And how she had hated it with every fibre of her being when that desperation had turned to betrayal.
He had known it was coming. It was the end of their Journey, and it could not have been a surprise to him when she had seen to its completion.
Yet somehow, it was.
Had he long harboured thoughts of breaking his oaths? She could not deny that it had occurred to her more than once that she could do so. Could disappear into the wilds and none would know.
Until warriors crossed the Wall and caught them all unawares, the guilt gnawing at her daily at what she might have prevented had she put aside her selfishness.
But how she wanted it. Could almost taste that life, the joyful simplicity, the companionship.
The love.
The garments arranged, she closed the wardrobe door with slightly more force than was necessary and looked at the large expanse of bed with a lump lodged deep in her throat, her chest tight.
And climbed beneath the bedclothes and regardless of the daylight still peeping through the windows, pulled them overtop her head as she had often done as child, blocking away the world that needed her, but did not seem to want her.
And stared into the inky blackness until finally, she slept.
◆◆◆
If Penryn knew one thing well, it was the art of waiting. More difficult in her girlhood, when she was simply passing the time until she could grow older, so something would happen. Then later, when the day grew nearer that she would at least leave the Keep, it was an anxious anticipation, the longing for a brief taste of freedom.
But now was the tedium of bathing and dressing, of meals taken in seclusion, waiting for the summons that she was beginning to feel would never come.
Respie came throughout the day, all nervous energy and wide eyes as she placed more food on the table and took away the remains of the previous meal, often hardly touched. Penryn’s appetite seemed a fleeting, often forgotten thing, one moment coming in ravenous waves, then curdling to her stomach’s adamant demand that water or sips of warm tea were all that was welcome there.
The waste troubled her, but whenever she mentioned to Respie that the portions were too great, she looked as if Penryn had struck her across the face, her horror a tangible thing that the Lightkeep should be displeased.
Penryn could only then sigh and thank her for her service, assuring her that the girl had done well and there was no need to speak to her betters.
And then she was alone again, free to return to her post.
A large chest adorned the longest wall, its presence more adornment than necessity as nothing was kept within the deep drawers. It yielded to her determined shoving, eventually stationed beneath the lone window, the perch precarious, but just enough that she could look out on the world below. The crisp air of the day swirled about her hair and cooled her cheeks as she tried to absorb some knew knowledge of this place and all its strangeness.
Something that came from herself, not read in books or told to her through centuries of dissemination.
It was too high to see the details of faces milling about, but she could see the carts as they made their deliveries, voices wafting as people called out to one another, some embracing while others merely waved a hand in acknowledgment.
They did not appear vicious as they went about their daily tasks. She saw no weapons, no rowdy urgency, lust for blood and battle holding an entire people under thrall.
But she had seen it. Had seen and felt the attack by their kind, the hot breath on her face of a beast under command from one just like those below, and she could not simply dismiss such a relentless truth.
She could not grow complacent even in the listless still, the curiosity that burned almost as brightly as it had once had. But she had been kept upon the ground then, when walls were high and unyielding, the world beyond held completely out of view.
This was almost worse. To see, to wonder, but never to experience.
She heard the rattle from the stairs and nearly sighed. Respie’s ventures into her room were only growing more frequent, and Penryn despaired thinking of the cook somewhere in the depths below, constantly in a flurry of movement to prepare more and more dishes.
It could not possibly continue for much longer.
She shut the window quickly and slipped down from her perch, returning to the fire to thaw her fingers and nose. Not that anyone would dare touch and discover her secret fascination.
She wore a thick shawl about her shoulders, darker strands of wine and black at least offering some respite from the unrelenting red, and she huddled more firmly into it, her stomach already protesting another attempt at eating the rich foods that frequented the trays.
The knock on the door was new, and a wariness settled over her, heavy with nerves.
She could bid them enter, but if it was finally them, that would not suffice.
Her hair had been combed and tied neatly, her dress was properly fastened. She wore only stockings beneath, the slippers at the bottom of the wardrobe so finely stitched they seemed ridiculous to wear about her rooms.
She regretted it now.
She stood, taking a deep breath before pulling on the handle of the door, her pulse growing more rapid at the sight of Henrik beyond. “Lightkeep,” he greeted with a warm smile, bowing his head to her.
It felt wrong to use his name, so she said nothing in return, merely watching. He was alone, a strange occurrence that set her all the more on edge. She knew sages to travel in pairs at the very least, and she frequently cast a look over his shoulder, waiting for some sign that more awaited him a few steps behind.
“The others are seeing to their duties, I’m afraid,”
