There would be no trail for a beast to follow in any case, or so she comforted herself, so unless they managed to keep sight of them for the entirety of their journey, perhaps they would be safe.
Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, and although she wanted to speak to Grim, a lump in her throat made it nearly impossible. His face appeared almost cast in stone, his eyes filled with determination as he navigated the air. He did not keep to a single line, but made gradual crosses, this time not due to the wind but by design.
To make it more difficult to track his position, perhaps? She did not dare distract him with enquiries.
They flew longer than Penryn thought possible, and doubtlessly Grim would have preferred to go even longer, but his wings simply would not allow it. Already they were skimming closer to the surface, Penryn suppressing the urge to pull her legs up higher, so close were the tops of the trees.
“We have to stop,” she entreated at last, needing him to rest. Perhaps he could claim it was early yet to stop for the whole of the day, but there was no denying the need for water and food if he wished to continue at such a punishing pace.
Grimult gave a low grunt in her ear, but found an opening in the forest and allowed them to descend. The drop was hardly a graceful one, and when they landed, Grimult went to his knees, Penryn’s own muscles frozen in place against him, and it took a great deal of urging on her part to release them from his person.
She was stiff, the pain shooting through her elbows when she stretched her arms first out straight and then bending inward, and she did not quite manage to suppress a whimper at the discomfort. She looked at her wrapped wrist begrudgingly, wondering if it was safe yet to remove the bindings entirely. There were other pains that dwarfed any lingering discomfort in the limb, but Grimult had urged her to keep it bound whenever she had enquired, and she was not about to bring it up again now.
She worked her fingers quickly, bringing blood back to them and urging them to cooperate with her as she shuffled painfully around to Grimult’s back. Their supplies were released with a tug of the buckle, and she heard his sigh of relief.
He moved to stand, but she was quicker, allowing her hands to work at the tight and overwrought muscles of his shoulders and back, pushing and kneading, trying to soothe as best she could with unpractised hands. “Well,” she said at last, her voice firm and calm even if it did not mimic what she had initially felt hours before. “I did not expect that.”
“No,” Grimult agreed, rolling his shoulders and giving a particularly satisfied groan while she worked on a difficult knot of tissue that trembled and then released under her ministrations.
“Do you...” she began, wondering if it was wise to speak of it at all, but knowing that once she had begun, he would press to know her thoughts. She swallowed, finishing her attention to his back and bent down to rifle through the pack to see to other needs. She carried a water skin wrapped about her waist, able to keep both herself and Grimult from succumbing to thirst while they flew, but he needed nourishment and quickly before they decided what was best to do next. “Do you think they are headed to our people?” she finished quietly, producing a pouch brimming with salted nuts and seeds. She shook out a palmful for herself before she brought it to him, insisting that he eat.
Grimult sighed deeply, taking the pouch from her and standing. To his credit, he did not waver, his stance solid even if his wings drooped tiredly. “If they were keeping such careful watch, it would seem a reasonable conclusion.”
Penryn’s lips tightened. “I did not think...” she shook her head, thoughts warring in her head. “I thought we would be warning of a danger far off. That there would be time to think and plan.” She took a deep breath, pushing down the fear and trying to become as numb as her legs currently felt. “They are not ready. Not for a mob like that.”
Grimult eyed her steadily. “They will have to be.”
She shivered at that, knowing he was serious and also that he was right. For all that she had resented the peaceful lives of a people that did not quite feel like hers—that even now, did not fully—the thought of danger coming to them unawares was intolerable to her.
And despite the closeness they had shared for the entirety of the day, she still found herself stepping close, burring her face against his chest and heaving something that was far too close to sobs, although she convinced herself they were merely deep breaths of gratitude that she was on the ground once more.
And not a remnant of the fear and danger that she had carefully suppressed, unable to do anything with such strong emotions while in the midst of it.
And Grimult held her with his free arm. “We will make it,” he assured her. “Speed is on our side, and we will go and we will tell them of what we have seen.”
“What if they do not believe us?” she enquired, peering upward at him, her true fear revealed.
His eyes, sombre and sad met hers. “Then they will see the truth for themselves before too long.” A heavy sigh, and he leaned his head down against hers. “Let us hope it does not come to that.”
That was all they could do.
Hope.
And fly.
And make a journey that had taken weeks on foot take only handful of days.
And see how long they could both endure.
Ten
“Are you all right?”
Penryn blinked, uncertain of the voice that spoke to her.
Her head pounded, and she swallowed, trying to sit up, pain lancing through her as she struggled upward, a hand reaching out and gripping her shoulder. She shied away, the touch unfamiliar, and she tried to force her vision to focus. The earth beneath her was strange, gritty and rough against her palms, and she looked down to see bits of it clinging to her palms.
She swallowed, trying to force some moisture into her parched mouth.
She was not supposed to be alone.
An awareness pressed firmly against the hazy feeling in her mind, an urgency, and the hand was back, keeping her steady.
