“Rest, you have had quite the ordeal. I am certain someone is off even now to fetch a healer.”
Penryn glanced at Grim, unhappy with the thought. She wanted them well, of course she did, but they would fuss over the bandages on her wrist, soggy and drooping from the water.
And then, inevitably, they would ask where her wings had gone, and she would have to supply an answer.
She shivered again and she felt Grimult come up behind her. Not touching, not quite, but present, and she was grateful.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Braun. They’re soaked through.” She waved them inward and Penryn glanced at the husband, only to receive another of his cautious smiles and a shrug, following the lady of the house.
If she noticed Penryn’s lack of wings, she was too polite to say so, instead leading her past the kitchen with the roaring blaze, to an alcove further on, this one with partitions enough that with a little more construction, might have accommodated an actual door.
“I doubt they will fit properly, but they are clean while we get you both warmed up.”
Penryn swallowed, accepting the pile of clothes and watched as the woman went to another trunk in what was obviously her own bedroom, this time pulling out larger offerings to hand to Grim.
“Fish stew and bread is all I have to offer for supper,” she said, passing by both of them with another hint of apology in her voice. “Bring your wet things once you’ve changed and we’ll get them dry in no time.”
“Thank you,” Grimult cut in, bowing his head lowly. “We are in your debt.”
A wave of her hand, and Penryn realised where the fledgling girl had inherited her grace from. “We take care of our own,” she pronounced before turning back to tend to her kitchen.
Penryn frowned at that. Neither of them could be considered so. The clans often disagreed about their respective ways of life, claiming each to be superior to the other. Grimult’s people were most often seen as inferior, moving inland often viewed as a betrayal of the ancestors, of the natural way for their kinds.
Or so her books had told her.
But maybe they were wrong in this too, and things were not nearly as contentious as she had been raised to believe.
There was a panel of fabric that Grimult draped across the opening, shielding them for just a moment from watchful eyes, fledgling or otherwise, and rather than see to his own sodden clothing, he came toward her, unfastening the clasp at her throat and allowing her cloak to fall to the stone floor below.
The sound of the felling device hidden within the pocket gave it far more resonance than it might have otherwise managed on its own.
“This is not a seduction,” he murmured, so softly that she almost did not catch it. And that at least brought a smile to her lips even as she felt tears prickle at her eyes at how quickly things had turned for them. She felt lost and uncertain, overwhelmed at the feeling of home and rightness that accompanied being in such a dwelling, the longing and envy enough for her throat to tighten with the sheer want of it.
Fledglings tucked away in alcoves of their own.
Shared meals and fish stews, and homes passed from one generation to the next.
But a simple life was not for her.
Not yet.
Perhaps not ever.
He stripped Penryn down until she was all naked flesh, her clothes a pile at her feet, then she was clothed again in warm clothing, softened with use and frequent washings, constructed to accommodate wings that were not there, the slits allowing a chill to seep through, until Grimult finished it off with a warm shawl tied about her shoulders.
Thick stockings completed her ensemble, and then it was his turn, although she added frequent rubbings to his chilled skin, contenting herself that he was there and present and breathing.
And still hers.
It did not take long, their dressing, and was perhaps altogether too short for what they might have liked. But they were guests and their hosts were waiting, and they could not indulge overlong.
Even if they permitted a single kiss for greeting, for relief.
And one of gratitude that they had made it here at all.
They parted quickly enough, small smiles on their faces in apology, wistful glances that meant that at another time, another place, they would not have had to separate at all. But they had chosen their course, and the appeal for a warm fire and a hot meal was an alluring one.
But Penryn allowed herself to reach out and give his hand one last squeeze before they picked up their belongings and went to the kitchen.
A table and two benches were pushed to one side, two fledglings, the boy from earlier and their initial greeter already seated, small legs swaying back and forth as they waited. Their expressions grew far more interested when the newcomers reappeared, spoons held aloft, empty bowls temporarily forgotten.
“See, I told you she didn’t have any wings,” the brother attempted to whisper to his sister, but it was loud enough for all the adults in the room to hear very clearly.
Penryn flushed, looking to her hosts, expecting to see suspicion in their expressions at being reminded of her strangeness, but instead they looking only mortified that their son had announced it so vocally.
“Danyl, mind your tongue!” his mother hissed, turning to Penryn with even more apologies ready at her lips.
Penryn shook her head, not wanting her to feel even more put out in her own home. “He is not wrong,” she answered simply, smoothing her hands against the skirt of her borrowed dress.
