It did not escape him that she did not include herself in his people, and rightfully so.
She did not offer him the full truth, only a morsel that might assuage his concerns long enough for them to eat and rest. He would not tell her that for a structure to be as ancient as she suggested, it would be more akin to rubble than what it was now.
Old, to be certain. Dilapidated and abandoned, but it could not be ancient.
Could it?
He did not know.
When he finally glanced at her, there was no mistaking the worry in the lines of Penryn’s face as she regarded him. A timid smile came to her lips as she caught him looking, although even that was guarded. “We should finish eating,” she suggested, although there was little command left in her tone. He could refuse easily enough, wanted to given how his stomach clenched at the thought of food, but he nodded regardless.
She had told him what she could, and it was not for him to stew over the rest left unsaid.
Penryn rose and before he could follow she had plucked up both plates and returned with them, handing his over with a pointed look. “We are going to eat this time,” she informed him primly, settling back down beside him.
He obeyed, but his mind was not in it. He wanted to know what the metal object by the basin did, even as a more insistent part told him to stop dwelling on such things.
Presumably water was involved, regardless of how incredible that seemed. There was no pond nearby, no well to draw from that Grimult had noted upon their entrance, but that hardly meant it was not there given how dark it had grown by the time they entered.
Or perhaps there was simply no water here now, but had been when the home was built.
But that again suggested that the house itself was old. Very old. And the interior was so well preserved...
“You are thinking instead of eating,” Penryn cut in, a hint of frustration coming to her voice. “Which was quite the opposite of my intent.”
He swallowed, realising there was indeed food in his mouth, although he could not remember it getting there.
Penryn gave a heavy sigh, her own hand dropping away from her mouth, a bit of hard cheese still in her fingers, uneaten. “Maybe you are right. We should leave here if you are so unhappy about it.”
It was clear that she did not wish to do so, but would if only for his sake.
She was looking forward to the cot, he knew, but would sacrifice a night of relative comfort in order to assuage his sensibilities.
It was a thoughtful gesture, but one he could not accept. Not even when every instinct insisted they leave this place and try their best to forget it had ever been there at all.
“No,” Grimult answered, looking down at his plate and forcing himself to eat lest she worry for him all the more. “You are right.”
Penryn gave him a tight smile. “I am right, but I thank you for noticing.”
It took him a moment to realise she was teasing him, evidenced when her smile fell and she looked discouraged instead.
And by that time there was little opportunity to say something playful in response.
If he even knew how to do so when the woman in question was not his sisters.
“I do not like keeping things from you,” Penryn admitted, her voice soft and regretful. “But you know I must, surely. And that... if I do, it is to spare you?”
He had not thought of it in that way—to be spared. But he supposed it was true, and only she could be the judge of such things.
All that she wished she did not know, only possible once she had already been informed.
He acted without thinking, something that was happening more this night than should be tolerated.
He reached out and took hold of her hand, giving a small squeeze. Words failed him, but he hoped to communicate that he was not angry with her, held no resentment for all she could not tell him. He was only a Guardian, even if he was her friend. There were burdens he could share with her, and others she had to keep alone.
Like the lantern itself.
At first she stiffened at the contact, her eyes darting in alarm to search his expression for... something, and it was nearly enough for him to pull away. But then her hand gave a small pressure in return, and he felt her relax beside him, her posture easing into something more comfortable. “Then perhaps you could find something you could tell me,” Grimult suggested, not knowing what would be safe for her to share, but wanting to learn more of her. She had a minder, when she was young, he knew that. She had books to read.
She had never flown before.
She was quiet for a long while, and at first he thought she was trying to decide the easiest way to refuse him, but when he turned, ready to retract his request, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze that he took to mean patience.
“Whether you believe this or not,” she began at last, her eyes at the fire beyond. “These weeks travelling with you have been the happiest of my life.”
It was not what he expected to hear, not in the least. A titbit from her childhood perhaps, or a description of her chamber.
Not... that.
And he did not know what to say in return. While it should have filled him with pride, that despite their misunderstandings and their quarrels, she had found some measure of satisfaction and happiness during the Journey.
But instead there was a profound sadness as he considered what her life must have been that nights spent on the
