She tried to force the word father to apply to him and could not. It was a word that had meaning, of course it did. It was a relation. Kin.
Hers.
But he was a stranger. She found herself staring at him in return. The hair colour might be similar to hers, but there was nothing extraordinary about that. A dark brown that bordered on black by the addition of the rain from outside. His eyes were pale, perhaps even lighter than her own, but she hardly spent much time looking at her reflection to know for certain. Their noses bore no great resemblance, and although the colour of wings declared familial lines most prominently, she had none to offer any sense of resolution.
Should she not feel some pull from him? Some deep awareness of belonging that confirmed that he was special?
That she came from the love he shared with her mother?
“If you are as you say,” Harlow cut in at last, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “What are you doing back here?”
Penryn sighed deeply. It was a question worthy of an answer, and an honest one, but years of training insisted that her tongue remain still, that anything from beyond the Wall was sacred talk, to be shared only with those robed in crimson.
Like she should be.
And was not.
And it mattered little what was beyond the Wall when the danger was already within.
“I did my duty,” she assured them, in case any cared for the old lore. “But there is a warning that we must give.” She paused, waiting for Grimult to interject if he felt she should stop before she had finished. “To the sages,” she continued, feeling awkward and uncertain in her speech, her nerves making it all the more difficult to relate. It should not be. She should speak crisply and clearly, the words coming easily because of the truth behind them. Then why did she feel like a foolish girl who was not where she ought to be, caught by elders ready to chasten her for overstepping by far?
Another breath, this time fuelled by frustration. “We would not have troubled you, and will leave at once if that is what you wish.” The man that claimed to be her father made a choked sound, his head already shaking in denial.
She looked away from him.
And stared at Harlow instead, ignoring the trembling in her fingertips.
Grimult claimed she bore the same pain. A single look at Rezen and she could not deny that he had carried it long.
And not well.
“You’re cryptic enough to be one of theirs,” Harlow agreed, and he sighed, patting Rezen’s shoulder. “And Rezen vouches for your parentage. Which makes you one of ours, as far as I’m concerned.”
Penryn blinked. “I am... uncertain what that entails,” she countered, something in his manner unnerving her. There was an ease in him that almost reminded her of Henrik, that he led by friendliness and smiles rather than strict decree. And it served him well, if the silence of the other men in the room was any indication.
But she would have to disappoint him with her defiance if their courses did not align.
“It means,” Harlow said with a wave of his hand, urging her and Grim to settle back into their seats. “That you are under our protection. You were taken once, and I won’t see that happen again. Not after what it did to your parents the first time.”
Penryn could not help but glance at Rezen once more before forcing herself to oblige and make use of the abandoned bench. Swift tempers and heightened emotions were never useful in negotiation, and she would do well to garner better mastery of herself before she made any further attempt at explanation.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the story of the Lightkeep, fabricated though it was. That she lacked any true heritage, that she belonged to no clan, would take no creed other than the one that would carry her lamp through the wilderness to the beyond itself.
But these people claimed to know the truth of it. That her birth had been as any other. That she had a heritage beyond those imparted by captivity and tutelage.
There was privilege, yes, but there was pain also, and the conflicting parts of her were making her head spin, her loyalties utterly divided.
They should not be.
They were easy to set aside in a cabin in forbidden lands, when the only part she cared to keep bore the name wife.
But there were others that she needed to retain, to manage and balance, despite her personal preference.
“I will be returning to the sages,” she told them plainly, her tone firmer than she had dared to use before. There could be no mistaking that matter, and a part of her feared that some misplaced sense of protectiveness would attempt to alter her course.
That she would have exchanged one prison for another, this one even more difficult to escape, as she had no wings to bring her back from the cliffside or save her from the sea below.
She pushed aside such morbid thoughts, reminding herself firmly that Grimult was near, and he would never allow such an occurrence.
Not while he lived anyway.
The thought was not a welcome one, and she bit her lip, glancing at her husband and wishing she could dare take hold of his hand and bring it close, to remind herself that he was warm and healthy, without lasting damage from his second fall.
But Harlow did not attempt to halt her, and merely shrugged his wide shoulders. “As you please.” Rezen jerked, and Penryn was certain there was a protest at the tip of his tongue, but Harlow continued on, unheeding.
“You are a woman grown. It is not my place to
