The Lightkeep

by Catherine Miller

  Perhaps Penryn should be cross, but she had lived in such circumstances to know that despite appearances, and likely any assurances she would be given should she raise the issue to Henrik, the chamber was not truly hers. They would claim it so, but if they felt she needed a healer, a healer would be given entrance. The same with any other decision that would be foisted upon her.

  It was quite apparent by the lack of bolt upon that particular door.

  But the rattle revealed a young girl, eyes on the metalwork in front of her. It was a large dome of etched silver, the tray itself of the same colour, the span seeming too large for her to manage, yet she did so. She bent at the waist before righting herself, and if the gesture was some sort of deference to Penryn, she had not looked in the room well enough as it was directed more to the wall than the Lightkeep.

  “On the table, Respie,” Mara directed, and the girl startled when she saw Penryn already seated beside it, her eyes widening briefly before shuffling closer, the distinct rattle of the tray increasing in volume.

  She was trembling and terrified, and Penryn wondered how she could possibly cut such an imposing figure in a too-long dress and naked arms. But evidently, she did.

  The girl did as she was bid, the tray fitting so neatly on the round table beside Penryn’s seat that she idly considered if either had been made specifically to accommodate the other. Respie took hold of the silver dome, closer inspection showing the etching to include twines of fruit still on the vine, the thorns interspersed rising from the metal itself, and she almost wanted to touch it, to see if they were as prominent as they appeared, but Respie clutched the dome close to her chest and backed away, eyes on the floor.

  Penryn had almost forgotten what such food looked like, so used had she become to dried fruits and forages. Potatoes, mashed and a puddle of butter streaming in the middle, a thick slice of meat beside it, ample sauce drizzled over, thick rolls in intricate braiding waiting to be dipped and savoured.

  There was a goblet with a pitcher of clean water beside, a smaller cup with something akin to cider, if a quick sniff proved true.

  It was a feast, and her belly rumbled merely to look at it.

  “Are you needing anything else?” Mara asked her, giving an exasperated look toward Respie, perhaps thinking that the girl should have asked it herself.

  Odd, when Penryn knew full well just how nervous Mara was in her presence as well.

  Odder still that tears were pooling in Penryn’s eyes, wanting more than anything to share this with the one she loved best.

  “No, it looks very fine. Thank you, Respie,” she added, trying to get control of her emotions before she alarmed any of those watching her.

  Respie made one of those strange, collapsing movements that Mara had done, this one so awkwardly completed it was enough for Mara to reach out and catch her, whispering furiously in her ear before she pushed her toward the door.

  Respie nodded, her cheeks flaming, and she scuttled down the stairs as quickly as she could.

  “My apologies for her, my lady,” Mara said gravely. “She’s the one small enough to bring the tray through the stairwell, you see, lest you wouldn’t have to see her at all.”

  Penryn wiped at her eyes, glancing at Mara, knowing full well the woman would not be looking at her. “There is no need for an apology.” She could not help that she was frightened. Penryn could only imagine what stories had been told of her, and those would likely worsen when they learned just how truly displeased Penryn was with them and their misdeeds.

  The contract between them had been breached, and in the worst possible manner.

  There would be nothing simple about their talks now, and the reissuing to follow.

  “Still,” Mara continued, walking back to her duties. Penryn should be paying attention to the articles she had brought, learning their cut and eccentricities so she could dress herself without causing embarrassment to any of them. But thoughts of conflict to come warred with thoughts of Grim, and if she allowed them to rule over her, any appetite she had would be carried away with it.

  And despite the part of her that insisted it was wrong to feast, to indulge when Grim was forced to make do with scavenge and the occasional hunt, she could almost hear his urging for her to eat, to not waste a perfectly good meal over circumstances she could not change.

  The memory of his care was enough to bring the tears back, so rather than dwell there, she picked up her utensils. Those at least, were familiar. Belatedly, she found herself wondering if all of Grimult’s people used such articles, or if they too had been a lesson, training her for what she would face in this new place.

  She would have liked to share a proper meal with Grim. With his family. To see how the ordinary people lived.

  How she might have, if she had not been chosen.

  Mara appeared beside her. “My lady, if you permit...” she pulled at the table, bringing it from the arm of the chair to a far better position for Penryn to use the knife and fork to cut bits of meat and golden potato. It was more difficult to manage than it should have been due to the sharp twinge of her injured wrist when she clutched the cutlery too firmly in her zeal, a warning of what was to come if she was not careful.

  She could not fully inhibit the low whimper at the first taste, the warmth, the flavour exquisite on her tongue. She had not realised how much she had missed such foods until they had been so entirely absent from her, and she took another bite with relish, realising belatedly that she would have to use a considerable amount of self-control to keep from devouring the entire plate and asking for more.

  She reached instead for the goblet next, filling it almost completely from the pitcher. She took a long sip, savouring the sweetness of cool, crisp water, likely drawn from a well rather than directly from a stream.

