The Lightkeep

by Catherine Miller

  But she pushed it back, and the awareness left, and she felt a moment’s loss, then an even greater relief.

  Grimult had looked at her quizzically, and she could well understand how his father had difficulty explaining such a sensation. Like with the copulation itself, it was one best experienced rather than explained, although even now, her thoughts burned as she settled feather after feather, her mind not yet ready to leave the bed behind them.

  Grimult had been right—the bath was a wondrous thing. There were nerves to contend with, most especially when they were both naked at last before a steaming tub that awaited their attention. They had done it before, she reminded herself firmly. Exposed to one another as they bathed, although travels had made the experience far more necessary than it was now.

  And while there had been temptation there as well, at least on her part, restraint had been a mutual agreement.

  It certainly was not now.

  At first their glances were shy, timid and stolen as they regarded one another for the first time.

  A husband and his wife.

  The thought was a thrilling one, and set a pulse deep within her, something ancient that she could not quite name.

  And suddenly she was filled with visions of the illustrations from the husbandry book. Were they well proportioned for one another? She hoped so, for she could not imagine being with any other. Would not be, even if there was another to choose, for Grim was hers, and she was his, and she loved him so...

  And he was too far away.

  He took such careful attention to the experience, running foaming hands of fragrant soaps across her skin, leaving her breathless and wanting when she was able to release her initial trepidation.

  Her belly full of the breakfast they had prepared together and the cups of tea shared in their respective chairs, their hands twined together, unwilling to be fully parted, it was she that had insisted her bath was finished. Perhaps she was a poor receiver when it came to seduction, for he had chuckled at her that he had expected it to take more effort to persuade her to the bed. There was a moment’s doubt, a wonder if it was some ancient game that she did not know the rules of how to play, but he had kissed her sweetly, and she could see the apology there for drawing out her concerns. “I was not complaining,” he assured her, and she did not remember to be cross with him, not when he picked her up, towel and all, and brought her to the bed.

  One meant for a life of solitude, of days spent in quiet and loneliness, but instead was shared.

  And most deliciously so.

  And even in her solitary wonderings, she had never given much thought to how it might feel, skin on skin with one’s beloved, the excitement mixing with sheer joy at a wish fulfilled, and it was possible that she cried a little, not from discomfort or the mortification that did not come, but from the rightness, the completeness she felt to be filled, at the pleasure he was able to coax from her that she had not ever imagined.

  Always so tender, her husband. In every touch, ever word.

  “You are very quiet,” Grimult observed, turning to look at her from over his shoulder. She was mostly satisfied with the state of his wings, but there were a few more that required her attention, and she would see them done before she gave any more attention to her new mate.

  Even if it was more struggle than she could ever have thought to do so, to not be drawn to his lap, to his arms, to the learning of this new craft they were perfecting together.

  “I had said we would stay here until your wing heals,” Penryn reminded him. “It cannot do that if we abuse it so.”

  Grimult hummed. “I seem to recall that it was you that was seeing to its abuse.”

  Penryn flushed crimson, bowing her head and completing the last of the feathers. Was it proper to speak of such things when not in the throes of actually doing it? Probably not.

  She should likely care, should chastise him for teasing about such matters that were still so new and lovely and to be treasured...

  But then why did she even now feel a coil in her belly pulling taut at just the reminder of the sensations?

  “I shall remember that,” she answered primly. “When next time you can expect a partner that does not move and makes you do all of the work for the both of us.”

  A hum, low in his throat, and he caught at her arm before she could escape him, bringing her to him. He did not urge her to sit, simply eased her between his legs and hugged her to him, as close as she could be while standing before his seated position. “I cannot yet believe you are mine,” he murmured, and it was done so lowly she was not certain she was meant to hear it at all.

  And she softened against him, leaning down to place a kiss amongst his dark hair. “I am relieved, for I feel quite the same.”

  There was still sadness tucked away inside her, that he should have chosen a simple life, a mate to share his days and his home that did not come with such complications.

  One that he might lose before they had enjoyed the fullness of a life spent together.

  Her throat tightened, and she wanted to press all the nearer, to distract herself from such thoughts until they at last departed and all that was left was him.

  “I am worried,” she confessed, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to carry that burden entirely alone. “For what comes next.”

  Grimult turned his head, and she had to smile how near his chin was to her breasts. She had never given much thought to them, but it was apparent how Grimult relished their presence. “Which aspect?” he prompted, and she wished she had not spoken for his muscles were loose and languid, lacking the tension he had always carried during their Journey. They were safe, if only for a little while, and she should not have allowed thoughts of later to trespass here.

  They had until his wing healed. They had not spoken of it directly, but both seemed to understand it well enough all the same. They could not cross the Wall otherwise, and she would not risk further injury to his wing. He had risked too much already, and she would not see him crippled simply from their impatience.

  Even if the cause was just.

