But instead Grimult caught her up in his arms, pulling her tightly to him. “I told you,” he murmured into her hair, between pressing a quick kiss there as if to seal his pronouncement. “I told you none had forgotten you. That you were loved and missed.”
The tears prickled again, partly in relief, partly at the truth of his words that she had not quite dared believe, even before.
“You were right,” she acknowledged, and it was no hardship to acknowledge it. But then part of it that troubled her, drawn from her lips by the safety she felt when he was so close, when the world felt just a little more removed when all she could see was him. “But he is still a stranger to me.”
“Yes,” Grimult agreed, his hand patting the back of her hair, the strands now damp rather than wet. It eased something in her, the touches and the confirmation that she was not wrong to feel so, that they could admit the truth of it while also granting the relation was real. “But he need not stay that way.”
Penryn shifted, looking up at her husband. “Our course has not changed,” she reminded him. “There is a horde coming here and I will not grow distracted.” He touched her face gently, but she would not be dissuaded. “We rest, and then we press on.”
Another agreement, his voice a gentle rumble that calmed her pulse, that offered more reassurance that she ever could have thought possible. “But there is time yet for this. To meet your mother. And there will be time after, when all is settled and our lives are our own again.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to think that there would be a life after the war that seemed inevitable in its coming. Where there might be a home, with more family than she had ever dared imagine for herself.
She took a breath, and forced a smile up to her husband. She wanted to kiss him, but that seemed too indulgent. Better to wait, for their privacy would come. An embrace might be excused if witnessed, but a kiss could not.
Grimult dropped his arms from about her and she felt the loss most acutely, suddenly far less warm than she had been, even with the presence of a hearty blaze. They walked back through the partition, their hands no longer entwined, and Penryn felt a little more herself.
Rezen appeared visibly relieved at her reappearance, and she wondered if he truly thought she would disappear through some secret exit in the back, or if it was merely his worry that filled his head with such implausible fantasies.
But she had been taken once. Disappeared once. Locked away where he could not follow. Perhaps it was ungracious for her to think his concern now was not entirely meritless.
“Well?” he asked, his eyes hopeful even if his mouth was pulled into a tight line.
If any beyond the Wall had been so eager for her presence, she would have grown suspicious. And even now, tendrils of her upbringing insisted she be cautious, that she not grow too enraptured at the prospect of what was offered, that she remember her place, to keep herself set apart, mindful and without feeling as she took in the situation and decided the best course.
Numbness was her safety. It hurt less when she did not have to feel it quite so acutely, when worry or anxiety, or the hatred for the stares were not allowed to penetrate her carefully cultivated apathy.
But it was obvious that such a reaction would devastate Rezen, so she tried her best to remain engaged, to be open to the possibility that all of this, no matter how incredible, might be real.
“Our hosts have released us for the evening,” Grimult answered for them when it became apparent she was unable. “We will return in the morning to exchange our clothing.”
Rezen’s smile was wide and beaming, and he clapped his hands together once as if unable to fully contain his enthusiasm. “Good,” he pronounced. “Good,” he repeated, more quietly that time, his body full of nervous energy, his body already turning toward the door.
“Now wait,” Harlow interjected. “We haven’t yet settled matters. I haven’t coaxed out yet what the danger is that had you risk coming back here in the first place.”
Penryn turned her attention back to him. Although she felt a surge of shame to admit it, that conversation was an easier one. Standing straighter was familiar, bringing as much height and authority to her person as she could. She kept her voice low and measured, calm and without the tightening of her throat that might result in too high a pitch. “What I must relate is for all the clans, not merely yours.”
He frowned at that. “So we escort you to the sages, and they hear what you have to say. Then they decide how much to tell us.” He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. “Can you see the problem with that?”
She would not pretend otherwise. “If they do not act, if they do not share the details with the clans, I will disseminate it myself,” she assured him, and a part of her wondered if that was a wiser course. To forsake them altogether would be the greatest mutiny, would make it plain that she did not care for their authority.
But while this clan had been willing to offer shelter and place value in her words, others would not. They might marvel at her return for a time, willing to listen but not to believe, not when so many had their faith and trust in the sages.
Penryn’s mind raced but she forced herself to calm, to think rationally for a moment, to reach a compromise that would benefit all. “Tomorrow,” she assured him. “We leave tomorrow for the sages. If you insist on giving escort as your claim, I will tell you of our purpose before we reach the keep. If it goes
