Respie nodded, her cheeks flaming, and she scuttled down the stairs as quickly as she could.
“My apologies for her, my lady,” Mara said gravely. “She’s the one small enough to bring the tray through the stairwell, you see, lest you wouldn’t have to see her at all.”
Penryn wiped at her eyes, glancing at Mara, knowing full well the woman would not be looking at her. “There is no need for an apology.” She could not help that she was frightened. Penryn could only imagine what stories had been told of her, and those would likely worsen when they learned just how truly displeased Penryn was with them and their misdeeds.
The contract between them had been breached, and in the worst possible manner.
There would be nothing simple about their talks now, and the reissuing to follow.
“Still,” Mara continued, walking back to her duties. Penryn should be paying attention to the articles she had brought, learning their cut and eccentricities so she could dress herself without causing embarrassment to any of them. But thoughts of conflict to come warred with thoughts of Grim, and if she allowed them to rule over her, any appetite she had would be carried away with it.
And despite the part of her that insisted it was wrong to feast, to indulge when Grim was forced to make do with scavenge and the occasional hunt, she could almost hear his urging for her to eat, to not waste a perfectly good meal over circumstances she could not change.
The memory of his care was enough to bring the tears back, so rather than dwell there, she picked up her utensils. Those at least, were familiar. Belatedly, she found herself wondering if all of Grimult’s people used such articles, or if they too had been a lesson, training her for what she would face in this new place.
She would have liked to share a proper meal with Grim. With his family. To see how the ordinary people lived.
How she might have, if she had not been chosen.
Mara appeared beside her. “My lady, if you permit...” she pulled at the table, bringing it from the arm of the chair to a far better position for Penryn to use the knife and fork to cut bits of meat and golden potato. It was more difficult to manage than it should have been due to the sharp twinge of her injured wrist when she clutched the cutlery too firmly in her zeal, a warning of what was to come if she was not careful.
She could not fully inhibit the low whimper at the first taste, the warmth, the flavour exquisite on her tongue. She had not realised how much she had missed such foods until they had been so entirely absent from her, and she took another bite with relish, realising belatedly that she would have to use a considerable amount of self-control to keep from devouring the entire plate and asking for more.
She reached instead for the goblet next, filling it almost completely from the pitcher. She took a long sip, savouring the sweetness of cool, crisp water, likely drawn from a well rather than directly from a stream.
She felt eyes upon her, her skin prickling with awareness, and she turned her head to find Mara glancing at her, although her eyes dropped just as quickly. “They do not tell us of how you come to be here,” Mara commented, her voice low, perhaps thinking if she spoke too loudly that Henrik himself would hear. “But I think you might have been without for a very long time now.”
Not so long, and rations were not as perilous as all that. But she could not say such things, could give no true answer at all.
There could be no reference to the Journey, no hint as to the distance or what she had endured beyond the Wall.
She took another sip of water although she had suddenly lost even the desire for that. But to appear affected would give credence to Mara’s claim, and she could not allow that either. Another sip, and she felt safe enough placing the goblet back. The food would be cold if she did not continue to eat, but she wondered if it would be worth it simply to be able to continue in privacy, without judging eyes that might learn too much by simple observation.
She could not slip. Not now. Not when she had hardly begun the work that was required of her.
Grimult’s people needed her, more than ever before.
His family needed her.
And maybe, he did too.
The lump in her throat was a burning, aching thing, and she looked at Mara before putting her feet down upon the floor and sitting up more fully. She could not relax, not even in these chambers. Not until she was certain that her privacy was assured, if only for a little while. “I thank you for your service and attentions, but I believe I should like to be alone for a time.”
Mara’s hands froze, near to the bottom of the pile, her eyes widening in alarm. “I meant no offence,” she blurted out, dipping into that strange bow that Penryn did not care for in the least. “Ma always did say I must mind my tongue and now...” she hung her head, creasing the fabric as her hands tightened instinctively, before appearing even more dismayed when she realised what she had done.
“My lady, I...”
Penryn sighed, shaking her head. A long buried instinct suggested she go forward, to place her hand upon the other woman’s arm and give some comfort and assurance that all would be well.
But that would be extending a modicum of friendship that she could not allow. Not now.
These people had betrayed those she was meant to protect, and she could not forget that. She could not succumb to warm baths and fantastical pipe-work that brought water upon command. She could not be seduced by fine clothes and