  She took a breath, ready to retract her statement and allow him to have her again—or maybe more truly, to take him again—this time mindful of his wing. He was positioned well now where little harm could come to them. Perhaps if they were careful and she was attentive to the placement of her knee, and everything was just so they could make do with his current position...

  “I see your thoughts taking a turn,” Grimult acknowledged with a chuckle, although there was an added heat to his gaze that suggested he did not mind their new direction. “But I would know of your worries as well.”

  Penryn sighed, disappointed, but also grateful for his deliberate care of her. The whole of her, not merely the tantalising new aspect that threatened to consume them both if they were not particularly mindful. “That they will not believe me,” she began, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. It was longer than it had been when he had first been assigned to her, and she wondered if he liked it so. Although she would not dare cut it herself, so she supposed his preferences mattered little. “That they will accuse me of simply coming back and made up a fiction to justify it.” She took a deep breath, readying to give her utmost concern. “That they will find out about us before we even have a chance to warn them at all, and I will be killed, or worse, that you will be hurt, and—”

  “That is not worse,” Grimult contradicted, his own grip about her middle tightening, leaning backward and pulling her with him, so she was cradled on his lap. “You think I would idly watch as they brought you harm?”

  Penryn swallowed, torn between sinking into the safety she felt with him and being truthful. “I know you would not,” she answered quietly, shutting her eyes in an attempt not to picture it. “That is the problem. And then you will be killed, and so will I, and what exactly will have been gained?”

  Something remarkably like a rumbling groan emitted from his chest as he pulled her to him. “Then I would ask
why we would attempt this undertaking at all,” he groused, and there was a part of her that agreed with him.

  Their life here would be imperfect as well, and she could not forget it. He would be banned from flight lest an errant walker in the woods spot him and tell their tale to the sages. An investigation would begin, and should it lead them back to her, should they discover that their provisions were disappearing so quickly since they were being used for two...

  She had no history to call upon to tell her of the outcome, but it was not difficult to imagine.

  Even now, if Edgard brought her a cartful of new stock, Grimult would have to hide in the little bathing room just to be certain no glimpse of him was seen.

  And she wanted better for him.

  Wanted a great deal more.

  “Because I will not leave your family vulnerable,” Penryn reminded him, opening her eyes and looking at him firmly. “And because,” and this was far more painful to say but she pushed down the ache, the hurt that welled even now when the wounds were such old ones. “Because if my parents still live, I will not have them harmed either.”

  Should she resent them for letting her go with the sages? She could not bring herself to do so. Not when she knew their power over their people, of the generations of faith that had been manipulated and twisted into what it had become. The responsibility on this side of the Wall was great, to maintain their people and the secrecy of what lay beyond, but hers required a far more acute sacrifice.

  A child.

  And even now, she burned with pity for the one that would be plucked up next, stolen from a family, robbed of what was good and kind and given a life of emptiness and duty.

  She bit her lip, wondering if her going back would change anything. Someone would still have to go. Someone would still have to lose their wings. Learn all that they could before setting out to sign the treaty once again. On and on, until time itself had ended?

  She could not imagine it.

  Someday, it would be broken.

  But she wondered about the circumstances.

  And what the cost might be to see the end of such a cycle.

  Grimult sighed against her and tucked her more firmly against him, and she was happy to settle there. It pleased her also, that she could still feel the peace that came from simply being near him rather than succumbing to passion so soon again. She was certain if she made the attempt, if she purposed to kindle it between them it would light and that union too would be a lovely thing. But she did not wish to lose the comfort that came from being held, of feeling his lips errantly against her skin as he toyed with his own thoughts, far away even if he was physically so very close.

  “We need a better outcome,” he declared. “One that does not mean death or harm for either of us, but protects our people.”

  Penryn nodded, although she was not entirely certain what she was agreeing to. “I am not certain we get to decide,” she reminded him rather timidly. She did not want a quarrel, and her fingers delved beneath the opening of his shirt, wondering briefly why he had bothered to don it at all, not when she already wanted it off of him. Did he feel the same about her shift? Most likely.

  “Then we will think and plan until we come up with something that will not see us both killed when we first approach.” He glowered at her, and she blinked up at him, feeling strangely lazy and unaffected. Or perhaps simply too distracted with his nearness to care about such things as his pretended ire. “Or worse, if only you are killed.”

  She rolled her eyes, understanding his point. She was important to him, and he cared more for her than for himself. She felt quite the same, but rather than argue, she reached for him and pulled him close, kissing him with all the promise she could muster. “But first, back to bed,” she insisted. “And I will lie still and we will not rumple your feathers this time.”

  And she could not help the laugh that bubbled forth when Grimult growled at her, picking her up and bringing her to the bed. “My wife will do as she pleases,” Grimult commanded before capturing her lips once more.

  And the world fell away once more.

  Just for a little while.

  ◆◆◆

  “Does it look like hers?” Penryn enquired, peering into the dark cauldron sceptically. It was not that she doubted him, surely not, but she did not share the same faith with herself and she had perhaps helped too much and managed to spoil things.

