Henrik interjected, his eyes darting between the two of them, obviously discomforted by the earnestness of her response. “No offense was meant, I am sure,” he placated, reaching out a soothing hand, almost urging her to sit although she had made no movement to do otherwise.
She needed to collect herself, wanted nothing more than to leave the room and take a few shaky breaths with only herself for company.
Perhaps even to escape back to the large hall and see if her mind was truly playing tricks, even Grimult would appear to her as a phantom, present only in the corners of her mind, but a comfort all the same.
That surely was the way of madness. Madder still that she would almost welcome that sort of insanity, if it meant she was not quite so alone.
“I have nothing to display,” Penryn continued, her voice a forced calm that she did not truly feel. “No wings to unfurl. Only my word that what I have described is the truth of my experience.” She held her head a little straighter. “And I was told by my people that my word was sufficient. That I would be respected during my time with you.” She looked pointedly at Henrik. “Has that changed since my predecessor was last here?”
The man beside Henrik reached out and touched Henrik’s arm, her attention drifting to him instead. He laid an aged hand upon his chest and gave a slight incline to his head. “I keep to the old ways, my lady,” he informed her, and where once she might have chafed at such news, now she was grateful for it, “So I have no name to give you. But I would answer your charge that we do not respect you.” A long look from eyes milky with age. “If you would permit it.”
Penryn gave a nod and the elder smoothed out the collar of his robes, his fingers finding the signet at his throat, the movement fluid despite his age, as if something done so often and in such great frequency that his limbs could not help but comply. “Your claim is heavy indeed, and one that we cannot take lightly. Never before has such an accusation been made, which is why Henrik’s words during the Introduction were so hasty.” A glance, a hint of censure there. “Which is why they were also ill-advised.”
Henrik shifted, obviously displeased by being chastised in such a matter, but Penryn was left with the impression that these arguments were old ones between them.
“I will not deny that encouraging the younger people toward our cause has been a difficult one. They are harder to convince, and prefer evidence rather than accepting ancient texts as legitimate proof.” Penryn did not need to turn her head to sense Lameston’s discomfort. For all his faults, she supposed he was to be commended that he had taken the vows at all, regardless of his reservations. Or perhaps it was merely foolish, to dedicate his life to something he did not entirely believe in.
Except that was the crux of the matter. Sages were not told the whole of the history until they had sworn their lives to its keeping. To leave meant execution.
She did not often pity the sages, and was not certain she could fully embrace such an emotion now, but there were the beginnings. To swear a life of fealty and faithfulness to a mystery, then be disappointed by the outcome...
Then the reminder, grave and unyielding.
At least they had been given a choice at all.
She had not. She had been plucked from the common-people, draped in ritual and sacrifice as a justification for her kidnapping.
Lameston would hardly win a competition of who was the most disappointed in their lot.
“Then I suggest you alter your approach,” Penryn answered, her tone harder than she had intended. “For I fear our accord will not last if it is not given the proper respect.”
She smoothed her palms across the tabletop, trying to come back to the point that mattered most. It was not her commission to convince doubtful sages of their place in the world, of the importance of their task.
They should have settled that long ago.
“My lady,” the elder nodded in deference, before he too took a breath. “As to the other matter, I feel we are equally powerless to prove our innocence. We allowed none through. We have planned no attack upon your person, have never thought to waylay your Journey. If your kind is in danger, it is not by us. Of this I swear.”
She wanted to believe him. Desperately wished it to be true. His eyes, milky with age, were imploring as he regarded her, his hands outstretched as if opening himself to whatever weapon she chose to wield against him.
Penryn swallowed, knowing she had to be firm, that she could not be distracted by supplication, not when so much was at stake.
But he spoke truly. If they were innocent, how could she be convinced? Just as Lameston wanted a pair of wings to steady his faith, there was no such action they could provide that would show what they had not done.
“Give me an explanation,” she entreated at last. “Give me some reason that your kind might have been beyond the Wall without you having broken faith with us?”
The sages looked amongst themselves before eyes settled on the tabletop. Not in despair, but in thought, their brows pulled together, mouths in tight lines as they tried to supply something she was not convinced could be given.
“If you would,” one of the silent sages cut in, and all eyes darting to him. “It might be helpful if you could describe his dress. And he had a mount, you say? Was it the sort that Edgard used to escort you to us?”
“I do not know its name,” Penryn answered regretfully. “But no, it was not the same sort. Edgard’s beast seemed calm in nature. This was...” Even
