Morning came too soon. She awoke to Grimult standing over her, wedged between her two parents in their nest on the floor, but he had merely smiled at her and did not appear cross that she had forsaken him.
Rezen and Amarys were slower to wake, temporarily befuddled by their positions, blushing and stammering as if they had been caught doing the greatest of wrongs before each took their turn washing in the bathing room, breakfast sizzling in heavy iron pans.
No one spoke of their departure but a glance about the table made it readily apparent that it was close to everyone’s thoughts.
Until denials could be had no longer, when the first knock rattled against the door.
Amarys bristled, eyes flashing, but Rezen stood, giving his wife’s shoulder a squeeze as he unlocked the first door, then moved out of sight to undo the second.
For all the hours she had sacrificed not sleeping, Penryn felt remarkably well rested. Grimult looked even better, with some of the heavy smudges beneath his eyes lightened to their normal pigment, the tension in his face relaxed from proper slumber.
Harlow appeared, arms heavy laden with familiar attire. Washed and properly folded, Milsandra had done far more than was necessary, and Penryn supposed by their presence that they would not be returning there after all. “I thought I would save you the trip,” he announced, holding out his burdens for Penryn and Grimult.
Grim’s attention seemed drawn mostly to the sword that Harlow had bound to his hip, one that rarely had left Grimult’s person since their Journey had begun.
His attention drifted, and he had the decency to flush. “Was a bit awkward to carry,” he admitted. “With all the rest, and all that.” Grimult nodded, but was clearly displeased at it being in another’s possession. They made quick work of exchanging their attire, Grimult taking longer as his included weaponry strapped and buckled to limbs and torso.
Penryn waited, knowing that her offer of assistance would be refused. There seemed a ritual to each, a closing of his eyes and a subtle movement of his lips, as if a recitation accompanied both, solemn and full of purpose.
Perhaps they were part of a lesson in his training.
Perhaps they were prayers that each one would not have to be used that day.
It felt far too intrusive to ask, even if the question burned at her.
At last he seemed to be ready, and Penryn took a quick breath. “Ready?” she asked, forcing a brightness to her voice that she did not feel.
“Are you?” he asked, his eyes serious. Watchful. She wondered if she asked it of him, he would continue on alone. That he would return to the keep on his own, leaving her with her parents and...
She could not complete the thought. It was too painful to bear, even if there was a hint of wistful longing as well. For more time, for the world to simply stop so she might revel in her newfound joy a little longer.
But she would not rest easily knowing all she did, could not put aside all semblance of her responsibilities even for so sweet a reason.
“Yes,” she answered firmly. There would likely be tears at the parting, not only her own, but that did not make it less important.
Rezen already had an arm about his wife when they exited their bedchamber, something in his posture suggesting the measure was not merely affectionate, but a restraint. She trembled, standing in her kitchen, eyes wide as she cast occasional glares between Harlow and the open door behind him.
Worley and Terik were trying to coax him to unsheathe the sword and give them a look, but Harlow would not be moved, rolling his eyes and giving them a pointed glance at Grimult’s approach, his fingers going to the buckle and undoing it quickly, holding it out to its proper owner. “You have seen good steel before,” Harlow reminded the boys.
Terik scoffed audibly. “In fishhooks, maybe. Not in blades meant to fight.”
Worley turned to Grimult. “Sure you can’t tell us even one story about a kill while you were gone?”
Grimult fastened his sword and visibly relaxed to have it back again upon his person. He had not indicated any discomfort at their absence when they were sequestered away in their cottage. Not cared that any of the weapons were tucked away with their clothing as they lazed and loved for those few blessed days.
She had found a small, sheathed blade beneath one of the pillows on the bed however, so perhaps he had not been as truly relaxed as she had thought.
“Your sister would not appreciate a recounting,” Grimult gave in answer, and she gave both boys one of her imperious looks. No, she would not. Not merely because those were secret happenings, not to be recounted at all let alone to be leered over by blood-thirsty youths. But also because that incident in particular was one of the most terrifying moments of her life, and parting would be difficult enough without reminding her mother of the perils in the world.
Embraces were long, and she had been right about the tears. Her mother was visibly shaking as she led them out to the cliffside, and Penryn was not certain that she was going to release her hand at all, so tightly did she grasp it.
“Come back to us,” Amarys pleaded with her, equal part a demand as an entreaty.
And something welled, something soft and vulnerable, that Penryn did not allow herself to dwell too long and lose her courage. She turned, clutching her close once more. “If at all within my power, Mama,” she vowed again. “I will be back.”
There was a catch in Amarys’s throat, and all the more tears, and Rezen stood close, eyes shining. Her mother released her more easily when it was so she could hug her father. “Papa,” she offered as well, which was a little more difficult to say, but no less lovely at the utterance. “Take care of them
