And he did not believe Penryn would bring harm to his people. She was not a tool of destruction, her worry for his kind evident in her panic about the rider’s presence.
They had been tested, the both of them. In their dedication to their tasks. While his had waivered, her determination had only grown stronger.
Yet still, she waited for some sign that he was willing to forgive her for not divulging more to him.
She had done what she had been trained to do from her earliest years. Those secrets were hers, to be bundled away and kept from any that did not wear the crimson robes of the sages surrounding her.
And she had done so. Hated most of the men that were sworn to serve her, but she had kept to their bargain.
And warned him along the way that it was for his good that he did not know all that she did.
He reached into the water and pulled his tunic free. Sodden though it might be, they needed to get moving. There could be more, many more, of the riders skulking through these trees, and Grimult would have to be far more vigilant.
He squeezed out some of the moisture, not bothering with a great deal of it, and donned it quickly. His skin prickled at the sudden presence, cooling skin that had been flushed with battle and betrayal. He felt more himself, although Penryn was looking at him as if he had suddenly gone mad.
Perhaps he had.
“We must go,” he reminded her. “I do not wish to be here should the body be found.” Whether by scavenger or by one of his kin, Grimult was adamant about either outcome. He wished to be far, far away.
Penryn nodded, although she did not appear overly happy about it.
“We must move silently,” Grimult continued, watching at her lips pulled into a tight line of disapproval. “And,” he carried on, thinking of how Saryn might have taken such a direction. “I do not say that simply to put a stop to our conversation.”
Her shoulders slumped at that, and he was glad to have offered such clarification before she could stew long enough and blurt out a chastisement and possibly draw more attention to them than could be afforded.
She looked frightened, and if he was honest with himself, rather miserable, standing there, waiting for them to move. To finish the Journey that had been given to them.
He might not trust her, not completely—or how he had once done. Blindly, with a reverence that had not been entirely earned.
Yet she was still Penryn, and he hated to see such uncertainty in her. But he did not have the words, not yet, not when they would not be entirely truthful.
But he did have a hand that reached toward her uninjured one and waited, allowing her to decide if that was how she wished to travel with him.
And with a timid smile, he felt her hand settle into his.
Sixteen
Their travels at the end were far different than the beginning. Rather than the mindless chatter that seemed to fall over them so easily as they swapped timid recollections of the past, worried silence prevailed as they moved from forest back to plain.
Even in the evenings, when the lack of light demanded they succumb to rest, he found it difficult to keep the tension from his shoulders, to force his body to give in to sleep, even for a little while.
Penryn found him awake more often than not, turning over in her bedroll and sitting with him a while when she noticed him staring into the small fire afforded to them, the light of even that enough to make him nervous.
Beasts would be startled by its presence, an active deterrent from their approach. It would draw the attention of others that were not quite his kind.
He would drift off eventually, fingers frozen around the handle of his short sword startled awake by the chirp of the morning’s first bird, heralding a new day.
The water was cold as he would scrub it over his face, bracing in its way, unwelcome in another. His wing still ached, though each day it was less so, and he knew it would not be long before he could fly properly.
Fly home.
Penryn’s injuries were slower to heal, and while his suggestion of holding her hand had at first been a small measure toward reconciliation, it soon became a practical one. Without needing words, a particularly long squeeze would indicate she needed to rest, taking careful breaths as she waited for her ribs to settle, her wrist to stop throbbing.
But she did not complain, did not urge him to stop, only grit her teeth and nodded to him that she was prepared to continue.
He did not think he would ever miss her lantern, but he found that he did. When the nights grew dark and he was aware that if the fire did not start, they would be plunged into near blackness, punctuated by what stars decided to shine that night, the moon not even guaranteed to illuminate their way.
Their camp was better tonight, and for that he was grateful. A large knoll had risen up and though the climb had been difficult for Penryn, the descent provided a jutted overhang that would shield a great deal of the light from their fire from prying eyes.
They had lost the river, but he had filled their flasks before it had arched away from the path, so that was one trouble that he did not have to carry. Not yet, at least.
Their meal was meagre, the supplies running short. He should hunt, should give them something fresh to promote healing, but when he had suggested to Penryn in whispered tones that he should do so, she shook her head adamantly and insisted they would make do. They could, for a little while longer, but they would either need to break from the path to find forage or stay long enough to set
