She spotted it.
And they dropped with a quick gust.
Into the one patch of earth she had been allowed to call hers.
The only sun that she had known when thick walls and too-small windows would allow nothing else.
And it was now crowded with Mihr and sages, some flooding from the skies, others beginning to come from the walls themselves.
Flustered.
Angry.
And she dropped from her husband’s arms.
And smiled.
Fourteen
“How dare you?” a sage stepped forward, bristling with anger. He looked about himself, presumably addressing them as a whole, before his attention settled on Penryn.
She knew his face, although he had not been one of her primary tutors. Nameless, as they all were, his distinctive features only the inky blackness of his wings and eyes to match.
“I dare,” Penryn answered primly, holding her head up high and back rigid. Just as they had taught her. “Because your people are in danger.”
His eyes flashed. Sages surrounded them, some young, with weapons hidden beneath robes, others brandishing them as they jerked their heads back and forth in indecision. If they had plans in place for such confrontations, she did not know of them.
“Liar,” he sneered back. “The raven has already come declaring the signing.” His rage made his tongue loose, and he seemed to realise himself as he gave a quick glance to Harlow before he forced himself to silence.
She had made no mention of the treaty, or of the Wall itself.
She smiled again.
“That is not the danger of which I speak.”
She did not wish to play games, to toy with words and see how far she might push him until he snapped.
But a part of her, that perhaps should be dosed in a heavy outpouring of shame, relished in it all the same.
“And you!” the sage continued, doubtlessly in an attempt to divert attention from his error. He looked at Grimult, and raised a crooked finger in accusation. “A blight upon you for your failures. Your name shall be expunged from the record, all honours stripped from you and your house. Even your clan will spurn you by the time we are finished!”
Penryn took a step forward, making it so that he pointed at her instead. “You would be wise to be silent and allow me to speak,” she countered with all the calm she did not truly feel. “I had thought we could discuss the matter in private so that the secrets of our histories might be preserved, but if you would prefer me to be so open now...” she shrugged, allowing the weight of it to lay heavy between them. It would be his choosing, and his mouth snapped shut, another coming up behind him laying an even more ancient hand upon his shoulder. “Brother,” he urged. “Think of the ears that are listening.”
Another glower, and if looks alone could maim, she was certain her blood would have flown freely from the innumerable wounds he wished inflicted upon her.
She felt a figure behind her, and she glanced behind, only to see her father giving a beseeching look. “It is not safe,” he urged. “For you to go alone.”
He was not wrong.
If any recognised him as her father, none gave any indication. Perhaps in their minds he truly was not, and therefore unimportant to their memory.
Or perhaps they simply had not been there when he came to petition at the gates.
She softened slightly, and would have reached out and patted his arm if it would not have caused an unnecessary stir amongst the sages already poised for a battle she did not care to see commence.
They needed to save their energies for the horde to come, not squabble with one another over slights, some perceived, others very real.
“You will understand my Guardian accompanying me,” she directed to the elder sages. “Lest you grow hasty in your punishments and do not let me share my news with you.”
She knew the words were wrong, that it sounded like a mere nuisance rather than a dire happening that deserved their full attention. But her nerves were bettering her, and there was something so strangely pleasing about the way the black-eyed sage’s nostrils flared whenever she opened her mouth.
She had to be better than this. Had to find some semblance of her former self, the one who could speak and comport as the situation demanded, even if she never could have imagined this particular set of circumstances.
Nor could they.
That much was plain.
“Get them inside,” the black-eyed sage barked out, jerking his head and swirling in a robe of crimson and black feathers making him an intimidating figure.
Or might have once done.
She felt oddly numb.
“Penryn,” her father entreated, his voice so low it was almost nonexistent. She turned her head, but did not allow herself to take a step forward.
“If something should happen,” she answered back, her own voice measured and without the taint of fear she felt low in her belly. “Each of you must go and tell as many as possible of what is to come. More will believe if it comes from the sages themselves, but we will accept what we must.”
His eyes were so sad, so full of pain and longing, and there was so much more she should say to him.
She allowed her eyes to soften. “I do what I must, Papa,” she murmured only for him. “And so must you.”
And because she did not think she could handle staring up at such sadness any longer, she turned away.
And felt Grimult behind her, her shield and her strength when her own might falter as they passed into the poorly lit maw of the keep itself.
She knew the passages they followed, but Grim did not. None spoke as they trekked through the darkened passages, the lanterns casting an eerie light that flickered as the swish of too many robes
