“There is no wrong in that,” Grimult assured her, digging through the pack for their plates so the meat could be rescued. “Not when you are entitled to the answers.”
Penryn gave a hum in answer, a softness coming to her eyes as she took her plate from him, noting something in his expression. He hoped he did not appear too eager to please her. He wished for that, of course, but she did not need to know of it.
“I am not certain the sages would agree with you on that,” she countered ruefully, accepting a proffered knife, the better to manage her meal. Once he gave a hard biscuit to her and one for himself, the better to mop up any juices, they could begin.
The flavour was not quite familiar to him, but not so dissimilar as to be unpalatable. Rich, as only something of that nature could manage to be. Something akin to the sofra they had at home, but far more wild in appearance compared to the domestics happy to live in muddy pens and wallow all they wanted.
Despite Penryn’s initial hesitation, she ate with far greater enthusiasm than she had for the dried meat, and he could not blame her. While that taxed the palate and jaw alike, this yielded to the barest chew, and he hoped would brace them for the days to come.
“You will make a fine husband someday,” Penryn commented when she came to the last few bites of her meal.
It was such an odd, abrupt thing to say that the bite he had prepared did not quite make it to his mouth, falling back to his plate, unheeded.
“Why would you think that?” Grimult asked, with likely a great deal too much intensity than was reasonable. They had carefully avoided their previous exchange, with his talk of petitions and the life he could imagine for them if she had been born to a simple family, rather than to greatness.
His purpose had been to show her that he was honourable, that while he fully acknowledged and recognised her status and knew they could never indulge in such an accord, he would have if it had been possible.
But it wasn’t. And they had both agreed in their mutual silence that there was no purpose in dwelling on what would never have been.
He still caught the flush of colour that came to her cheeks even in the dim light, and she popped the last bite in her mouth in lieu of answering immediately. He would be patient, he supposed, for he had to be, but he did not want her to ignore his query entirely.
She swallowed with a sigh, either because her distraction was over or because she was sorry that the meal had come to an end, he could not be certain. He would ask in a moment if she would like him to cook more, but not until she had given him an answer.
She groaned when he continued to look at her intently, although it seemed to be more of embarrassment than aggravation. “I should not have said that,” she apologised, smoothing her hand down her skirts and pulling her flask closer to her. She did not take a drink, merely fiddled with the lid, her thumbnail making little patterns in the soft leather of the skin itself. “But surely you know that...” she hesitated, glancing at him only briefly. “You care so much. About those in your charge. You provide well, even if they are not sure of what they need.”
It felt strange to hear her say such things, to say them about a future he would have with another woman, tucked away back within the safety of his clan, where normalcy and early mornings made up the steady course of his life. It unsettled him, made something tighten in his chest unpleasantly. Not at the prospect of returning to such a life, but knowing that Penryn would not be included in it. That he should carry on, marry, build his home and his life without ever knowing what had happened to her. It had not seemed unreasonable in the beginning when the instructors had finally explained that their task was to see the flame to the Wall and no further. Holy ground they had called it, beyond. For the Lightkeep to tread and no other, for their small piece of fire to be returned to the Source, a Journey of thanksgiving.
And then... nothing.
He was not permitted to wait until she returned.
He had wondered, of course he had, what became of the Lightkeeps. At the time he had hoped there was another group of sages that tended the Source and would be there to care for Penryn as well.
But now he doubted. He might still hope for their existence, but it seemed only another sort of imprisonment for Penryn. That she should be given the span of miles and weeks to call her own, dictated though their path was even then. But then she would be sequestered, locked away with another set of sages who might keep her, yes, but would not cherish her.
Love her.
A relic that had served its purpose. That would be Penryn, to be looked at on occasion, spoken of with a hint of admiration, but that was all.
Or perhaps there was far more magic involved than he could even imagine. And her physical form would be consumed by the Source and her spirit returned from whence it came.
That prospect hurt even more than the last.
“I am certain I care far more than the sages would approve of,” Grimult warned, not wanting her to mistake his efforts as
