Every bit.
Even the parts that were less than flattering.
“I remember,” Grimult answered back, keeping his head level. Respectful, yes, but he did not cower. “Would I be able to leave her at the Wall.”
A hum, low and rumbling. “You said that you would do what was necessary,” Aemsol recalled, his head tilted to the side. Not an accusation. Not outright. But it could be.
His too-grey eyes shifted to look to her. “I did what I was told to do,” he admitted. “Let my Lightkeep walk through that Wall and disappear. Never to know what became of her. Couldn’t ask questions upon my return either.”
He took a breath, as if age was not the burden after all, but the weight of guilt that pressed steadily downward, crushing and bending as the man before her began to tire. “Did she suffer? Did she... need me, and I let her go to her death?”
Penryn glanced at Grimult, and found herself moving forward.
Her hand settled on what once was a strong sword arm, and squeezed it lightly, his skin so soft and pliant beneath her palm.
“She was welcomed,” Penryn answered, calling upon her own experience and finding she held confidence enough that her predecessor had been treated similarly. “There was a feast in her honour, and a comfortable home for her to spend her days.” She smiled as best she could.
There was isolation too, which was a suffering all its own.
But she sought to comfort this man, not add to his burdens of regret.
And something in him eased, and this time when he cleared his throat, his shoulder managed to sit a little higher. “You did what I could not,” Aemsol said to Grimult. “I saw that in you. Why I picked you over all the other initiates, who were ready with their yeses.” He nodded absently, as if to himself. “You did what was necessary.”
And rather than wait for any sort of dismissal, he walked away of his own accord, his answers received and accepted.
And, Penryn hoped, his life would be a little easier for it.
Grimult’s arm came about her once more and she eased against him, the weariness resettling into her bones. “I told you,” she murmured to her husband, sighing as her head sank against his side. “They could have picked none better than you.”
A hum, and perhaps it was a chuckle, or maybe a note of disbelief. And despite the risk, she felt his lips briefly at her temple as he brought her close, before he ducked his head so that his lips were at her ear. “You are delirious with exhaustion.”
Maybe so.
Maybe she had dreamt it all.
But she thought there was a smile there, some ease of tension, as if...
As if he was glad.
As if Aemsol’s approval meant a great deal to him, even if he never would have voiced his desire for it.
And she was so very thankful, for his sake.
Grimult’s arms were tight about her, strong and sure as he took them skyward.
And brought her back to the tower she had abandoned.
With bedrolls already waiting, with flasks of crisp water and braided loaves of bread, and the promise of sleep.
And a treaty to come, that would set all to rights.
Or, at least, see to its beginning.
“You did well,” Grimult promised her, taking off her shoes and tucking a blanket over her. She was too muzzy-headed to protest, to remind him that she should at least take off her cloak and perhaps her dress as well so it could cover her wrinkled, sleep-worn shift.
But she was rather comfortable, and when he slipped in beside her and tucked her close, any argument died away.
“You as well,” she murmured, already certain she was partially asleep. “But you have to promise to take me home when this is finished,” she reminded him.
“Home,” he agreed. And there was an ache there, but a promise as well, and she was very certain she was asleep after all, his voice so deep and rumbling against her ear as it tickled in its warmth. “Not for the Lightkeep. And not for her Guardian. Just us.”
And she thought she hummed at how lovely that sounded, but she was already sleeping, so perhaps that was just a part of the dream after all.
“Pen and Grim,” she managed to mumble out in agreement.
Another hum, this time lower, and maybe it came from him.
“Aye,” he affirmed. “Just so.”
Sixteen
The days were growing colder, but Grimult found he could not feel it.
Not today.
They had abandoned flight a few minutes before. A part of him insisted on the speed of it, the whizzing flurry of a final burst, of startling all who waited there with the suddenness of his arrival.
But another part insisted that they walk.
That she see the land, that she experience the whole of it.
The first time she saw his home.
He had begun to doubt that he would ever see it again, with all the trials that had stretched out before them. The pursuit of a treaty had taken even longer, but he could not begrudge it. Not when it was a blessed alternative to the war he had prepared himself for.
Even now, he could conjure the fury that had overtaken him when his wife had called down to the tribe below.
He squeezed her a little more tightly to his side, and she glanced up at him, smiling softly.
She appeared freer than she had since...
Since she had first walked away from the sages’ keep, head held high and haste in her steps.
A weight had been lifted, one of responsibility. Some inherited, some chosen.
The sages had never given indication of their verdict. Most of them kept a cool manner toward their wayward charges, but with the clans nestled so closely about them, they dared not give outright censure.
Grimult knew it would be many months before he felt safe allowing Penryn out of his sights. Longer still when he would part
