But what of those they had sent if they proved successful? She did not trust the sages in her own Keep either, likely locked away with knowledge of beings that refused to accept the boundaries of a territory allotted them. Lives ruined so quickly for merely adhering to a commission they had foolishly accepted in their youths.
The outer door opened, and cheers and clapping met her ears, and she felt the sages disperse from behind her even though she had yet to make her step fully into the outdoors. She blinked, realising it was the first time in many days since she had felt anything more than what the window allowed. It was a crisp day, but there were torches lining the streets that added a festive air as well as a hint of warmth. Banners of fabric had been strung between buildings along the streets, fluttering prettily in the breeze, not the unrelenting red, but of all colours, as if cobbled together from strips of old clothing and quilts rather than woven specifically for such a purpose.
Long tables had been placed within the street itself, people seated in benches and hard-backed chairs, or even bales of hay, depending on how far down the line they sat. Most did not even notice her, too consumed with talking with their neighbours, bright smiles on their faces as they looked about their accomplishment with satisfaction.
She took a step forward, the action far more difficult than it should have been, uncertain where to go.
Her eye caught Mara’s, standing off to the side with a young man at her side, a full head taller although he kept his head down low as if ashamed of the difference between them. Mara gave a slight smile before ducking her head as well, but not before pointing to a table stationed on the steps of the Keep, more elaborately decorated.
Penryn released an unhappy sigh to note the cloth spread across the top was crimson.
Naturally she could not truly be a part of the festivities. She could be looked at, and there was nothing keeping people from approaching if they dared, but if Mara and Respie were any indication of what was to come, any such attempts would be filled with stuttering and lowered gazes, and no true contact.
She felt her eyes prickle and she gripped her hands tightly into fists, her injured one protested the movement enough that she made herself relax. She should not be surprised, nor was she. Always the outsider, that was her lot.
How she hated it.
Her dishes were finely made, thin and delicate, yet strong in their construction. The goblet gleamed gold, and she could see Respie hiding off to the side with a pitcher, ready to tend to her every need should Penryn make a request. She swallowed another sigh, sitting down at her seat in resignation, the feast something to be endured rather than enjoyed.
Then she would retreat to her new dwelling and try not to think of how many Lightkeeps had died within those same walls.
And plan what to do next.
She took her seat because it was expected of her, and because to do otherwise would simply draw more unwanted attention. The sages settled together, their chairs all of a matching set further down the line. It was incredibly odd to see them positioned so close to others, the outer edges even interacting with their neighbours. She tried to conjure some circumstance where those from her order would have done the same, and failed.
Respie appeared and filled her goblet, not the crisp water Penryn favoured but something darkly hued and smelling of spices when Penryn raised it to her nose and took a deep breath. The subsequent sip was hesitant, but the flavour was pleasant enough, although she could not imagine wanting enough that it would require the entire pitcher in Respie’s hands. Another brought a plate of food and deposited it with a deep bow. Light hair bound beneath a cap, and Penryn looked to see if it was possibly one of Mara’s sisters, but could not make out a resemblance before she retreated to one of the long tables to enjoy the feast herself.
“Respie,” Penryn called, the girl flying to her side so quickly at being spoken to directly that she sloshed the pitcher, a few drops managing to escape and land on the girl’s apron. Respie did not seem to notice, all wide-eyed attention given to Penryn instead. Penryn shook her head slightly. “Put that down,” she directed, patting an empty place on the tabletop. Respie did not immediately acquiesce, instead looking to Penryn’s goblet to see if it required refilling already. “Please,” Penryn urged, choosing politeness rather than another command.
Respie followed the instruction, her manner hesitant, before she stood back, looking rather lost now that she did not have an immediate task to hold her attention. “I do not want you to miss out on the merry-making,” Penryn explained when it seemed the girl was closer to devastated rather than relieved at having her position taken from her. “Surely there is someone you would care to sit with? Eat some fine food?”
Respie wiped her hands down her apron, her eyes drifting down the long line of tables. If a girl so young was given a position in the Keep, it was possible she had no family and Penryn had miscalculated, unearthing some hidden pain rather than releasing her for the sake of a well-earned enjoyment.
“If you’re sure you won’t be needing me,” she hedged, not yet moving from her post, but her shoulders relaxing somewhat when her attention settled on a cluster of folk. Their clothing was worn and
