The Lightkeep

by Catherine Miller

  “That was not a question for my books,” Penryn reminded him, feeling so strange that they were talking of this at all.

  He did glance at her then, an unhappy tilt to his lips even as his eyes spoke of his love for her.

  “What was done in the old ways? Before there were sages?”

  Penryn blinked. There were ancient texts that spoke of life before, but there had always been sages. Ministers of the people, they were called then, toiling and assisting with the needs of their people, less complicated then. Homes were scratched into the rocks, food was simple and taken from the sea beside them. If schools had moved off and the fish were scarce, bands would hunt in the woods or forage on the ground.

  There were no passages on the bonds between mates, of ceremony or any such thing. They simply... were.

  “There were no rules, as such,” Penryn began slowly, considering carefully all she had read so she could be as truthful as possible. “From what I understand, a couple simply... chose one another.” She peeked at him, wishing there was more that she could tell him. A spell or a vow, something mystical that would bind her to him and him to her, unable to be broken by time or circumstance. But there was nothing, at least not from their histories.

  He did not appear wholly disappointed, however, and he was tugging at her hand, bringing it to his lips and placed a kiss to the back of it. “I choose you,” Grimult swore, and Penryn’s eyes widened. She had not meant for him to say any such thing, had not dared hope...

  “Grim, you cannot just...”

  “There will be no other,” he continued, stilling her words by placing another of his kisses, his voice firm and full of promise. “I choose Penryn for my wife, to love and keep for the rest of our days.”

  Her eyes were shiny with tears, she was sure, and old training was gnawing at the recesses of her mind, reminders that this was impossible, repugnant even, that she should be angry at the insinuation that she could be chosen for such a position when hers was all the greater.

  But it was not so very difficult to shove that aside, not when he was looking at her that way, and the words were ready and her voice sure even if tears were nearly at the verge of escape. “I choose you,” she answered back with all of her being. “I choose Grimult for my husband, to love and to keep, for all of our days.”

  And his answering smile felt like home.

  Filled with all the warmth and promise that she had ever imagined it would possess.

  She did not know the way of this particular ceremony, and although she supposed she should ask, she did not particularly care. Not when she could choose simply to be close to him, to put her arms about him and press fully, to kiss his cheek and murmur her happiness into his ear.

  And his arms were tight about her as he accepted her, and she should not have been surprised that he had petitioned for her to be his wife, not when he was all that was so very careful with her, that she should feel valued and respected.

  That she was safe with him.

  “No denying they are our people now,” Grim murmured against her hair. “Even if you did not believe it before, a clan welcomes newcomers through the marriage rites.”

  A clan. She had one of those now, and for a moment she chose to pretend they would not reject her if they knew, that there would be embraces and sweet words as Grimult announced the coming of his new mate.

  His wife.

  She shivered, wishing that might be true.

  Another shiver, a clutch in her lower belly, when she realised there would be no reservation between them any longer at all. His careful preservation of their modesty was passed, and she even thought with some delight of evenings including a shared bedroll rather than a longing for contact with the one stationed across the fire. There was travel ahead of them still, but not yet, and she would make the most of this dwelling and the comforts it provided.

  Ones to be shared with a husband to call her own.

  “I see the turn of your thoughts,” Grimult commented, his hand under her chin, bringing her eyes up to his. “But nourishment first might be advisable, would you not agree?”

  She did not, not initially, but then she remembered that he had not been subject to Respie’s overburdened trays and guilt came, sharp and insistent, resettling her priorities. “Of course,” she agreed, choosing not to indulge the brief moment of rejection.

  He grasped her hand before she could fully move away from him. “Later,” he promised, and his words were a deep rumble, full of all the promise that his eyes vowed in equal measure. “But I will do right by you, so other needs must be met first.”

  Her cheeks deepened to hear speak of needs, and she chewed at her lip. When not pressed so fully against him, doubts and concerns returned, buried beneath a lifetime of assurance that she need never concern herself with the mechanics of the act, not when she would never be subjected to something as base as copulation.

  The only book she had found on the subject was from a farmer, an illustrated guide for animal husbandry, the best times of the year and temperaments to put such creatures together to achieve the most desirable offspring. She had studied the pictures longer than was likely appropriate, the farmer adept with a pen.

  It was only later, when she came to the end of the book that the instrument must have changed hands, the script more feminine in nature. It was in crisp, firm language that a wife was not a broodmare, and must be treated with far more consideration if a certain farmer was allowed back into her bed.

  Penryn had always wondered about her words, although she dared not ask the sages what it really meant. It spoke of unpleasantness, if a husband was to be banished from their sleeping quarters, and she wondered if the animals themselves did not like it very much either.

  Curious, she had looked through the shelves for more on the subject, but the sages must have realised that impressionable Lightkeeps would search through the library with exactly those questions, for she did not find much.

