Were there more of them? Would they see an unaccompanied mount and come searching for evidence of their fellow rider? There was no mistaking that his death had been delivered by a skilled hand rather than an attack by a beast, although he could not imagine what sort of creature could inhabit these woods that would dare take on an encounter with one as ferocious in appearance as the creature the opponent had ridden with such ease.
His wing ached fiercely, an ever present reminder at the edge of his consciousness that he needed to tend to it. Penryn should be examined as well, and to his relative surprise, there was no accompanying trepidation at the prospect. It would mean to touch, to look at areas hidden away beneath layers of her clothing, but his earlier worry was almost entirely gone.
He did not know what that meant, and had little time to examine it for a proper explanation.
“I suppose they might not,” Penryn relented, her eyes darting through the trees as if they might hold answers she did not possess herself. “But if that is true, we are in far greater danger than I had imagined.” She took a breath before looking at him more fully. “Everyone is.”
Fifteen
He did not immediately catch her meaning. “By everyone, you mean...”
“I mean your entire people, Grim,” Penryn clarified, her tone becoming urgent. “I mean that they are no longer safe, that... that I have taken too long and...” her hand went to the end of her braid and tugged at it, dishevelled even as it was. “It is all falling apart.”
He understood her words, but the full meaning of them seemed distant. There was too much she had not said, even as an underlying fear imposed itself upon him as he regarded her.
“We have taken too long?” he asked instead, trying to make sense of what could be rectified.
“Yes,” Penryn agreed, before her eyes clouded and she shook her head. “No.” Another tug on her hair and she stared down at the ground. “I do not know!” she admitted. “Perhaps he came long before and it did not matter when we started out or how long we took to travel. But what matters now is that I have to reach the Wall and soon, Grim. I have to... have to set this right.” Another woeful look at the body. “If I possibly can.”
Tales of the sacred flame, of the importance of its travel to the Source seemed suddenly very far away. She cared little for the lantern, for the oil that had been lost, even for the flame itself.
But this...
Her care was genuine.
Speed mattered, and he cursed the fact that if his wing had remained uninjured, he could have flown them there over a course of a few days and been done.
And then what?
Return home, ignorant of the outcome?
That was seeming more impossible with each passing day, although he could not quite admit that to Penryn.
They must be quick, but they could not indulge in haste.
“All right,” Grimult agreed, although he was not certain yet all that she would require of him. This was a different Penryn, the one he had expected to see when he had first encountered his Lightkeep. Full of purpose, determination, an urgency that had been utterly lacking in her from the beginning.
She had been filled with wonder at all the newness of her experience, the everyday tedium, chores that others begrudged, she learned with enthusiasm.
But now...
“Wounds first,” he declared.
She opened her mouth, her expression indicating plainly that she had no interest in wasting such time, but he silenced her with a look of his own. “Your ribs will require support if they are truly broken. If you have to run, they could do further damage, perhaps enough that I cannot save you. Do you understand?”
She nodded, appearing almost dazed. He had never spoken to her in such a way, had always tried to yield to her position.
Perhaps this was the way with other pairs, Guardians strict and authoritative in their manner, Lightkeeps set upon the destination rather than the petty details of the Journey itself.
Grimult was not certain he cared for the sudden alteration.
But the tugging in his belly, the urge to get moving, the desire to ply Penryn for more answers and further explanation...
All of it mixed and spoiled in his stomach, leaving a thoroughly sickened feeling in its wake.
For a moment she looked prepared to argue, but either by the stern expression he gave in return or by her eyes flitting to the blood pouring from his wing, she relented.
“We should move away from here,” Penryn suggested, her attention drifting back to the body. He could not allow his thoughts to dwell there, not when it would only lead to frustration and further anger, both of which would serve him little in the coming days. Things had changed, yes, the mission had altered to resemble its true purpose, but there was still a lingering betrayal that would need discussion.
Unless it didn’t.
He could simply bury it away, could leave Penryn to her duty while he saw to his, fabricating a story of their Journey’s end that would reflect well upon both of them.
There was a bitterness in him that had not been there before, and he wondered how many Guardians had learned more truths than was permissible. Had Aemsol? He claimed that his seclusion was due to penance, not disgust at the whole charade, but perhaps that was yet another deceit.
How could he know any longer?
And if he was truthful with himself, he was angry with Penryn. For allowing him to hold on so tightly to the mystery, to the magic of a lantern that was no more special than the one illuminating his mother’s kitchen.
For not warning him of wingless foes that could come silently from all about them.
She might not have expected it, might claim they
