And return to those same men and give an account of his dealings, of the Journey itself, of how Penryn had served as Lightkeep.
Would his tales truly make a difference? If he spoke of how sheltered, unskilled and unprepared they had made her for the world, would they raise up the next Lightkeep in a new way? With other fledglings when young, with company through the long span of growing up.
He doubted it. It would desecrate the mystery that surrounded the position, even he could see that.
Penryn shrugged her shoulders again, although there was nothing dismissive about it. Resigned perhaps, where his regrets could not touch all she had endured. “It made my legs strong, I suppose,” she countered, trying to force a cheer into her voice that felt strained and unnatural given the subject. “I should be grateful for that or else we would take twice as long to reach the Wall.”
He could not seem to keep his hands entirely controlled, for he found himself cupping the back of her head, stroking lightly at her temple with his thumb. “Do not speak of gratitude. Not about this. They took something from you, a birthright that was yours even if...” he stumbled with his words, uncertain how to make it come out just right. “You are the Lightkeep,” he finished awkwardly. “Of course you are. They have their ways of knowing.”
Her eyes were filled with a lifetime of sadness. “Aye,” she agreed. “They do.”
He was still touching her, and she was still entirely unclothed, but it strangely did not matter. His skin prickled with awareness, but it was a dim, far away thing that paled beneath the weight of his sudden discovery.
And when he did lean forward, it was easy to keep his lips to the top of her head, a seal of his sorrow on her behalf, a promise of his commitment to her future.
Even if he was not certain how to manage that just yet.
Their paths would separate, and far sooner than he would like. There was a long way to go yet, but he felt all the more how vulnerable she was. She could not take to the skies if a beast grew too close, and she had not the skills with a blade to fend it off properly.
And there was far too little time to teach her all she would need to know in that regard.
When he pulled back from her, her eyes were shining, a hint of wonder in them as she lifted a hand, and if it shook, it was only just a very little before it came to rest upon his chest.
“What was that for?” she asked, her voice small and curious.
There were many answers he could give. That it was a promise, even if he had not quite worked out all he intended to pledge. That he was certain that no one had taken the time to bestow such affections and he was growing to realise that she was not some higher being, set apart from such longings.
For connection, for affection, the touch of another.
“Because I wanted to,” he answered truthfully, finding that the simplest and most accurate.
“Oh,” she murmured, blinking slowly.
A surge of something went through him as he regarded her, warm and all encompassing. He could not quite give it a name, but found himself wondering if the feeling was not entirely his, it was so strong—far greater than most he had experienced in his life. Anger could well quickly, irritation too, mostly directed at meddlesome sisters.
But this...
This was entirely pleasant, an endless pool of...
Affection.
That he most certainly should not have for a Lightkeep.
But for Penryn? Was that allowed?
But they were one and the same.
“I will not do it again,” he told her, pulling away and resisting the urge to skim his fingers across her cheek.
He had not had to wrestle with such impulses before and did not appreciate the rise of them now. He could not afford such distractions, all too aware that he was responsible for the safety of them both.
“Oh,” she repeated, and there was no mistaking the crestfallen nature of her tone.
She tugged at the end of her hair, looking down at the water rather than at him.
He did not know what to say. He should not have kissed her at all, let alone suggest that more would come in future. She did not seem to appreciate his difficulty, that his desire was not right. Not when she was...
Who she was.
Would it help her to know? He doubted it. But he had to try something. “Would it...” he began, before sighing and starting it again. “If you lived on a neighbouring farm,” her head came up and she looked at him quizzically. He felt foolish but pressed on. Better he feel a fool that for her to be so sad. “And I had known you as I do, I would have petitioned for you.”
Her brow furrowed. “Petitioned?”
A clumsy word for what was meant for a momentous time. One that most decidedly would have involved parents she did not have.
“I would have asked to know you better. That... perhaps... if all parties were agreeable...” he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated that this was all coming out in a bungle of words. How this was going to help her, he could not imagine. They were customs she did not know, for a people she was not truly a part of. He did not even know what clan she had been plucked from, or if their paths would ever have entwined for him to know her at all.
But that was all a fantasy in any case. They had entwined. Just not as simple folk who could make petitions and woo the heart of a pretty girl from a neighbouring farm.
Penryn’s curiosity was giving way to frustration, and he could not blame her. “I do not
