That could be remedied by sleeping farther from the fire, but he would not consider it a reasonable suggestion. Not when warmth and safety were of primary importance.
It seemed unwise to dwell on all they did not have, but he was grateful for her attempt at conversation—most especially when it meant she was speaking to him rather than sequestering herself in silence. “I miss stew,” he admitted, not realising how true it was until he said it.
“Stew?” Penryn asked, her voice dubious. “Really?”
Grimult blinked, not understanding her objection. “It is warm and filling.” And his mother made a delicious one, although he did not mention that. Not when it was a reminder of what he had to look forward to while Penryn...
He tried not to think of what came next for her. Not when it was all rumour and whispered supposition. Some claimed that the source of the sacred flame would consume her when she saw it returned, her spirit released while her body turned to ash.
Others claimed she would spend the rest of her days hidden at the temple, working and tending to what was needed. A lonely life, to be certain, but at least she lived.
“That is true enough,” Penryn relented, although there was still a note of bemusement that suggested she had no great fondness for the meal. “I think I miss freshly baked bread more than that. With butter so thick on my slice that you can barely see beneath it.”
Did the sages make their own butter or was it brought in from neighbouring farms? He could well imagine the pride that the churner would feel to know their labour was being so well appreciated by one of such importance.
“I miss flying,” he found himself saying, knowing it was an admission that could only bring trouble. Pain to her and guilt to himself. It felt so much longer than the day before that he had indulged them both, and little good had come of it.
Other than the look of awe on her face when she finally allowed herself to enjoy it. When she trusted that he would not permit her to fall.
If she was troubled by the admission she did not say, and he was grateful for it. “I miss my books,” she admitted briskly, as if she could push away any awkwardness if she simply pushed past it quickly enough. “Never did I think I would say that.”
He tilted his head as he regarded her. “Why?”
She kicked at an errant stem, its flower long since withered away to seed. A plume of spores released at the action, catching on the breeze and spreading far throughout the plain while others clung to her skirts.
“Because I used to resent them so. Rather than be allowed outside to experience... well, much of anything at all, I could have a book about it. A poor replacement, in my opinion, but now...” A heavy sigh, a slumping of her shoulders. “It grew peaceful as I grew older. Tucking myself away and learning as much as I could. Any of my questions could be answered if I read long enough, or requested the right copy.”
Grimult eyed her steadily for a moment. “Does that mean there are questions you have now that are going unanswered?”
To his surprise, she flushed. “Perhaps,” she answered vaguely.
An odd response, most especially if it brought her such embarrassment. It was not his intention to cause her even more, but he was undoubtedly curious as to what she might be wondering that she could not ask of him instead.
“If I could be of assistance, I would gladly offer what I can,” he said instead watching her carefully for any sign that he had responded rightly.
Her blush deepened. “That is very kind,” she replied with a tight lipped smile. “You are always very kind.”
He did not know if that was true, and it was almost disturbing to him that she thought so. He had made mistakes, plenty of them, but it was too close of a testament to the treatment she had known before that his fumbling attempts to please her could leave such an impression.
But those were forbidden questions, enquiries that ate away at his mind and could never be answered.
Not without trespassing far beyond the bounds of what should pass between them.
But perhaps they were already doing that with greater frequency, and it was entirely possible that such sharing was inevitable.
He did not mean to be so weak. To have set aside his instructions so completely. If the sages knew... if his family knew...
A tightening in his belly, a lump in his throat that greatly resembled panic, and he suddenly had to divert his thoughts lest he further damage the careful accord between himself and Penryn in an effort to restore a semblance of his training.
A delicate balance. One that he was woefully unprepared to maintain.
“Not always,” Grimult countered, wanting to acknowledge his failings. “Although I would like to be.”
Penryn glanced over at him, her eyes unsettling in their steadiness. He hoped he did not often look at her that way. He watched yes, for that was his task, but not with knowing, as if she knew him better than he knew himself.
“Yes, quite a brute you are,” Penryn agreed, and he did not expect such teasing. “Never thoughtful.”
Grimult swallowed, not wishing to argue with her, but finding it an important point all the same. “It is the ‘always’ that I object to,” he clarified. “I should like it to be true, but I fear that it is not. Which is hardly fair to you.”
Regardless of how it mattered to him that she understand the difference, Penryn did not seem to grasp his trouble, shrugging her shoulders and switching the lantern to the opposite hand.
He would check on her tonight, he decided. On the hands that hopefully had not given way to blood-filled blisters. She did not seem in pain, but he was coming to doubt that she would have said anything
