The woman looked terribly relieved, and she stepped to a counter and handed Penryn a bowl. “Bread is on the table if you would like to help yourselves to the stew.”
Braun came up behind her, rubbing lightly at her shoulders. “Sit, Mils. I’ll bring yours.”
She gave him a weary smile before she relented, going to be with her fledglings. “You did not eat all the bread, did you?” she asked, her voice holding a hint of warning.
“No, Mama!” both assured her, although something in Danyl’s tone suggested he had consumed more than was strictly necessary.
Penryn almost gave a small protest when Grimult took hold of her bowl and ladled a hearty portion into it. She wanted to have done so for him, but he shook his head, gesturing her to the table. He seemed steady enough on his feet, merely tired, and he was already seeing to his own meal so would follow quickly behind.
She did not know where to sit, but there was a numbing sort of tiredness surrounding her that made her care less about trespassing on etiquette she did not know and was unable to prepare for, so she simply sat with her back to the wall, next to the little girl. Her eyes were wide as she regarded Penryn up close, no longer consumed with fulfilling her father’s instructions, her attention mostly trained on Penryn’s back. Penryn remembered her curiosity in her youngest days, when she liked to touch everything that intrigued her. Was she fighting a similar impulse?
“Eat, Lynara,” her father ordered, returning her full bowl to her. “And it is hot, so be mindful.”
The little girl nodded solemnly, taking up her spoon and blowing on the contents with great care, her eyes drifting between Penryn and Grimult between blows.
They sat in silence for a time, content to see to their meal, uncertain of what to ask of one another. Penryn had an abundance of questions regarding life in their home, or even broader enquiries about their view of the other clans. There was bread on the table, and the wheat must have been grown somewhere. Were they not grateful? There was a whitish hue to the broth of the stew, suggesting a healthy dose of cream, perhaps even by a farm near Grimult’s own home.
How could they look down on those that grew the food and tended to the animals that provided for their nourishment?
Perhaps they did not.
Perhaps there was more holding their clans together than a Lightkeep sent out into the wilds, a Guardian chosen to stay by her side, if only for a little while.
“So,” Braun asked at last. “Milsandra and I are happy to have you stay the night with us, but I won’t pretend that your presence is going to remain secret for long.”
Penryn blinked, glancing at Grim in hopes of receiving some hint of how she should respond. “We have business with the sages,” he answered for them, and she relaxed somewhat, content to allow him to navigate conversation with people far more alike those of his acquaintance than those she had known. “Your offer is a generous one, and circumstance dictates that we shall have to accept, but I assure you, we are not in hiding. We do not desire to bring trouble to your home, and will leave it as soon as we are able.”
Milsandra and Braun shared a careful look with one another, and Penryn piped up as soon as she had taken another swallow of stew. It was very good, rich and well seasoned, simple fare but filling. “We are so grateful for your hospitality,” she added in case that had been missed in Grimult’s assurance that they meant no harm or complication on their house. “Truly. I do not know what we would have done without all of your help.”
Never mind where they would have slept the night, they might not have made out of the icy waters if not for the keen eyes and quick intervention of the fishers.
“I did not mean to hurry you out,” Braun clarified. “Only wanted to warn you that it’s more than possible we’ll be getting visitors tonight.” He grimaced, and Penryn grew all the more wary, and her next bite of bread was a little more difficult to swallow than it should have been. A sip of water poured into her waiting cup from the pitcher at the centre of the table, and all was right again—aside from the dread pooling in her belly. “Elders in the clan wanting to take a look at you, no doubt.”
Penryn looked to Grimult for guidance. He merely took another bite of his stew before returning her glance. If he was trying to give some sense of silent communication, she did not know how to interpret it, and she frowned, pulling apart her piece of bread with her fingers, staring down at her meal. They should have taken the time to talk about this. To reason out their story, the explanation for their being here.
Did they stick to the truth? Allow rumour and gossip to spread the news of the land-dwellers’ coming?
The sages would not approve. They would insist on being told first, so they could disseminate the information according to what was good for the population as a whole.
But why did they get to decide?
Theirs was an office of service, yes, with access to knowledge denied to the common folk. But it was families at risk. Entire clans.
Surely they should be warned quickly and with as much detail as Penryn was able to give?
She felt torn, pulled in too many directions. She was a secret keeper. It was easier to put that aside tucked away in a bed with her new husband, to have him coax out histories long buried, truths that were too painful to speak when the day was bright and she was being looked at.
Grimult had made her bold, had taught her how to be someone else, but it was too
