She did not ask if they were disappointed, as it did not truly matter if they were. She was what had been given, and it was their responsibility to accept with grace.
They smiled at her.
And it was disarming to see such expressions when the sages back home were all scowls and piercing glances, quelling any actions or word they did not believe was becoming their Lightkeep.
But here, they evidently felt the need for politeness, and she had not quite prepared herself for that.
“As your arrival is never exactly known, you will forgive that we have matters still to attend to before your Introduction,” the sage said with a smile. It was not a question. Perhaps it did not need to have been, although she could feel herself prickling all the same. “But I believe you have injuries that should be seen to before you retire?”
She wanted to take a lurching step forward at his approach, but she held still, allowing him to take her injured arm between delicate fingers, assessing the bandaging. “Are you in pain?” he asked, more gently than she might have expected. She had not thought they would chastise her for arriving damaged, but his concern appeared genuine.
Which made it all the worse that it was his people that had done it, that had attacked, that had crossed, all the while knowing the ramifications for their presence.
She wanted to rage, to begin the Talks there and then, but there was an order to things that she could not simply ignore. She needed their cooperation, needed them to listen.
So she could condemn.
“The Journey can be perilous,” she informed him calmly, staring into his eyes and if he saw a hint of accusation there, then perhaps that was all for the better.
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, and she realised she had not fully answered his question. “There is pain, yes, but none that should cause any alarm.”
He hummed, low in his throat, and she again wanted to take a step backward.
“We will redress your bandages, and then perhaps a tincture for the pain and to help you sleep. How does that sound?”
Dreadful, if she was entirely honest with him. But she could not be. Not yet. She would not mention her ribs, as there was no possibility she would willingly undress for anyone here, regardless of their station and the crimson they wore.
How she hated that colour.
“We do have your chamber prepared, at the very least,” he said with another of those smiles, and her fingers twitched, her heart pulsed a little faster, wanting to be free of the artifice and simply speak plainly. “Do you have a name, Lightkeep?”
She could not keep the confusion from her features. “You know the ways,” she murmured, wondering if this was another test, that her lessons were not over, even leagues away from those that had tried her at every turn.
For some reason, that set a few of them laughing. “That we do,” he agreed, smirking at her. “My name is Henrik. Was before I took my vows, and still is even now.” He leaned forward, trying to appear conspiratorial although it sent another bolt of fear through her. She did not trust him. Did not trust any of these men with their strange manners and their inattention to how things should be done.
But then, how could she be surprised?
They had allowed warriors through the Wall.
And still embraced her as if to call her friend.
“So I ask again, do you have a name?”
The tingle, the warning. Not to trust, not to believe his urging, that things were different here, that formality and pretence were abandoned, secrecy was put aside in favour of openness and honesty.
It was all before her eyes, but she did not know how to comprehend it, not when it was in such direct opposition to what she had grown up to believe was coming.
“Not for you,” she said at last, knowing it was the most truth she could give him.
Because even now, the thought of it on anyone else’s lips was repugnant to her. It belonged to someone else, for someone else.
Someone free, if just for a little while.
He seemed strangely disappointed at that, but nodded cordially all the same, gesturing that she should follow him.
She took a quick breath, trying to find a fresh measure of calm. There was much yet to do, and she felt brittle and wholly unprepared.
They had promised her that strength would come, that the words would come easily when the time came.
She no longer believed them. Not with what she had seen.
Hemlines brushed against stone passages, a gentle swishing that was a strange sort of comfort. Familiar in its way. While the design itself was different from the halls she had known in her youngest days, if she closed her eyes and simply listened, it felt similar enough. The smell of candles high up ahead, of lanterns with a tinge of oil, burning bright and giving a welcoming glow.
She had not even managed to keep a single lantern alight.
The reminder had her eyes open again. It did not matter, not really. She had not lied about that. Yet she still tasted a small tinge of failure, coupled with the reminder of the attack that even now still sent bursts of pain through her each day.
That could not be the only rider that existed on the other side of the wall. What if even now they had found him as he camped? He was strong, she had seen that often enough, with a keen mind for assessment, but what if they surrounded him?
He could fly, if his wound had healed enough. And he would not be encumbered by her.
Only two other sages followed behind her and Henrik, the rest remaining in the large hall that could probably hold a great deal of the land-folk during the Introduction. The knot in her