  She felt eyes upon her, her skin prickling with awareness, and she turned her head to find Mara glancing at her, although her eyes dropped just as quickly. “They do not tell us of how you come to be here,” Mara commented, her voice low, perhaps thinking if she spoke too loudly that Henrik himself would hear. “But I think you might have been without for a very long time now.”

  Not so long, and rations were not as perilous as all that. But she could not say such things, could give no true answer at all.

  There could be no reference to the Journey, no hint as to the distance or what she had endured beyond the Wall.

  She took another sip of water although she had suddenly lost even the desire for that. But to appear affected would give credence to Mara’s claim, and she could not allow that either. Another sip, and she felt safe enough placing the goblet back. The food would be cold if she did not continue to eat, but she wondered if it would be worth it simply to be able to continue in privacy, without judging eyes that might learn too much by simple observation.

  She could not slip. Not now. Not when she had hardly begun the work that was required of her.

  Grimult’s people needed her, more than ever before.

  His family needed her.

  And maybe, he did too.

  The lump in her throat was a burning, aching thing, and she looked at Mara before putting her feet down upon the floor and sitting up more fully. She could not relax, not even in these chambers. Not until she was certain that her privacy was assured, if only for a little while. “I thank you for your service and attentions, but I believe I should like to be alone for a time.”

  Mara’s hands froze, near to the bottom of the pile, her eyes widening in alarm. “I meant no offence,” she blurted out, dipping into that strange bow that Penryn did not care for in the least. “Ma always did say I must mind my tongue and now...” she hung her head, creasing the fabric as her hands tightened instinctively, before appearing even more dismayed when she realised what she had done.

  “My lady, I...”

  Penryn sighed, shaking her head. A long buried instinct suggested she go forward, to place her hand upon the other woman’s arm and give some comfort and assurance that
all would be well.

  But that would be extending a modicum of friendship that she could not allow. Not now.

  These people had betrayed those she was meant to protect, and she could not forget that. She could not succumb to warm baths and fantastical pipe-work that brought water upon command. She could not be seduced by fine clothes and servants that were sweet and bespoke of girlhood interactions she had long dreamed of when she was small.

  “I am not angry,” Penryn said instead, offering that at least so as to spare the woman some measure of guilt. “But I am tired.”

  Mara’s shoulders slumped but she nodded, although she looked rather wistfully at the rest of the clothing upon the bed. “Who will see to the rest?” she asked, nibbling at her lip. “Or should I take it away with me?”

  Penryn did not miss the small, hopeful glance that she was given, perhaps looking for reprieve, permission to remain just long enough to finish her work.

  Perhaps it was wrong to eject her so quickly, but Penryn feared making more mistakes, revealing more than was strictly necessary over the course of polite conversation.

  And she had the healer to attend her as well, a dangerous examination should a difference be found between her form and what was expected of a true land-dweller.

  “I am quite capable of finishing,” Penryn instructed, not feeling it necessary to issue a true command that Mara leave her presence, but the awareness hanging between them, strained and tense all the same.

  “Of course,” Mara acquiesced, putting down the garment she had clutched in her distress, smoothing with a soft hand before standing back and crossing the room with swift, purposeful strides. “If there is anything else you require, you may just pull that cord there.” Penryn followed the pointed finger, her eyes landing on a thing line of tapestry attached to some mechanism in the ceiling. “I will attend you unless... unless you would like to request someone else be assigned to your care?”

  There was no mistaking the anxious look about her, and Penryn wondered if it was wise to suggest multiple people share the task, lest she grow too close to any of them. But she paused, watching as Mara fidgeted with her skirts, her gaze upon the floor. Respie hardly wanted to be there at all, let alone be summoned for chores and the like. “I would be grateful for your assistance,” Penryn murmured at last, uncertain what else to say. She wished no ill on the woman, only desired privacy and to keep from making any further mistakes.

  And although Penryn could claim little knowledge of such things, it was possible that if Penryn’s wishes were misunderstood, Mara might be released from the sages’ employ, her livelihood revoked. Were wages hard to come by in this land? Where the sea was not readily beside, with fish to catch and feed hungry young?

  Penryn hardly desired destitution on her conscience.

  Mara visibly relaxed at Penryn’s declaration, and there was a timid smile on her lips as she nodded her head and opened the heavy door to the chamber and slipped out, the clang of hinge and metal handle leaving doubt that the latch had caught.

  At least none could startle her while she slept, sneaking in unawares.

  She glanced at the food, the warmth of the fire bringing forth a lethargy that was difficult to ignore. But she needed sustenance, even if she did not attack her plate with as much vigour as when first it had appeared. The portions were too generous, the sauces too rich, so when her stomach began to feel the first stretch of fullness, she diverted her attention to the little cup of cider, a careful sip concluding it was much to her liking. A sweetness that suggested a fruit had been used in the brew, although she could not name it in particular. The cup itself was dark earthenware, so she could not see if there was a hue that might give her some clue as to its origin.

