She forced herself to raise her head, to look at him, to face where this was going.
“Weapons,” he finished at last, and Penryn frowned.
She should take a step back, should collect herself so that she could think of where to begin, how to explain, but parting felt like it might lead to unpleasantness between them, and she could not bear that. Not yet. There was so much mistrust already, when story and myth fell away and left only the reality, of a treaty that had become more legend than fact for many. But it was to her.
“Have you seen such things?” she asked him gently, feeling too worn to truly consider that she had been so utterly deceived, that the treaty she had signed would be breached so soon.
“No,” he admitted. “But they could. And we would not know, and then what?”
Penryn shook her head, sighing. “You have seen far more than was meant for you, and you lack the foundation to understand my purpose here.” She glanced at him and saw the tightening of his jaw, the flash of accusation that often accompanied her subtle—of often less than subtle—reminder that he did not possess the full history. “And you cannot be blamed for that,” she continued, trying to soothe, trying to assuage, keenly aware that her tone had slipped into the formality she had adopted during her time amongst the land-dwellers. It was not fair to him, and she could not blame him for his frustration.
Too long he had been kept in the dark, first by those in charge of his training.
And then, with a familiar guilt tugging at her belly, by her.
She took a deep breath, trying to master herself and the tangle of emotions, the push and pull of too many thoughts, too much instructions, too many feelings that had only begun to emerge so recently.
She did not want such things to taint what was between them, but clearly her determination was not enough to keep it from happening.
Her eyes drifted to the counter upon the cupboard, preferring to distract herself rather than face his questions quite yet. It was cowardly, she knew, but they had agreed on tomorrow, and she would try to hold to that while it was at all possible to do so. The lid was a secure one, but yielded with a little strength, revealing the dark, shrivelled leaves she sought. She pushed it toward Grimult and he accepted it, despite the rather stony expression on his face.
She was so weary.
Even now, she wanted out of this gown and into a simple shift and warm stockings, and to huddle beneath the bedclothes while she plotted what was to be done next.
But Grim was here and he was angry with her, and there was so much to say, and she did not wish to hurt him.
“I am well aware there is much I do not know,” Grimult cut in suddenly, sniffing at the leaves suspiciously. “That does not mean I am somehow lesser.”
Penryn blinked. “I would never think so,” she assured him, uncertain how he could possibly believe that of her. “And I will value hearing what you have experienced since we...” Even now, the memory was like a lance through her, and how could that be, when he stood here with her? “Parted,” she forced herself to finish, her eyes drifting to the floor between them. When she left him. For work that needed doing, and even now she could not regret, but there was no denying that she had been the one to scurry through the door, to shut it behind her, all in her efforts to spare him the choice, to spare him the pain of walking away from her and leaving her behind.
Another breath, and she raised her eyes to look at him. “But it does mean that you might not know how to interpret all you have seen.” She did not want to argue about this, and she found her good hand reaching for the end of her hair, tugging firmly as she turned to pace. He had found a pot for the tea, putting in slightly more than was necessary, but she hardly knew about such things. “Which I would like to help you to do, truly.” Another breath, even shakier than the last. “But there is so much we have to discuss and I hardly know where to begin, most especially when we need to plan our going back and—”
Grimult turned to her, a strange expression on his face. “There is no going back.”
Penryn stared at him, startled by the firmness of his tone.
He turned from her, occupying himself with checking the state of the water in the kettle, seemingly disappointed when it was not quite hot enough. “I knew that when I crossed. There is no returning for you, so there cannot be for me.”
Her hand dropped from her hair as she regarded him. “You... you had intended to stay here? With me?”
For always?
Grimult gave a shrug, but he would not look at her. “I was chosen as your guardian,” he reminded her. “I hardly think that ends when you cross a mere wall.”
She bit at her lip, trying not to cry, for he had seen far too many of her tears already. Surely she was spent by now and this was merely a welling of gratitude, of being chosen.
But her heart ached all the same, for the family he had left behind. “Your parents,” she managed to get out from a tight throat that threatened to choke her if she was not careful. “Your sisters.”
She could see the pain in him, the tensing of his shoulders, the tightly closed lids. “They have each other,” he justified. “Who did you have?”
No one. She was acutely aware of that fact, but to hear him relate it so,
