanted my company before.”
Grimult blinked. “I think any, regardless of their clan, would have been honoured to know you.” He could readily imagine the fighting that would incur between households, trying to decide who had the grandest abode to accommodate their most revered guests.
It would not be his home, he knew, full as it was.
He felt a frown tug at his lips.
It would not have been any home at all, really. Not if she had no wings to see her over the threshold. And she could hardly be expected to rely on one of the common-folk to fly her to her own sleeping quarters.
Grimult was considering what kind of steps would have to be constructed so she might be able to navigate a dwelling on her own, before he shook himself. Those were useless fantasies. He did not know what became of a Lightkeep after they parted from their Guardian, but he was certain it did not include sharing a home together in the future.
Penryn was giving him a sad sort of smile. “I am sure they would,” she agreed. “For the Lightkeep. But not for me.”
He was ready to remind her that they were one and the same, but he thought better of it. She clearly saw them as conflicting entities shared within a single vessel, and he could not imagine the turmoil that such an existence might cause.
She chased a berry around her plate with a forefinger, and he wondered if she had eaten her fill or simply lost what appetite she had. “Imagine if you had a whole host of suitors upon your return. Not because they know you, but because of the title you will bring home with you.”
Grimult could hardly imagine himself with a lone suitor let alone a host of them. An odd word to describe a woman, most especially since many of their pairings came from parental selection rather than personal choice, at least in more traditional factions. But perhaps Penryn did not know that? It was not exactly relevant to her how the clans went about their lives, how they chose to mate, how their dwellings were situated.
But he could well see her point. When he had pictured his return home, it was always about his family rather than the clan as a whole. He suppressed a grimace when he thought of the people that would surround him on market day, pressing in with questions, crowding out what customers would actually see something bought.
“I would not care for it,” he agreed, pushing such thoughts from his mind. They would do no good and could be dwelt upon on the journey home. Not before. Not when there was too much ahead, his homecoming not promised at all.
“Exactly.” Penryn gave a sigh, at last bringing the final berry to her lips and eating it. Nothing wasted, not when their food-stores were to be used respectfully. “But I suppose it does not really matter.” She gave him a grin that suggested heartily that she was about to tease him. “For me at least. You are the one that has to go back and live with them.”
He nodded, and he was certain he was unable to completely smooth away his look of distaste.
Her grin widened.
“You do not wish to return the conquering hero? For maidens to freely make their offers and petitions for your hand?”
He did not know what books she must have gleaned such tales from, but they were none he knew. Or what his hand had to do with anything.
Nor was it a scenario he wished to consider might be possible.
“I think not,” he answered glumly, not liking the turn in their conversation. “In any case, I always imagined that I would follow tradition and allow my parents to make the selection for me.”
Penryn did not seem to understand at first, her reaction slow. “Oh.”
He did not want a lecture. He had heard many from the initiates, irritated at the prospect of returning home being informed of a betrothal. An arrangement that might not have been based on a fine figure and pretty smile, and was not in fact one of the barmaids at the local tavern.
But a clan had to function, and there was wisdom that came from a marriage that lasted a long while.
“You... you must trust your family a great deal,” she said at last, her voice a little more timid than it had been before, as if nervous to give insult or trespass where she should not.
“I do,” he confirmed. There were none he trusted more in the whole of this world.
Yet it only seemed to make Penryn sad again.
“That must be lovely,” she commented, brushing aside his attempt to soothe her with a word not yet spoken. There was nothing bitter in her tone, nothing to suggest an accusation, but it still left him acutely aware of what he had.
And what she did not.
It seemed an absurd thing to suggest the sages might occupy such an important role. But it also stood, glaring and obvious, that Penryn was not destined for marriage, so it mattered little who would be capable of arranging a suitable match.
But he felt sorry all the same.
Had other Lightkeeps felt similarly?
