But he had asked for her removal, for her patience, and she would give it, and could not afford to ruin his attempts at direction by peering down for long, no matter how she so desperately wanted to do.
She saw six gather about him, surprised to see first salutes, then embraces. This was what he should have had from all, not to be cursed as the sages had done, calling a blight upon even something so precious as his family.
She forced herself to withdraw, to hide herself away within the dormitory lest temptation get the better of her, straining to hear any scrap of their conversation. She looked about the large room, the cot beds that did not look particularly comfortable, and tried to imagine her husband in any of them.
There were notches specially crafted into each, allowing initiates to sleep on their backs if they so chose, and she ran her hand along one of them. Was this common of most beds? One had never been offered to her, all of the beds she had known either square or perfectly rectangular.
A land-dwellers sleeping space.
That is what she was, but also not, and she nibbled at her lip again.
Twelve cots in total, and there were many other dwellings lined up on their stilts, some opposing, others side by side.
Had they already settled back into home-life? Already snared a girl to call their own now that prestige and honour were a part of their name and blood, coming so close to the coveted title of Guardian.
But not quite.
That alone was for her husband, even now pretending that he had not wedded her at all, had not brought her back and secreted her away in his old dwelling space, so that men who should revere him and hold his name with the respect due him would unstop their ears long enough to listen.
It was not the way she would have it done, but she could well see that her way had failed her.
She wrapped her arms tightly about herself, feeling strangely cold and very much alone.
Their talks lasted longer than she would have imagined. Far longer than the sages had provided them, at the very least.
After a time, she sank down onto one of the cots, stripped of its linens, watching as the sun grew low in the sky. Darkness was good, as it would hide them from unwanted attention, friendly or otherwise.
Her stomach clenched a little, reminding her that their hasty meal had been long before, back when hope burned brightly that things might settle rightly into place.
Now she felt worn and small.
And darker thoughts insisted that her husband was down there, and either had forgotten her entirely, or worse.
That the sages had reached his instructors first, and even now had been struck down by the circle, his body rapidly cooling in the evening air.
But before she could force stiffened limbs into movement, there was a rustle, a thump of boots as they met the wooden platform of the dormitory’s edge.
And the door swung open.
She blinked. She had not realised how dark the dwelling had become, and she could not immediately make out who was standing there, not with only the moon casting even greater shadow at its back.
She did not speak, did not move lest she give away her location prematurely. There was little she could do beyond drop to the floor and tuck herself beneath one of the barren cots, but even so small a movement might produce more noise than she could afford.
Not if these had been the men to have trained Grimult. To have bestowed all the gifts and skills that had seen them through their trials together.
“Penryn?” came the voice, and there was no mistaking that at least.
She got to her feet and stumbled forward. She did not care if others were behind him, only wanted to touch, to ensure that he was all right, that he was safe and not dead after all as her mind had conjured so cruelly only a moment before.
And he caught her, and pulled her close, a hint of pride in his voice as he murmured into hair.
“They will come,” he assured her. “They will call them, and the initiates will come. And they will fight, regardless of what the sages choose to announce.”
And something in her loosened, whether by at his presence, or at his words.
Perhaps the day had not been such a wretched failure after all.
Fifteen
The air was crisp and cool on her tongue, sharper at these heights, though she was provided some measure of protection by the walls around her. A thick mist had settled over the plains, stripped bare of trees, an abrupt border for where the clans were permitted to settle.
It had been surprisingly easy to coax the initiates over the line of the boundary.
The instructors also had answered the call to action, grim faced and full of purpose, weapons held tightly in their fists and strapped to their persons, ready to meet a challenge they had never thought would actually come.
But it had.
She still could not quite believe that they had responded with so little doubt or discussion. That Grimult’s word had been enough to persuade them to action, her presence met with a tightening of the lips, a flash of chastisement, before admonishments were buried behind talk of plans and scouts willing to travel the distance and bring back news of positioning and pace.
They could not be allowed to press upon the dwellings.
Not where fledglings slept, where women heavy laden with child could not freely move and escape if need be.
So they pressed inward, ignoring the markers, the sentries with their crimson tabards, and moved where once had been forbidden.
The landscape had been chosen with care. There were fields open enough that the horde would have to choose to pass through there, but trees were flanked on either side, providing protection for those in the
