Likely every maiden in his village had already set their hearts on him.
She pushed the thought away as firmly as she could. That was good. What she had wanted for him. To have a good life in a safe place, to make his home and live a long, happy life, set away from the terrors of conflict with the very people filling this room. But she found her eyes drifting back even as she was pushed through the door, not bodily, but by the constant steps that threatened to trample her if she did not keep moving.
And her breath caught in her throat for all too brief a moment, he looked her way.
And although she was certain she had imagined it, that it was merely the imprint of her most fervent desire...
For all too brief a moment, she thought it was him.
But if that was true...
What had Grimult done?
What had she done?
Four
The door slammed with a thud, locking her into a round room, the table within already filling with sages as they settled into their places, all eyes staring at her with suspicion and, dare she think it, disappointment.
There was a rigid chair set apart, atop a platform to make it slightly above the rest.
Her place.
She walked to it with stiff movements, her thoughts whirling and unwilling to calm even as she tried to force herself to focus.
The rest did not matter. She would deal with it as she could, but for now... this needed doing, and deserved every bit of her attention.
She could feel the anger being drilled into her from multiple sets of eyes, but she did not waver as she took her place, staring back at each of them in turn. She spread her skirts out primly, hid as they were behind the edge of the table. She was far younger than any other in the room, but she would give them no cause to dismiss her.
She represented an entire race, was tasked with their protection. That was her purpose. Had been from the beginning.
“That display was hardly called for,” Henrik began, taking his own seat and leaning forward on clasped hands, eyes flashing. “There has been no breach, and you have frightened an entire people for no reason.”
She raised an eyebrow. “No reason? I think not.”
He grimaced, and the sage beside him reached out a hand, stilling him from saying anything further. “My lady,” he began, and Penryn found it odd that he should use the same title that Mara had, but she did not demand he use the one given to her at birth. “Perhaps you would explain your coming here. You say there was an attack?”
She refused to huff, placing her hands placidly on the table and kept her spine as rigid as she could. Perhaps if she appeared severe, they would be more inclined to hear the truth in her words. No artifice, no embellishment, only plain speak that could not be refuted.
“A rider, a warrior well trained with a blade, attacked me on my journey here. One of your kin, not mine,” she clarified, already seeing the disbelief in their expressions. “I do not believe you require reminding as to the difference.”
Or had they too become complacent, the truth fading into myth rather than reality?
The sage beside Henrik shifted, eyeing his brethren quickly before returning his attention to her. “There are some,” he began, his voice quiet. “Who begin to doubt that your kind even exists. If that is the case, that is hardly proof that you were not attacked by one of your own ken. Therefore the charge would be against your own people, as I can assure you, we are blameless.”
Penryn gaped at the lot of them. Doubt? They dared wear the signet, dared call themselves sages, yet doubt their purpose there? The thought was sickening. For as much as she hated the men who held her sequestered for the whole of her life, she never doubted their loyalty to their kind, to their perceived betterment for their society as a whole.
These men dared sit here, staring at her with their uncertainty, and wonder if it was all a lie?
She did not know who might be the dissenters, so she eyed them all with as much sternness as she could. “Why do you serve?” she asked the room, wondering what their possible reply could be that would justify their being here if they did not believe in their shared purpose.
None gave an answer, and that sent a bolt of irritation through her. “You think I ask without reason?”
The one beside Henrik gave a wave of his hand toward his fellow sages, turning to her with placid eyes. He was the oldest of them there, if wrinkles and a shock of white hair was a true indication. “We are here to ensure the peace of our peoples. Just as you are.”
Penryn nodded, although she did not smile, did not give any hint that she was pleased that his answer aligned with hers. “Yet there seems to be a lack of faith amongst you. That the histories are mere fabrication rather than something real.”
Again, the silence. But she was quick enough to notice the eldest sage glance swiftly across the table, suggesting one of those that held such doubts. Penryn fixed her eyes on him, waiting for him to look at her. Younger than some, his hair holding a tinge of red in its otherwise light locks. The red of his clothing did not become him, but that hardly mattered. “I take it that you all retained your names,” she addressed the group but her attention did not waver from the one. “What is yours?”
If he was startled to be singled out, he made no show of it. “Lameston,” he answered, bowing his head briefly.
“Lameston,” she repeated, leaning forward
