That did rile him, his eyes widening at such blunt language, but she did not know how else to speak of such things. They were horrors, were a time of suffering and fear, and she would not have them return to it. Not for anything. “Yes,” he answered, the word soft, but not hesitant. “I believe that is true.”
Penryn relaxed slightly. “And you believe that my people rebelled against you? They came to your villages and began a slaughter of their own?”
His mouth drew into a firm line. “Yes.”
A gruesome truth, but no less important. They were indiscriminate in their fury. Many died in the attack, with little care given to age or sex. That particular passage had been difficult for her to accept, and even now she felt sorry that such actions had felt justified, so desperate were they to be free.
To be safe.
“You understand that a delegate would be selected from my kind and sent to you, to reaffirm the treaty that was brought between our kinds? That seclusion was preferable to any further contact? That both would seek to forget that the other existed?” She tilted her head. “Perhaps that last part was done too well?”
His mouth tightened further, and she nodded her head. “I would ask you to speak plainly. We are here for our talks, after all.”
“It is merely that one part that has always seemed too fantastical to be real,” Lameston admitted, his eyes darting to a few others about the circular table. Perhaps they agreed with him, or they were ones who had given him assurance throughout his years of service. She supposed it did not truly matter. “People with wings? Regular people, flying about the air.”
It was Penryn’s turn to purse her lips, settling back in her chair. “Why do you think they were hunted, if not for something so fantastical as you put it?”
Lameston shrugged. “Perhaps that part was muddied. Other societies put great stock in importing labourers. That might have been the goal, and things went... poorly.” He had the decency to look embarrassed at last for his phrasing, to speak so politely of another horrifying prospect, and Penryn was not sure she could maintain her calm if they belaboured the subject much further.
It was not the first time she regretted being robbed of her wings, not by far. But the longing was greater than it had been in years, the ease in which she could divest herself of a cloak, could show them that she was not a myth, not a fantasy, but real.
And required protection.
Perhaps it was that doubt that made them willing to send others beyond the Wall. If her kind was simply another faction of the same species, they could mingle undetected, no real harm done.
But that was not the case, and she did not believe that her scars would be enough to prove what they were unwilling to accept.
“So if you do not believe that there is such a striking difference between our kinds, then you will not accept responsibility for the attack done upon my person?” she enquired, her attention drifting to Henrik. Some of the anger had seeped out of him, as he at least was able to meet her eye without glare of his own, but her eyes flickered back to Lameston quickly enough. “You are going to maintain that my experience was a fabrication?”
The men looked amongst each other, a silent of exchange of communication that she could not interpret. It must come only through years of toil with one another, until words themselves were superfluous.
She would not have that.
She pushed the thought away. She had not time for such selfishness.
“We have given no order,” Henrik said at last, as they seemed to come to the accord that he should be spokesman. “We made no allowance for any to trespass. We have patrolled the border, just as our forefathers have done. We have told our people the penalty for even making the attempt.” He laid his palms down flat upon the tabletop, and appeared genuine.
Appearances could often deceive.
“There has been no attack. Not from us. We are innocent of the charge you put before us, and I receive insult at the accusation.”
He spoke of insult when she had received bodily harm instead?
Penryn sat quietly, trying to decide her next course. The others appeared content to allow her the time, and when she next spoke, it was not with hesitation, but entreaty. “What explanation have you, then, for why one of your kind could be there?” She glanced at Lameston. “If you are willing to accept that I am able to truly tell the difference.”
He did not look ashamed, but he was not able to meet her gaze for long. None had a ready answer, but it was obvious that Lameston had something he wished to say, so Penryn pressed him. “I asked for plain speech,” she reminded him, and he took a breath before answering her.
“Where are yours?” he asked, the words coming quickly, and Penryn stiffened at the enquiry. “If it is true, why do you have none to display and allay any doubts?”
Penryn’s expression turned stony. “Have you forgotten our objective? To allow both peoples to forget the other? How would that little display achieve such a purpose?”
Lameston had the grace to look slightly abashed, but Penryn was hardly finished. “Mine were removed from me, is that the clarity you crave? When I was very young, before I could learn how to fly, I was robbed of that privilege. So that I could sit here, amongst you all, and appear like your kind. So that we could have these talks, and sign that parchment behind us, and that peace could remain between us.” She released a tremulous breath, her hands gripped tightly to the edge of the table in the effort to remain seated. “And you ask instead where my wings are?
