Penryn could barely imagine having a child of her own, let alone that child having children. But Edgard seemed to think it the grandest thing in the world, and although she still struggled to be satisfied with the results of the day, she could not deny that for this, she was glad.
There was joy here, even if it was not for her. Even if they did not remember why they celebrated at all, they knew it was important, they knew that her coming meant coming together, of laughter and song and perhaps a few too many sips of the spiced wine.
Edgard gave a showy bow and to Penryn’s absolute mortification, gave a sharp whistle. “Lightkeep is leaving!”
The music halted abruptly, and the dancers came to a stop. It was obvious a few had not heard his words, only turned their heads to see what might have happened to cause such an event, and Penryn could see Henrik’s widening eyes as he tried to make it through the crowd of people and reach her. She felt no great need for an exchange, most especially when she had not been given the proper words to say to address the people once again. Edgard looked at her, not quite expectant, but assessing, and she swallowed thickly, trying to think of something proper to say.
“I thank you for your hospitality,” she called, her voice steady despite her nerves. “May the rest of your night be a pleasant one.”
More silence, followed by a whooping shout, followed by a peal of laughter, and she lost the attention of the masses, the musicians tentatively returning to their songs, as if afraid they might be interrupted once again.
“Right then, if you will come with me.”
He gestured past a great cluster of tables, most of which had been emptied, and she was grateful not to be accosted along the way. Anxiety clutched at her with merciless tenacity, and she did not think she could stand being surrounded by so many people for much longer. She had desired it when she was younger, when she thought that there could be nothing quite so grand as being lost in a sea of people, never wanting for company.
But she understood it better now. That the aching loneliness did not simply disappear because other people were near. She did not know them, and they did not know her. Perhaps they thought they did, but it was merely a title, a position she was born to. Not her.
Only one could claim that, and she was already slipping back to doubt that he was truly here.
That he would find her once she retired to her new dwelling.
She grew nervous that he would not know to follow. That he would assume that since the celebration was to last so long, the sages would suggest she remain a night longer in the tower. Was he waiting for her there? And if he did not see the path that Edgard took, how would he ever find her again?
“Here now,” Edgard indicated, drawing her attention to his cart, the beast waiting also, an empty bushel of what might have been some sort of food source empty beside it. Edgard exchanged the loop of soft rope for a contraption that slipped over the creatures head and mouth before he urged her up into the seat, following behind.
The quilt that his wife had made was already waiting for her on her side.
“Did you know you would be my escort?” Penryn found herself asking, smoothing the fabric over her legs, and caught his smile at the action.
“I’m a selfish man,” he admitted with a shrug. “Didn’t mind getting to say that I was the only one to transport you while you stayed with us.”
He made a clicking sound with his tongue and the beast got moving, and it was not long before the clamour of stones was exchanged for a gentler rumble of the wheels against hard-packed earth. The motion of the cart was strangely soothing, and although she was sorely tempted to bring the quilt up higher, she feared she would be lulled to sleep if she did so.
They carried on in silence, although she could feel him glancing at her frequently as if something was very near to escaping if only he allowed it.
By the fourth glance, she felt it better simply to enquire than to allow him to injure his neck with so much perusing. “Did you having something you would ask of me?”
They were losing the last of the light, but she was fairly confident from the ducking of his head that his skin would be pinked with embarrassment. That had not been her intent, and she regretted making him feel so.
“Just wonderin’ if you’re going to be all right, out here on your own,” he told her, although he took a moment to collect himself before answering. “Don’t know why, but I always pictured some old man coming out this way. That he’d have had a good long life and wouldn’t mind some peace and quiet for the rest of his time living.” He looked at her, more purposefully this time. “Think I’ll be worrying about you for a long time yet.”
Penryn shifted, uncertain what to say. She could not reveal that her time here was limited, that she would spend most of her time searching the Wall for some indication of how to return to the other side.
Unless Grimult really was real...
And then her days would not be alone at all, but would be shared.
But she could not say that either. Not when it was a grievous breach of the accord she had just signed that swore that only one bearing her title would come to the other side.
“I do not want you to do that,” she said instead. “To... worry.” She had tried to give similar instructions to Grimult, and he had been unable to listen
