They did not seem perturbed by the arrangement, settling quickly enough, hands steepled or arms crossed, depending on their whim.
Penryn had to fight not to fidget.
“Perhaps we could begin with an introduction,” the vocal one continued, his smile pleasant but his eyes cautious. “I am Harlow.” He pointed to the other men in the room. “Gershal, Malin, and Tuck.” Penryn was not certain she would retain their names, most especially since the three of them appeared remarkably similar. If they were not brothers, then they might be cousins at the very least.
Or perhaps the familial lines of this clan were simply that strong.
Harlow was the only one with light hair, the rest were an earthy brown, only darkened further by the obvious drizzle that must have accompanied them outside, wetting their hair and adding a shimmer to their clothing. It was an odd thing, to see the water droplets so clearly, and she wondered if they had coated their garments in something to repel it, though she had no idea what substance might provide such protection.
But they were sea-folk, and she could see the wisdom in it.
“And you are?”
The answer should have been an easy one. Her name was known by none, save a few of her minders from her fledgling years, and the man already seated close beside her. But if she understood the customs well enough, Grimult’s name would be known throughout the clans, heralded, for a time, as the picture of sacrifice and duty to the people.
It would make her own position fairly obvious, and she nibbled at her lip, wondering if it was better to simply blurt out the truth of it and forsake any attempt at deceit entirely.
Before she had quite decided, Grim staring at Harlow and obviously trying to make up his own mind in their proper course, there was another knock upon the door. Braun did not appear to answer it, nor did Lynara, Tuck volunteering for the task as he was nearest.
He opened it, and Penryn could see a flurry of feathers shaking free of water at the stoop as Tuck stepped backward to avoid being caught in the shower. “My apologies,” the newcomer offered, stooping low to get through the doorway. He showed more age at his temples than the others, like many in this clan thus far, his feathers lighter at the top before descending to far deeper grey and browns near the bottom. “It was difficult to get away.”
“Of course, Rezen,” Harlow allowed with looking at Penryn and Grim to draw the newcomer’s attention. “We were merely getting acquainted, although these two seem reticent to give their names.”
Rezen turned, eyebrows raised in question. He looked first to Grim, yet when his eyes settled on Penryn, he froze, his expression going slack.
She feared for him, that some malady had befallen him, and she had no wish to see a death in the middle of their host’s living quarters. She feared he would collapse, and she found herself standing almost on instinct, remembering herself before she reached out and tried to hold him herself.
“Rezen?” Harlow asked, Tuck coming from behind and offering an arm, both trying to make sense of what had happened.
“You know this girl?”
Rezen drew in a shaky breath, pushing away his comrades and taking a step nearer to her.
There was a light in his eyes that frightened her, a desperation that she could not account for, and she found herself taking a nervous step backward, toward the kitchen, ready to flee if necessary.
Not that Grim would allow anything to happen to her, of that she was certain.
“No, please,” Rezen entreated, his voice attempting to be gentle, but it came out as more of a rasping plea. “Do not go.” Penryn halted her retreat but still rubbed her hands along her skirt nervously. “I have only just found you again.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion, unable to understand. “Found?” she found herself asking, but her own voice was shaky and no one seemed to hear.
“Can you not see it?” Rezen turned sharply, addressing his friends who looked first to him and then to Penryn, trying to make sense of it along with her.
He took another step forward, hand outstretched, not for her to hold, but as one might do to a frightened animal, urging for calm, for them to remain steady and not to bolt away entirely.
She just might do that.
Her heart was beating wildly, and she was vaguely aware that Grimult had stood up, but Rezen was positioned between them and she did not like that, did not like the way he was looking at her, as he if knew her and...
“You look so much like your mother.”
Eleven
Penryn stared at the man, unable to take in what he was saying. Her heartbeat was loud within her ears, pushing out the other sounds within the room. She could see their mouths moving, could in part comprehend that they were discussing what that man had claimed, but she was not able to accept it.
Believe it.
He had... known her mother?
The word felt foreign in conjunction to herself. Grimult had used it, had promised her that they were real and, if they lived, they cared for her. But that did not make them people, known to others to be mentioned in such a simple way as if...
As if they were real.
She swallowed, wishing she had not eaten so much of the stew, wishing she had her cup of cool water to drink while she tried to get her ears to work once more.
The man was taking another step toward her and suddenly Grimult had a hand on his shoulder, halting his progress.
They spoke in low tones, and she was curious of what they were saying to one another, too low for her to hear even if she could have done so.
She was almost sorry about it.
Her breath was coming in short little pants, and she found herself grasping the partition to the
