“This is not a seduction,” Grimult promised her, hoping that their ongoing assurance would be enough to get her moving. Once they were wrapped adequately they could carry on, could find better shelter before they spent their night.
Before they made their final push to the Wall.
Less than a week left, if he was to guess and they kept their pace hasty. Far less if he had a wing that could support them both.
It would certainly make his travels home a great deal longer if it took a significant amount of time to mend.
The thought of that soured his stomach even now, and he pushed such musings away with a shake of his head.
Penryn said nothing, but made quick work of the clasp at her throat that released her cloak, before she began to unfasten her dress at the shoulders, her good hand sufficient to the task.
Grimult was not certain he could remain so wholly unaffected if he was also required to undress her as well.
It should not matter. Detached and clinical. He occupied himself with wrapping his hand with the bandages, the better to control them when he would twine them about Penryn’s form.
They had shared a bath without clothing, he reminded himself firmly. And talked of sweeter things, like petitions and a life that could never be.
He better understood it now, just how true that was.
He was pleased with himself that his attention went first to the darkening skin of her left side rather than to the breasts she tried to conceal with her good arm. Awareness prickled at him all the same, and he wondered if probing at her ribs was a necessary component for their healing as it had been for her wrist. But there was no way for him to set them back into alignment even if they proved dislodged, so he could spare her that pain at least, and left the bruises be.
“I suppose it is fair,” Penryn observed, forcing a lightness into her tone even as she appeared mortified by the experience. “You are equally undressed.”
“True,” Grimult acknowledged, making his first pass of the bandage, listening as she quickly drew in a sharp breath as he cinched gently about her so as to keep it secured. “Although I would say that you are much more enticing than I.”
It was the wrong thing to say, most assuredly nothing the healer in his youth might have commented to one under his care, and he watched as Penryn’s cheeks pinked and darkened, her attention on the ground.
“I do not know about that,” she murmured back, much to his surprise.
It was likely a simple act of flirtation in order to shift the mood between them. He knew that she did not care for him to be upset, nor her with him, and especially given her vulnerable position beside him, it was little question that she would rather he be pleased with her than angry.
He released a shallow breath, wishing that things might be simple. Perhaps even wishing that the Journey itself had been what he had always imagined. There had been more fighting yes, faceless foes waiting at every turn rather than endless marching onward, but at least he understood.
Or thought that he did.
The words were there, threatening to break loose. To blurt out what he most wished to know.
What was beyond the Wall?
She spoke of a danger for all of them, but what form did it take?
And why would her presence quell it?
She had no particular skills, at least that he had witnessed during her time with him. Not finely honed ability that could see to her own survival let alone save his people as a whole.
Unless she hid it away, tucked neatly behind a facade of helplessness, to add to her secrets until he was left assuming her education was woefully lacking.
The bruising told him where to stop with the bandages, securing his work with a tight knot lest it all fall free as she began to walk again.
Penryn was staring at him, her brow furrowed and clearly anxious, and he had no soothing word for her. Not a light tease that might pave the way for their reconciliation, nor one that hinted a future he could imagine if their circumstances were wholly changed.
“What can I do?” she asked at last.
He glanced to their belongings, the question something she might ask when they were seeing to their camp before venturing onward, but that was not the case here.
His shirt was still soaking, and he was fully aware that he would be wearing a wet garment for the rest of the day and likely into the evening, but there was no time to waste. And she could hardly help with scrubbing when one of her arms was mending.
He glanced back at her in confusion. She sighed, her eyes sorrowful. “I do not mean about our things,” she clarified. “What can I do so you stop looking at me like that?”
Grimult frowned. “I was not aware that I was looking at you in any particular fashion.”
Penryn shook her head, her own lips held in a firm line. “You are. You look at me like I am a stranger to you. Maybe even worse than a stranger. Someone that has hurt you terribly and you cannot forgive them.” Her eyes were wide and beseeching. “How do I put things right between us?”
He was not even certain he had an answer to give her. Even if she poured out all the truths she possessed, that would not wipe away his embarrassment at having gone so long believing the lies put forth by the sages. For having dedicated his life to a farce, to having worried over a lantern that did not matter in the least.
As if a bit of fire could be sacred.
Bitterness was rising in him once more the longer he dwelled on
