She should admit to her own selfishness, to the pull that was nearly always there to simply hide away, to build a life with Grimult and have it be solely theirs.
But if she had indulged in that, she would not be here now.
And their family had suffered quite enough.
Her mother pulled away first, wiping at her eyes, suddenly filled with the need to bustle and fuss. “Have you eaten? You are far too thin, the pair of you.”
It was likely the borrowed clothing that made her look more frail than she was, but she could not deny the warmth that filled her to be cared and worried over. “Milsandra was most generous,” Penryn assured her, but Amarys was already shaking her head. “Sit yourselves down and I’ll make you something special. Recipe of my mother’s, this was, and the best for cold nights and weary bones.”
Penryn gave her a soft smile. She liked the thought of that, of recipes passed down from generation to the next, with all the skills that went along with it. “I have only recently learned how to cook,” she admitted, smiling when Terik brought over a chair so she could heed their mother’s declaration yet still be close. Already she was pulling down canisters of powders and liquids, eyeing Penryn every so often as if to ensure she had not disappeared without her knowing.
“Well,” Amarys commented, for a moment looking pained, before she brushed it away and gave her daughter a smile. “Then if we only have one day, you’ve a great deal to learn.”
Penryn turned her head, unconsciously seeking her husband and found him seated at the table. He looked exhausted, and knew more than anything he needed sleep. And as if he knew the turn of her thoughts, he shook his head briefly, mouthing to her that he was all right.
She wanted to believe him, but could not quite bring herself to move. Not when something in her, long buried and almost entirely forgotten, was finally soothed as she listened to her mother describe the technique, the ingredients ancient ones that should have been common, yet somehow, were not.
They turned out to be something akin to sweet cakes, cooked on the embers of the fire, drizzled with rich nectar and a generous helping of butter.
And Penryn was quite certain they were the best thing she had ever eaten.
All were instructed to eat some, taking their shifts at the table when a new batch were prepared, and Worley managed to get a great deal more out of Grim than Penryn had ever thought to ask.
What the men’s dormitories were like, how long their practises lasted.
If they really had to be gone so long from home.
“Aye,” Grimult answered at that, swallowing his third cake half eaten on his plate. Penryn did not need to ask to know that he was suddenly filled with thoughts of home, for she had seen that wistful, far-away expression more times along the Journey than she could count. This must be difficult for him, even as he was glad for her. She knew she would feel quite the same should their situations be reversed.
He should have been home by now, already released from the sages’ keep, freshly debriefed of the Journey and with firm instructions as to what could be shared with the common people.
They would be missing him. Full of worry and dread when his return did not come.
Her own cake suddenly lost some of its appeal. They could not tarry, although she was sorry for it. She would dearly love to see his farm, to meet the animals that he spoke of with such fondness. Her experience with them came from picture books and entries in journals old even when her great-grandparents were born. She did not know if those species even existed any longer, let alone how they might be should she ever meet one in person.
She shivered, thinking of the beast that held her pinned, its teeth so long and menacing that even now she could remember its terrible breath in her face, certain that at any moment it would swallow her whole.
“And what is your clan?” Rezen asked, interjecting before his sons could pry out any more details of the daily life as an initiate. They had evidently been shy of the age requirement by only five years in Worley’s case, a grave affront that they had yet to forgive the sages for.
As if they needed any more reason to begrudge them anything.
“Aarden,” Grimult answered. If he was hesitant to give it, he did not show it in his manner, the answer falling easily. Penryn frowned. The name was familiar, but there was little written about it in her many books.
Rezen frowned slightly. “Farmers, aren’t you?”
Amarys tapped her husband’s shoulder with a firm hand, the look she gave him clearly indicating that he should hold no opinion on the subject, let alone give voice to one.
“Aye,” Grimult said again, and he did not allow his eye line to waver from Rezen’s. There was no shame to be had there. His home held no ancestry, it was made from wood and the labour of many hands only a short while ago, but Penryn did not doubt that it was a very fine one.
Stomach full to bursting, Penryn took the opportunity to beg exhaustion, at least on the behalf of her husband. He would be the one flying them come morning, and she did not want any unpleasantness to taint her sole evening with her family with clan-talk.
“Of course,” Amarys nodded, wiping her hands on her long skirt and nodding to herself. “I... I have a room for you,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head at Penryn’s enquiring glance. “Don’t mind me,” she answered the unspoken query with a wave of her hand. “If you would care to follow.”
There were more doors and passages, alcoves turned into separate
