She had no history to call upon to tell her of the outcome, but it was not difficult to imagine.
Even now, if Edgard brought her a cartful of new stock, Grimult would have to hide in the little bathing room just to be certain no glimpse of him was seen.
And she wanted better for him.
Wanted a great deal more.
“Because I will not leave your family vulnerable,” Penryn reminded him, opening her eyes and looking at him firmly. “And because,” and this was far more painful to say but she pushed down the ache, the hurt that welled even now when the wounds were such old ones. “Because if my parents still live, I will not have them harmed either.”
Should she resent them for letting her go with the sages? She could not bring herself to do so. Not when she knew their power over their people, of the generations of faith that had been manipulated and twisted into what it had become. The responsibility on this side of the Wall was great, to maintain their people and the secrecy of what lay beyond, but hers required a far more acute sacrifice.
A child.
And even now, she burned with pity for the one that would be plucked up next, stolen from a family, robbed of what was good and kind and given a life of emptiness and duty.
She bit her lip, wondering if her going back would change anything. Someone would still have to go. Someone would still have to lose their wings. Learn all that they could before setting out to sign the treaty once again. On and on, until time itself had ended?
She could not imagine it.
Someday, it would be broken.
But she wondered about the circumstances.
And what the cost might be to see the end of such a cycle.
Grimult sighed against her and tucked her more firmly against him, and she was happy to settle there. It pleased her also, that she could still feel the peace that came from simply being near him rather than succumbing to passion so soon again. She was certain if she made the attempt, if she purposed to kindle it between them it would light and that union too would be a lovely thing. But she did not wish to lose the comfort that came from being held, of feeling his lips errantly against her skin as he toyed with his own thoughts, far away even if he was physically so very close.
“We need a better outcome,” he declared. “One that does not mean death or harm for either of us, but protects our people.”
Penryn nodded, although she was not entirely certain what she was agreeing to. “I am not certain we get to decide,” she reminded him rather timidly. She did not want a quarrel, and her fingers delved beneath the opening of his shirt, wondering briefly why he had bothered to don it at all, not when she already wanted it off of him. Did he feel the same about her shift? Most likely.
“Then we will think and plan until we come up with something that will not see us both killed when we first approach.” He glowered at her, and she blinked up at him, feeling strangely lazy and unaffected. Or perhaps simply too distracted with his nearness to care about such things as his pretended ire. “Or worse, if only you are killed.”
She rolled her eyes, understanding his point. She was important to him, and he cared more for her than for himself. She felt quite the same, but rather than argue, she reached for him and pulled him close, kissing him with all the promise she could muster. “But first, back to bed,” she insisted. “And I will lie still and we will not rumple your feathers this time.”
And she could not help the laugh that bubbled forth when Grimult growled at her, picking her up and bringing her to the bed. “My wife will do as she pleases,” Grimult commanded before capturing her lips once more.
And the world fell away once more.
Just for a little while.
◆◆◆
“Does it look like hers?” Penryn enquired, peering into the dark cauldron sceptically. It was not that she doubted him, surely not, but she did not share the same faith with herself and she had perhaps helped too much and managed to spoil things.
Grimult took a long-handled spoon and stirred, bringing up some of the contents for inspection. “It is close,” he declared. “Although someday you shall experience Mother’s stew for yourself and you can judge accordingly.”
She tried to avoid such talk, of an outcome that included a simple life with simple joys such as meals spent with a family she had yet to meet, but Grimult did not seem to share her opinion. He spoke with hope and optimism, and while she loved him for it, it felt too close to a deception to indulge for any great length.
The day was growing dim, and their physical exertions insisted upon something hearty for their meal. It had been Grim’s suggestion when an inspection of the cupboards provided sufficient ingredients for something that would hopefully resemble what he had longed for from home.
She had two bowls waiting, with two of the four spoons she had found within a drawer for the Lightkeep’s use. She was grateful they had not provided a single set for her use, simply highlighting how alone she was meant to be that there would never be use for any additions, but they were generous and perhaps thought she would not always like to have to wash the same utensil before desiring another. Or thought she would be prone to clumsiness and lose them over a course of time.
Regardless of their reason, she was thankful.
She bit her lip, wondering what would happen when they found her gone.