  Grimult took a long-handled spoon and stirred, bringing up some of the contents for inspection. “It is close,” he declared. “Although someday you shall experience Mother’s stew for yourself and you can judge accordingly.”

  She tried to avoid such talk, of an outcome that included a simple life with simple joys such as meals spent with a family she had yet to meet, but Grimult did not seem to share her opinion. He spoke with hope and optimism, and while she loved him for it, it felt too close to a deception to indulge for any great length.

  The day was growing dim, and their physical exertions insisted upon something hearty for their meal. It had been Grim’s suggestion when an inspection of the cupboards provided sufficient ingredients for something that would hopefully resemble what he had longed for from home.

  She had two bowls waiting, with two of the four spoons she had found within a drawer for the Lightkeep’s use. She was grateful they had not provided a single set for her use, simply highlighting how alone she was meant to be that there would never be use for any additions, but they were generous and perhaps thought she would not always like to have to wash the same utensil before desiring another. Or thought she would be prone to clumsiness and lose them over a course of time.

  Regardless of their reason, she was thankful.

  She bit her lip, wondering what would happen when they found her gone. Search for a time, she supposed, to ensure some madness had not befallen her and she had wandered away and become lost. None would speak to her, if that was the case, merely herding her back to her dwelling and seeing the door properly fastened behind her.

  There would be no letter sent to the sages of her original Keep announcing her death—not until they knew with certainty such was the case.

  Or so the histories made it sound when she had read them.

  Her belly made an empty, furtive clench as she glanced into their shared stew. Grimult had made most use of the knife-work when tending to the vegetables, but he had claimed that her frequent stirrings were helpful as the pot was a new one and unfamiliar, and likely prone to charring rather than giving a proper cook.

  There was even a generous joint of meat, preserved and readily prepared to add to their stew, and even now the smell of the juices mingling with the herbs and liberal helping of salt had her mouth watering.

  She would have liked to have a soft roll to accompany it, something to soak up any lingering sauce and devour accordingly, but she had no skill in such matters, and evidently neither did Grim.

  If she was to indulge his fantasising, she might say that she would like to learn. That she would fill their home with the scents of freshly baked bread, and that he would bring fresh golden butter from his work with his animals, and they would share it between them when dusk fell and there would be no more chores for the day.

  But she bit her lip, the ache too great in her heart that it might be real, and she feared how angry and disappointed she might become if her worries were correct and that life was not for her after all.

  None would acknowledge their marriage in any case, so it would have to be held a careful secret between the two of them. Their touches would have to be suspended, giving no hint of what they truly shared.

  The prospect of such a future was enough to draw her to his side now, to tuck her hand into his while she could freely do so, her grip perhaps a little tighter than it should have been.

  He glanced at her, uncertain of what had come over her, but gave her a soft smile and leaned forward and kissed her briefly. “I think we are ready,” he informed her, lest her sudden closeness be the desire fo
r food to come more quickly.

  She nodded, satisfied to push away the worries of what had yet to come and instead take pleasure in the current. She brought over the bowls and Grimult put steaming portions into each, wielding the ladle as if he had as much experience with it as his sword.

  Perhaps he did, if his mother had relied on him to dish up for their family while she tended to other chores.

  There was no need for envy, not with him, but prickles of it still came now and again. “You are very fortunate,” Penryn murmured, taking her bowl over to the small table and placing it there carefully so as to keep it from spilling and burning her fingers.

  “I am,” Grimult agreed, although she had not specified in which particular regard. But perhaps it did not matter, not when he took his seat beside her, pushed there so they might indulge together. Both sat, content to hold the other’s hand while they looked longingly at the too-hot dish, until finally Penryn could stand it no longer, pulling her spoon through the contents and blowing on a small bite until the steam was banished and she was fairly certain no harm would come to the delicate tissues of her mouth.

  She hummed, pleased with their creation, and she was a little over-hasty with her next mouthful, and she gave Grim a glare at his knowing smirk when he took his own bite, thoughtfully cooled and carefully eaten.

  “You are a wretch,” she complained, but could not help her smile when he brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss to the back of it.

  The wretch did not even bother to apologise, but then, she supposed he did not truly need to.

  ◆◆◆

  If muscles could ache pleasantly, then Penryn’s did.

  Parts of her bordered on a true sort of soreness, new and unused to her new activities, but she did not regret a bit of it. But it did coax her into a hot bath, leaving Grimult asleep upon the bed. She crept quietly, thankful for the well-oiled hinges as they did not creak as she left him to his slumber. She could not control the sound of the pipes at work filling her bath, but she waited and heard nothing from her husband, so she allowed herself to relax. There was nothing to be ashamed of, no need to hide from him, yet she found herself skulking and careful all the same. She did not particularly want him to know of her soreness, did not want to give him even a moment’s doubt that he had been less than gentle with her, but she supposed they had been rather vigorous on a body unused to such activity only the day before.