“Some. There were a few journals as well.” She shook her head, remembering how excited she had been to read a first-hand account of a person beyond the walls of the Keep, and even now she could not name how their personal recountings had found their way into the library there. “It was some of the most tedious reading I have ever done, I assure you.” Long, winding laments at every disappointment that he had faced, and although Penryn had some compassion for the first few, it soon became clear that he was merely one with a fondness for complaint, and when he felt the need for three paragraphs at how his wife had cooked the same meal for the fourth night consecutively and how she must not love him very much at all any longer, she had put the book down and never returned to it.
Grimult gave a low hum, and was quiet again, his fingers never ceasing their work. But she was intrigued now, and she propped herself up, the better to look at him, to try to understand what he might be thinking. “Why?”
“I was merely considering,” Grim began, “that you put a great deal of faith in those books. That you believe what they say even more than my own word.”
Her eyes widened. “I do not!” Her denial was adamant and sure, yet still he gave her a pointed look.
“Then hear me when I tell you that even now, I can say with certainty, that if your mother still lives, she misses you. That your father thinks of you as often as he can bear. That you were loved, and loved fiercely, and I am not the first to have done so.” His hand, cupping her cheek, holding her steady as the first few tears escaped, kept her from hiding again. “So I asked if those texts had spoken of family, because if they had, and if they had done it well, you would have known that all along.”
It was not the texts that had made her believe otherwise, but there was a lump in her throat that made it impossible for her to tell him so. She had asked the sages, and they had assured her that her parents had been most willing participants, that they had been honoured for their daughter to be chosen and she was wrong to ask questions of them. They had seen to their duty, why did she try to do otherwise?
“So I say again, they are our people, Penryn. And if what you say is true and there are dangers out there, they must be warned.”
She nodded, her thoughts and feelings all jumbled. But Grimult was there, coaxing and soothing, touching and placing tender kisses until she was able to look at him without worrying she would blubber all over him again. “I did not mean to upset you,” he murmured, and she shook her head.
“I needed to hear it,” she assured him, and she realised it was true. It was a morning for truths, even if they were difficult ones. She did not like to dwell on the subject of her birth, nor of the parents that perhaps, loved her after all, and even now it grew all the more painful.
Penryn’s stomach gave a low rumble of protest, reminding them that hours had passed since they had first begun their conversation and she had eaten little the night before. She had grown used to copious foods, although she would not admit that to Grim. Not when he likely was forced to make do with little either because of injury or simple necessity, hidden away as he had to be during waking hours.
“Where do you think you are going?” Grimult asked, catching hold of her good arm as she sat up, ready to get a fire going and bring warmth back to the cottage before looking at the provisions and seeing what might make a proper meal.
“Beginning the day?” Penryn answered, more question than statement as she looked back at him. She had assumed he was teasing when he had threatened to keep her in the bed until he had all the answers he desired out of her, but perhaps she had mistaken him and he had been quite serious. “I am hungry,” she clarified, although the admission felt like a sudden show of weakness that she would rather have kept to herself.
He nodded in understanding, but did not release her, instead propping himself up so he was comfortable, and she hoped they had not crushed his wings too much as they lay and had their talks. “As am I,” he agreed. “But there is one other subject that requires our attention.”
She blinked, trying to remember what she could have left out. She had told him of the talks, of the land-dwellers and her position amongst them. He had frowned deeply when she spoke of how the cottage would be hers until the end of her days, and he grumbled at her that it was a banishment, even if they had made it more desirable with hot water that came on command and a chamber pot that cleaned itself.
She had told him of her discussion with the sages, of those beyond the Wall, living and perhaps even thriving in seclusion, tucked away from anyone’s memory just as firmly as each group of sages had attempted to do of the other.
Except, with that attack they had shown they were no longer content with their hidden corners, of land claimed out of necessity rather than ancestry.
And that would have to be dealt with.
Penryn sat back on her heels, looking at him. “You will have to tell me the nature of the subject, because I cannot think of what I have yet to share with you.”
Grimult gave her a half smile, and if she was not terribly mistaken, there was suddenly a hint of trepidation in him. Odd, when he had been so sure of