“Her wings are missing,” a smaller voice called out, louder than the other by far, making her wince. “She must be hurt real bad if they fell off. Mine won’t do that, will they Papa?”
“Hush,” came the gruff reply, and she was finally able to bring her eyes to settle on them. A fledgling, although she could not begin to guess the age. A son and father.
And she was...
The sea was battering against the beach where she lay, and the urgency was bringing her breath out in short pants. She needed to get up, needed to find...
Grim.
Where was he?
She was not supposed to be alone. Not with strangers. Not with those that might question if her wings had fallen off.
She needed to see the sages, needed to tell them...
“Grimult,” she tried to call, but her voice came as a hoarse whisper.
“You say something?” the man asked, his wings sending a brush of air against her as he got to his feet.
A figure, some distance away, the water lapping at the body, and a sob already lodged in her throat.
An unrelenting storm, heralding the change of season.
A chase.
Had they been found again? Arrows that did not pierce, horns ringing in her ears, and then...
Her feet were moving, and she shook off the hands that were grabbing at her, and she wanted to say they had no right to touch, that she was not theirs, that she was... someone...
But all she could manage to do was to jerk forward, pushing at the body that lay prone in the surf, pleadings and prayers at her tongue that he still lived, that he breathed, that water had not found its way into his throat and lungs...
Someone was over him, fingers pressing and assessing, but she pushed the hands away, uncertain of their intention.
And she needed to see, needed to know...
A groan, from him, and a sob from her. There was blood at his temple, and she remembered the wound he had already suffered there so soon
before, and surely it was dangerous to have sustained another in such quick succession. Her hands rubbed at him, and she called his name, trying to bring some warmth back to him.
She remembered the exhaustion seeping into her bones, the worry as her husband felt it all the more, the way she had to choke back her urgings that they wait, that he rest, that he eat more, that surely they would not be found, that there was time, even if it was short.
The storm that made the sky nearly black, although they both were certain it was still midday. The beasts that had found them, riders with their curved swords, determination in their eyes whenever they drew close.
And sleep became shorter still, and rest was no longer possible, not when to tarry meant being found, and a battle that was unevenly matched.
Her guardian against a team of beasts and their masters, sent to maim and destroy.
So they had plunged ahead, until something had struck them down, and they were falling...
Falling...
And wings were about her, holding her close, supporting and protecting.
Frantic whispers in her ear not to tense, to go limp, that he loved her...
Before they plunged into the sea.
And she could not remember after that.
It had not been an arrow. Two heavy stones twined together wrapped about his wing, keeping him from being able to use it. And a single wing was not nearly enough to support them both. She could remember the cliff, could remember the terror at the drop off, the angry looks of the riders as they were kept from following their prey.
They must have drifted. Or been found and brought to shore. Her hands wiped at her eyes before she leaned over Grim, trying to get words past her unwilling throat. “We made it,” she promised him, hoping he would open his eyes, that he would come back to her. “You did it. We are both here, and your people are watching us, and I need you with me.” A sob, a welling of her eyes that still stung with the salt from the seawater that drenched her clothes, her hair bringing fresh rivulets down toward her mouth and nose. “Please,” she entreated, her lips at his ear, his cheek.
He had worked so very hard to see them here, and it had torn at her daily that there was no more she could have done. That there was no burden she could offer to carry for him, to make it easier for him.
A fluttering of his eyelids, and she lurched back, trying to give him room but desperation keeping her close. “Grim?” she urged, her hands stroking and rubbing at his chest, his arms, bringing warmth and hopefully some comfort too. “Please, Grim.”
Another groan and his eyes fluttered open.
How she loved those eyes. Rich and green and soft when they looked at her, or burning with need as he took her so sweetly, and even when they looked at her now with some confusion, she could not help her smile of triumph all the while.
They had made it, and he lived, and so did she.
She could feel eyes watching them, but she could not bring herself to care. Not just yet.
“We are making quite the scene,” she informed him, smoothing down his tunic, hating how cold it was against her palms. They needed a fire, needed a place to rest and recuperate, but she suddenly feared what that might look like. He might receive some hospitality from those surrounding them, but she...
Soon the suspicion would come. Soon an explanation would be demanded of her, and she did not have one ready to give. She had always imagined going directly to the sages, of presenting their situation as calmly and plainly as she could, to those who already knew her.
Not to a group of common-folk who had to fish her out of the sea.
Grimult groaned, turning to his side and coughing, dribbles of salt water coming from his mouth. She rubbed at his back, wanting to hide, wanting to tuck them both away until they were strong and had decided on what to say, how to present themselves so they might be received most favourably.
But that was not possible, and although there were only ten at most scattered about them, it felt a far greater number.
She did not relish being watched, not again, and she doubted Grimult would care for it either, not when he was so vulnerable.
She felt movement at her side, and she forced herself to look, only to find a man pick up the device that had felled Grim, studying it curiously. “We will need that,” she managed to get out, turning so her entreaty could be more readily acknowledged.
He glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “This was done on purpose,” he observed, and Penryn looked back to Grim. He was staring first at her, and then drifting to those about them. When he was suddenly struggling against her in attempt to sit up, she supposed that meant he was not as slow to consciousness as she had been.
She did not try to thwart him, moving so that he could do as he felt he needed, his breaths deep and full, his eyes wandering to those around him. Did he know any of them? Nothing about his features betrayed any recognition, but she still wondered. These were sea-folk, however, who made their living from the depths below, casting nets or simply diving beneath as their ancestors had done. Grim spoke of farmland and animals to milk. She did not think the sand still pressing into her palms and delving into her skirts would be conducive for such things.
She held out her hand to the man still holding the weapon. “Please,” she added, realising belatedly that she was used to her commands being heeded, even the silent ones, and in another time she might have felt embarrassed by her presumption, but not now. She was weary, and afraid, and they needed to keep hold of all evidence that they could before they reached the sages.
The man did not appear ready to oblige, not at first, but when Grimult got to his feet, his expression all stern angles and intimidating posture, the man relented.
“Thank you,” Penryn murmured, although it did not feel wholly earned, not when she had been so thoroughly ignored.
Grimult turned, holding out the stones and rope to her, swaying slightly as he did so. She took them quickly, surprised by their weight, and understood why he would have difficulty maintaining his balance with them. She deposited the whole contraption in the pocket of her cloak, fully aware that it would weigh heavily on one side and her shoulder would likely tire before too long.
But they had no more pack, and she was finally able to carry something for herself without relying on poor Grim, and she would take advantage while she could.
“Someone did that on purpose?” The man asked again, watchful of Penryn’s actions, even if he had taken three steps backward, away from Grim’s challenge.
“Aye,” Grimult agreed, turning back to Penryn. For a moment she thought he was going to reach out a hand to help her to her feet, his hand already twitching to do so, but then he paused, glancing at her, his eyes full of question.
Oh.
They had discussed this, had both agreed that it was not in their best interest to flaunt their status of bonded mates, which meant that if she was the Lightkeep and he the Guardian, simple touches were no longer appropriate.
She hated it.
Hated it fiercely.
She had rights as his wife, to touch and be touched, to love him and hold him close, to kiss away the salty taste to his lips until they were warm and soft and all was right again.
But they had an audience, and they had work yet to do, and they had agreed.
So she got to her feet herself, straightening her cloak and trying to regain some of the dignity she had allowed to slip away by her frantic attentions to Grimult.
“We should go,” Penryn urged Grim, wondering if he knew the way or if they would have to wait until nightfall to check the star’s positioning before they made their trek to the keep.
“Now, hold on,” one of the men interjected. He looked more familiar than the others, confirmed by the fledgling clinging to his side. All big eyes and nervous tension, his attention darted between the newcomers, although he seemed most fixated on Penryn and what was notably absent from her back. “You’ve been hurt and could use a hot meal to warm you up.” His gaze strayed to P
enryn’s pocket, and he frowned briefly. “But we don’t want any trouble either.”
Penryn looked to Grim, his colour still far too pale. He would look to her, would yield to the course she thought most necessary, but she would dearly like his input.
But they had no time to converse, no privacy to work out their wisest course.
“We need to speak with the sages,” she expressed at last, finding that truth fairly innocuous. The clans had keepers of the peace amongst each of them, and her declaration would mean the matter was a deeper one, involving their people as a whole rather than the separate factions. “But I admit that your offer is a welcome one.”
The man nodded, holding tightly to his boy’s hand. “Right,” he nodded, although he still appeared slightly wary, as if already questioning if his offer had been made in error. “Right,” he said again, leaning down and scooping his son up into his arms.
“I can do it myself, Papa!” the fledgling disagreed, wriggling and jerking in his attempts to free himself.
“There are dangers about,” came the father’s stern reply, quelling his son’s struggles with a look. “We will practise more when it is safe to do so.”
Chastened, the boy hung his head briefly before turning his attention back toward Penryn and Grim. His eyes were bright with enthusiasm, but Penryn could not quite imagine what had caused such a sudden turn in his mood. “I will show you my alcove when we get home,” he announced, and Penryn blinked at him.
The father shook his head, something suggesting that the outburst had embarrassed him, but she was uncertain as to the reason.
Alcove.
Not room.
Her attention drifted to the cliffs further out, and she swallowed.
“And you live...”
The man gave her an apologetic look. “Our dwelling has been in my family for ten generations,” he answered proudly. “But you will need to be escorted.”
Grimult moved to put his arm about her, but another stepped forward, drawing Grimult’s gaze as a hand reached out. “It would not be safe.” Penryn worried that an altercation might take place, but the man who questioned did not appear frightened by Grim’s sudden glare, only determined. “Any with eyes can see how exhausted you are,” he insisted. “We will help you there to rest, and another will take the girl.”
The Lightkeep Page 20