  To be alone meant more time to her thoughts, to feelings that threatened to drown her if she paid heed to them too long. But the cider seemed to still the racing, to slow her heart and nerves, her eyes growing heavier as she stared into the flames before her. She had to be on her guard, had to mind her tongue until the time was right, had to keep from thinking too much of a Guardian she had left behind, of the heart he carried with him that once had belonged to her...

  But perhaps shutting her eyes for just a moment would not be so remiss.

  After all, she had walked a very long way...

  And before she had even made the conscious effort to do so, she slept.

  Three

  She awoke with a start, at first uncertain of her surroundings or what had made her waken in such panic in the first place. Then, vaguely aware there was something in her hand it was tumbling forward, she clutched at it fiercely, her heart pounding even as her eyes darted about her, trying to make sense of the stones, the unrelenting red that seemed to decorate its every facet. No leaves, no boughs overhead, birdsong greeting her each morning before she would turn and steal glances at a sleeping Grim, however rare it was that she would wake before him.

  Then the door swung open and a head appeared, and she tensed all the more to be peered at. “Forgive the intrusion, you did not answer at my knock and I grew concerned.”

  Her head felt muzzy and confused, and she realised the thing in her hand was a small cup still mostly filled with cider, and she realised the disaster that would have come had she dropped it. She placed it hastily on the tray lest something else happen to it and she find herself drenched in sticky, fragrant liquid.

  He did not wait for an invitation to accompany her in the chamber, but she had not expected him to do so and found she was almost grateful as she was still fighting back her own confusion.

  “Are you quite all right?” the man asked, his robes a deep black as he moved closer, hunching forward to look at her eyes. Not touching, not yet, and despite herself, she was acutely aware of how spoiled she had become. Touch was something denied her so long and for all too scant a time, she had known what it was like to feel...

  Like anybody else.

  What it was to be held, and even, by the end, to be kissed.

  To feel his hand in hers.

  For even the light brushes that came from standing near, to reaching out to skim fingertips simply because she wanted to do it.

  But there would be no more simple touches here. All calculated, all with a hint of the forbidden, something set apart.

  “Fine,” she murmured, sitting upward, her neck aching. “I fell asleep, that is all.”

  “Ah,” the man acknowledged, standing upright. He said nothing more, his eyes assessing, and Penryn wished she had her cloak to hide in. “My name is Donlov, and I am a healer in these parts. Would you permit my examination?”

  She stiffened. It was phrased as a question, yet she knew it was not her command he would follow, and that aggravated her even now.

  But she found herself trying all the same.

  “I was looked over,” she attempted with a pointed look. “Before.”

  Surely they had told him not to make too many enquiries, that he was given no further privileges than anyone else in the knowledge he would collect here. It was bad enough that they knew she had been hurt at all.

  Although that proof would perhaps be necessary, if her word alone of what she had witnessed was not enough to make them publically acknowledge the breach.

  A smile, perhaps placating, perhaps more accurately, patronising. “But not by me.”

  Penryn took a deep breath, already annoyed, and belatedly noticed the leather bag at his side, the handle attached with two rings of bright gold, a placard on the front presumably giving his name, although the light was wrong for her to actually read it.

  Fighting was a pointless endeavour, so she raised her arm and allowed him to inspect the broken appendage for himself. It was better than it could have been, regardless of what Donlov thought. Grimult had taken excellent care of her, and she was grateful, and she would not hear a word spoken against him.

  She shivered at the first touch, biting her lip to keep her nervousness at bay. Fingers pressed in assessment, up her forearm a
nd settling back at her wrist. “Make a fist, please,” he instructed, not bothering to look away from her arm even to ensure she understood. She complied, the action causing pain, most especially when he urged her to tighten it beyond what was initially comfortable. “And release.”

  The dull throb remained, a warning against doing any such thing again, and she found the first kernels of resentment blossoming that she had been asked to do it at all.

  “It was broken, yes?” he asked, and she wondered if it was truly so obvious that he could tell so easily. She lowered her arm when he released her, and looked at it. It was perhaps a little swollen still, but it looked fairly ordinary. “Henrik mentioned you had it wrapped, and he thought a splint had been used as well,” he expounded at her silence, and that alleviated some of her concern.

  “Yes,” she answered simply, holding it to her, bracing herself for some chastisement that was not his place to give.

  “You are mending well. The bone is aligned correctly, and while I will wrap it for you, it should not be needed for long. Perhaps a fortnight, if not before.” Penryn’s shoulders released some of their tension and she nodded, grateful now that he would be able to see to the bindings as it would have been awkward to attempt it herself.

  He placed his bag down on the chair across from her, and she wondered for a moment at its presence. Did the sages imagine there would be many to pass the time with her, seated before the first?

  The ache in her heart grew, and she found herself absently rubbing it with her good hand, as if somehow acknowledging it physically would ease some of the discomfort.

  Penryn’s attention shifted when he began to pull out the necessary articles. No more strips of wood wrapped in cloth, but metal shafts, thin and elegant in their design, tucked into fabric sleeves that had been crafted precisely for the purpose. It was all so fine and neat, and she found herself fascinated at his preparedness.