She could not trust them to pass word on about the attack. They might be too careful with their explanation, leaving out the element of danger that was new and most unwelcome in the sequestered world that was their own.
Penryn picked up the pen.
And gave her title and the origin of her keep.
And finally, the year.
And handed it to Henrik so he could do the same.
She glanced to the others, saw their deep sighs of relief, and envied them that.
For she could not do the same. Not when she knew what was coming for her.
Not the slow, unbearable death that would come from loneliness and despair, the one she had expected since she had finally mustered the courage to enquire what might happen to her after, and they had thought her old enough to answer.
No, it would be a swift execution by her own people once they realised what she had done.
She had found a way to cross back over the wall. To warn them. To explain.
And maybe, just maybe, she would see Grimult again. If only for a too-brief moment. Not a figment of her imaginings as she must have experienced earlier, but real and whole and...
Not hers.
Never that.
But her friend all the same.
“Excellent,” Henrik turned to her with a beaming smile, unconcerned by Penryn’s prickling unease. “A celebration is to be had after all.”
Of course. A feast, a grand event to commemorate another signing, the continued peace.
Where she would smile and bow her head in acknowledgement when people came to gawk simply so they could say they had seen her, boasting if any had missed the opportunity themselves.
All the while trying to work out in her thoughts how she was to manage this, how she could accomplish what none other had dared to do.
Or had they?
There was half a history that she was not privy to, buried within the walls of this Keep, open though it was to the people beyond. Did they keep record of such things? Of attempts and failures throughout the years?
Or were those carefully omitted, lest a Lightkeep ever enquire to peruse the texts for themselves?
She did not know, but that did not change that she must try.
Even if it took a very long while in the attempt.
And although she had resented it so thoroughly before...
Time was all she had.
Five
It felt like a terrible deceit to return to the gathering and inform them that the treaty had been renewed and all was well between their peoples. Things did not feel settled, the worry too gnawing and present to be ignored. Her quarrel might not be with those surrounding her, but it was their kind who sought to do harm to hers.
Many had departed the great hall, but it hardly mattered. It was not a formal announcement that would signal the beginning of the festivities, but the chime, pealing loud and long that the accord had been reached.
She could hear the thrum of shouts before it had even finished resonating.
“They are grateful,” the elder sage murmured to her from behind her left shoulder. “They prefer to concern themselves with thoughts of harvest than what is beyond a Wall.”
Penryn said nothing in return, still uneasy. She did not feel confident that she had done rightly, that she should not have forced the land-dwellers to be involved.
The dilemma was a great one, but she comforted herself that it was not for her to decide the outcome, merely to warn and inform. If there was a hidden people tucked away within the forbidden lands, what was to be done with them? A relocation? They had fought against that before and proven successful.
A slaughter, then?
Her stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch just to think of it.
“You do not look well,” Henrik commented from beside her, a mere half step behind in order to maintain the appearance that she led them all freely. “This is to be a very great night for you.”
Penryn glanced at him, trying not to show every bit of the annoyance she felt. “And why is that?”
He blinked, and she wondered how he could so quickly forget.
Or perhaps it simply did not matter to him.
His people’s future was secured, and that was that. The state of hers was not under his jurisdiction, so he could set it aside easily and enjoy a feast and a job well executed.
He did not bother to supply a response to her clipped query, instead giving her a dim smile and urging her forward by hastening his own step. It was rude, and she did not appreciate it, but neither did she allow herself to slow her steps in order to agitate him into compliance, risking his tenuous hold to traditional formation and simply rush past her.
“Would you like for us to alter our missive to the other order?” the elder asked, his voice low. It was not an offer that she had expected, most certainly from him. The correspondence between the two peoples were heavily regulated, copying words decided upon long ago in order to relate simple meanings into flowery, obscure language should any intercept the birds used to transport it. Even now she could recall finding the script amongst a pile of aged texts long ago, her eyes settling on the crisp language of the meanings with a muted sense of horror.
Not at the first line, at the success of the Lightkeep. All was well, and their work was complete.
But after.
A single line, bold and black.
That the Lightkeep was dead and buried.
That the next should be sent soon.
Penryn swallowed, pushing aside such thoughts. The offering was a kind one, she supposed, but she could not simply dismiss the mistrust she felt for those surrounding her. “Henrik is not incorrect. We cannot act on presumption.”
They were approaching the outer doors, and any talk of such things would have to be