  Grimult stretched as he stood from the bed, and Penryn had to bite back a warning not to pull too much on his wound, her mouth suddenly dry as she took in his form. He had not bothered with a shirt, but she had known that well enough spending most of the morning splayed in some away across his chest. But there was something more appealing in the way his musculature moved, speaking of strength and ability that she could not deny was wholly pleasing to look upon.

  She forced herself to look away, to move and find something that might resemble breakfast. “Did you know last night?” she found herself asking, thinking that the Grimult she had known on the Journey would never have consented to exposing himself so thoroughly before. Not without a great deal of assurance on her part, at least.

  He came up behind her, his hands settling on her hips. Her heart beat wildly as he embraced her from behind, his head nestled atop hers. She fit there, she decided. They were well suited physically, and the farmer had said that was of very great importance.

  Her cheeks burned again.

  “Did I know what?” he murmured against her hair, and Penryn had to clear her throat to gather some measure of control of herself.

  It was only marginally successful.

  “That we would be wedded,” she clarified, still worried it would not really count, that something more was surely required before it was truly so. She would have liked a witness, someone who could swear if necessary that they had exchanged their vows properly before...

  Her hands trembled and she held tightly to his forearms. They were supposed to care about breakfast, were they not? He was hungry, and if her stomach would stop its coiling and flipping, she was hungry as well.

  “I knew I would ask it,” Grim confirmed. “But I would not have presumed to know your answer. My mother always said I would find myself in trouble if I did that.”

  Penryn smiled softly, wishing she could know the woman that had raised such a fine man. A whisper of worry, of concerns that likely would never come to being, but she found herself asking it anyway. Would he alway
s be able to pull such truths from her just by sheer proximity and a kiss to her temple?

  “Would she like me? Your mother?”

  “Yes,” Grimult answered so quickly and with such certainty that Penryn felt the need to turn, to look at him to see such confidence for herself. “You love her son.” She knew her doubt showed in her expression that such a quality—something that came so easily and so naturally—might possibly be sufficient to win a mothers approval. Grimult chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “And you are kind and curious and strong when you have need to be.” His hand came to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you know how to be selfless, to put others first.” His eyes suddenly seemed rather far away, and she wondered if he was back with them, if only for a moment. “My parents always said that was important in a marriage. Especially when...” And it was Grimult’s turn to appear suddenly embarrassed.

  He was pulling away, and Penryn grabbed hold of his arm as best she could to keep his retreat from proving wholly successful. “When what?”

  Grimult grimaced and rubbed at the back of his neck. “When they decide to add fledglings to their family.”

  Penryn blinked at him, her mouth suddenly dry. She turned from him, her heart racing as she busied herself with thoughts of food rather than of...

  “Pen?” he asked, a large hand coming to her shoulder. Not rubbing, simply resting, a reminder that he was there. As if she could forget.

  “There is bread,” she announced, pulling forth a large loaf and giving it a squeeze. It yielded appealingly, as if it had been made only the day before. That might do nicely, most especially if there was a slab of thick, golden butter and a smear of sticky jam. And tea. To add moisture back to her mouth when it seemed her throat was threatening to choke her.

  Her heart ached when she realised that there could not be the closeness she craved not if... not when...

  “Penryn,” Grimult said again, this time adding a gentle pressure to his touch, obviously intent on her turning to look at him. “What is it?”

  She tried to give him a smile but it came as a stiff, sad sort of thing that did nothing to allay whatever worry he was feeling as he looked back at her. She still held the loaf in her hands, almost a protective shield between them, and that was quite the opposite of what she wanted.

  How could she have forgotten that the whole purpose of the endeavour was for fledglings to be the result? And how could she possibly have young when her life was not yet her own? Not truly. Not when it was entirely possible she would be executed for returning where she did not belong, and the thought alone was a knife through her, but to add her little unborn into it?

  Her breath was coming in sharp little pants, and suddenly Grim was doing his best to extract the loaf away from her, and she glanced down, realising crumbs were raining down due to her abuse, and she released it with a cry of dismay.

  She was ruining breakfast. And even worse, ruining what would have led to a perfectly wonderful time between the two of them as well, and she could not quite contain her whimper, Grimult tossing the bread back where she had found it and pulling her close. “You are shaking,” he murmured, and there was no doubting the concern in his voice at the sudden change in her. “What has brought this on?”

  She bit her lip, trying to gain some mastery of her emotions, but they were all a jumble, and she did not know what to say. She did not want to speak of the concern she had for what might become of her when they returned, not when Grimult was liable to simply lock her away here and refuse for either of them to go at all.

  But she had also promised him honesty, the fullness of truths in their entirety, and she could not betray him in that. Not now.

  “I cannot have a fledgling now!” she burst out, cheeks flaming with shame and despair, even as she shook her head. “There is too much I do not know, about what will happen to me, to... to us, and...”

  A hand covering the back of her head, a thumb brushing against the fluttering pulse point at her neck, a low hum. “I would agree with you,” Grimult murmured in return, and she could not deny her surprise. “Which is why I would suggest you do not choose one at this time.”

  Penryn gulped in a breath of air, glancing back at him. “Choose one?”

  Grimult’s brow furrowed. “Yes, choose.” He blinked once, and some realisation came, and it was his turn to appear briefly embarrassed, but he did not pull away from her. “You do not know much of our kind, do you?” it was a comment more to himself than to her, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him that she was not truly a part of his kind. But that was not wholly correct, was it? Not if he brought her in, gave her his family’s name, chose her to share his fledglings with.

  “I know what was there to be read in the books available to me,” Penryn reminded him with a shrug of her shoulders. “And I suppose this was known by too many to need to be written down.”

  But not by her. Because the sages did not think it necessary.

  She did not welcome the rise of resentment, not when it spoiled her stomach and made her hands tremble all the more. But it came regardless of her wish, that something else was robbed from her. Even such a basic knowledge of herself.

  “In our kind,” Grimult began, and she noticed that he did not quite manage to look her in the eyes, instead focusing on a point just above her head. “The woman has to decide to welcome the...” He huffed out a breath. “That is to say...” he glanced down at her, and Penryn did not know what he was looking at until he moved his hand down to cover her middle, lower than her waist. “My father gave me an excellent speech on the subject, but of course I was too mortified at the time to remember all of his words.” His lips were back at her temple, placing a kiss either for her comfort or for his own, but she found herself relaxing either way, easing back against him and finding the peace, the calm that came when he was near. “That a wife must be wooed. That she must be shown that their home is safe and ready, that he has proven his love and devotion to her, time and again. And then, and only then, would a fledgling come.”

  Penryn’s brow furrowed. It was a sweet sentiment, but did little to explain what was happening.

  And how she was supposed to simply choose the matter.

  “But... how?” she asked, shifting so she could look at him. “How am I supposed to... is it not something that simply... happens?”

  Grimult cleared his throat and shook his head. “Mother was a bit more plain in her explanation.” And there was no mistaking the pink that crept upward from his neck toward his ears, and she was glad she was not the only one embarrassed by the subject. Not because of what it was, but because of her ignorance, and that held a great deal of frustration as well. At least on her part. “A lot of willingness, intention, and...” Grimult took a moment to collect himself, and Penryn had to force herself to be patient. “And stimulation,” he finished, looking all the while as if he was doing his best not to think of such things in relation to his mother.

  Stimulation?

  Intention?

  She felt small and foolish and the uncertainty made her feel far too much like the girl she used to have been, full of questions without answer, only pert responses that left her wondering all the more.

  “You look so worried,” Grimult observed, pulling back so he could look at her, and she did not mean to be. This was not what she had envisioned when she got up from their repose in the bed, had not meant to become so jumbled up and frightened.

  And she had no need to be.

  Not when she was with him.

  He was her guardian, had always put her first, and just being near him was enough to slow the rapid beating of her heart, to still the hints of panic that were coming about the edges of her consciousness.

  How could he affect her so with just his proximity? To make her feel so safe and so exhilarated all at once, to draw the breath from her lungs when he looked at her a certain way, when he smiled at her with that clever smirk, when he teased and shared and was so very sweet, always so c
areful of her...

  And she loved him so.

  There was much she did not understand, and perhaps this matter was not something that could be read about in one of her books, but had to be experienced for herself.

  With him.

  She bit her lip, and Grimult was there with a kiss, keeping her from abusing herself with her conflicting emotions.

  “Breakfast first,” he murmured, pulling away. “Then a bath.”

  She swallowed, her pulse already quickening in anticipation. “What then?”

  Another kiss, another promise.

  “Then,” Grimult answered, his voice a rumble that sent a shiver through her. “A seduction.”

  Eight

  Penryn was before the fire, putting Grimult’s feathers back to rights, unable to keep either her blushes or her smile completely from her features.

  She peeked over Grim’s shoulder, shaking her head to herself as he stared at the fire drowsily, but even there were the upturned corners of his mouth.

  She was happy he was pleased.

  “We are going to have to be more mindful of your wings, the next time,” Penryn announced. They had meant to be, Grimult easing her back on the bed and settling over her, his mouth and hands teasing and reassuring in turn.

  But at one point reason had left her and their roles were reversed, and while Grim had complied readily enough, his wings did not appreciate being crushed so thoroughly beneath him.

  “I have a greedy wife,” Grimult complained, although she did not think he truly minded, not when he had kissed her so thoroughly, leaving no question in her mind just how desired, how wanted she was by the man she was privileged enough to call husband.

  If the word had seemed foreign before, not quite fitting with hastily spoken promises given between them, it settled rightly now.

  Even his explanation of her physiology made more sense to her now, for after the act there was an acute awareness of... something, and she could feel the pull to simply let go, that a fledgling really would be a wonderful addition. They had a dwelling here, for the moment, and she was so very curious to see what one of their offspring would look like. A bit of her, a great deal of him...