Forearms were clasped with Grimult, beseechings that he keep Penryn safe and that they learn more of him upon their return, and he smiled and gave his own reassurances.
And then it was time.
Worley and Terik looking on with envy.
And she finally glanced into the sky.
To see a host of men awaiting them.
She gaped at the number.
“I told you we would provide your escort,” Harlow answered her unasked query.
“So you did,” she got out, unable to imagine how the sages might react at such a gathering before their gates.
No scenario ended well, and her worry for a clan that was so newly hers grew all the more.
Even as her affection for it did as well.
“I told them we would meet at the beach and you could give me that warning you’re about to pass on to the sages.” Something in his manner suggested that he was repressing the urge to spit upon the ground, and Penryn wondered at such a visceral reaction.
“Can you manage her?” Harlow asked, his voice dropping low as if not to give any great offence at the enquiry. Penryn prickled slightly for Grimult’s capability to be questioned, but her husband bore it with more grace, merely nodding his head and offering her a slight bow. It was an odd gesture, one that might have been given in their earliest days together, and it felt awkward and unnatural to receive it now.
She swallowed, stepping nearer, allowing him to pick her up as chastely as could be managed given their pretence.
Rezen held his wife close, and she could already see her mother’s eyes wet with tears. “I choose to go this time,” she reminded her, hopefully a comfort. “Just like I will choose to come back.”
A fierce nod, her gaze insisting that if that promise was not kept, Amarys would personally hunt her down.
And rather than indulge in the lump in her throat with another bout of tears, Penryn turned her head into Grimult’s shoulder and suddenly they were airborne.
She had not expected the ache in her heart, the absolute certainty that she had left a piece of herself behind in a home nestled in a sheer cliff of rock.
But there was a sweetness in it as well, to know that her actions were for a purpose far more personal than she had ever dared imagine before.
“How much shall you tell them?” Grimult asked, his lips at her ear. They were nearing the beach already, some descending to stand about. There was a rugged quality to this clan, as if the sea air had become a part of them, their hair often in thick waves rather than the shiny, carefully kempt styles of those she had managed to see before.
They were an imposing welcome, and she almost asked Grimult to slow his descent so she might think more carefully of what she would say, but she did not wish to appear hesitant. “As much as is needed.” But to do what, she could not say.
This clan was perhaps the most protected of them all, their homes inaccessible by those without wings, unless long ropes were used and descended from above.
But their safety should not make them complacent, and the thought of danger coming here was intolerable.
For all that Worley and Terik seemed fascinated by the prospect of weaponry and learning to fight, that surely would dim when faced with the reality of a horde intent on true destruction.
Grimult’s touch did not linger when they landed on the beach, and he took a full step backward from her, positioned slightly behind. It was the distance they were meant to have kept throughout the Journey, a sign of respect and formality that she was grateful he had been willing to forsake. There was little reason for it now, not when the clan already knew who she was. That she was born to Rezen and Amarys, that she was as mortal as anyone else.
Grimult could have spoken to them. Could have explained.
Except...
Perhaps it was not the Lightkeep he was encouraging forward.
It was one of their own, a member of their clan with words of warning.
And that settled her somewhat, even as foreign as the concept still was to her.
Harlow landed close by, giving her an encouraging nod. Was she to address all of them, or merely him? She was not prepared for speech-making, although she supposed she should have considered the prospect more carefully.
Her heart pounded, her palms itched, and she wished...
And suddenly, Rezen was there at the beach as well, and something in her relaxed even as she fought down the urge for tears. They had not discussed him acting as an escort, was certain that he would need to remain with Amarys and see to her comfort, but he...
He chose her.
She bit her lip, and he came toward her, squeezing her shoulder. “My daughter,” he introduced. “Penryn.”
The whole company gave a whoop that startled her terribly, long calls coming from their throats that were strangely melodic as they went out to the open seas, other voices echoing back the exultation even if they did not know the cause.
She staggered backward, overwhelmed, and she bumped into Grimult who caught her arms to ensure she stayed upright. “A clan knows its own,” he murmured into her ear. “And you are a Mihr, despite all else.”
Penryn could not suppress a shiver that went through her, and she found herself wondering at what his own homecoming would be like, when a missing element was returned to them. His time away might have been shorter, but she could well imagine that he was dearly loved by all, and his absence was acute. She wiped at her eyes, uncertain if the moisture there was tears after all or merely the salt air against her cheeks. But she felt steadier on her feet, and she looked at the faces that might have been familiar to her, if things had been so very different. “I am sorry that I do not know you better,” she told them most truthfully. “But it is my hope that someday that will change.”
Many nods issued their collective agreement, and she fought the urge to tug at her skirts.
“I was not supposed to return here. I was to go through the wilderness and find my end there.” She glanced at her father, saw his deepening frown, and realised how that would have hurt them. “But I saw something on my way, and I knew I had to come back.”
Harlow tilted his head. “And what was that?”
And it was easier than she might have thought, to push aside her need to hold to secrecy. And she could imagine a time when it would not prove difficult at all. “We are not alone here,” she told them, trying to keep her voice level and firm. “There are others. Wingless,” she clarified, and they cast each other concerned looks, almost disbelieving that such a people might exist. “And they are coming.”
“For what purpose?” a man toward the back called.
Penryn swallowed. “They bear weapons,” she answered back. “And they are skilled with their use.” She glanced back at Grimult, and he gave her an encouraging nod. “And they know of our kind, and how we might be felled.”
Murmurs rippled throughout the men, and Rezen was looking at her with something akin to horror, and she had no answer to give him. The question was there, heavy and nearly tangible. Had she been hurt by them?
And suddenly all the eyes returned to her, not how she might have thought, but settling on what was absent.
“The sages know of their existence,” she continued, allowing them to think what they willed about why she looked like a land-dweller. “But not their presence here. I must give an account so they can warn each of the clans.”
She did her best to look each of them in the eye at least once, to acknowledge her gratitude for their willingness to accompany her. To support a girl they did not know, but who they accepted all the same.
It was enough to bring another lump to her throat, but she pushed it back quickly. “I want you all safe.”
Doubtlessly there would be more discussion between them. Clan leaders would become involved as soon as news trickled outward. That was good. She did not want the sages to hold all knowledge to themselves. Not anymore.
Not when there was so much more at risk than there ever had before
.
But for now, Harlow only gave a sombre nod before approaching Grim, giving direction as to their flight. “We will stay together, as we can,” Harlow assured him. “Somehow I think our numbers will be of some importance.” He glanced down at Penryn, a soft smile as if he looked at a friend rather than a stranger. “No one is going to hurt you,” he promised her. “I don’t know why it was important you stay away, but no one is going to dare complain about it when we’re there to hear it.”
She gave a timid smile in return. And what would happen when they were not?
Grim could not watch her all of the time, and the sages were not the forgiving sort.
She had disrupted their ancient rituals, and they would not easily overlook that trespass.
But that could be resolved later. For now, she allowed Grimult to pull her close, the sound of wings moving quickly and all at once sending a strange thrum through the air, unlike anything she had ever heard before.
The day was grey, but blessedly free of rain to slow their travel and turn it miserable. She had nerves enough to keep a sickening pull at her belly, and she was grateful for the crisp air blowing steadily in her face that kept most of it at bay. She did not want to do this. Not really. Even now, she wondered if it would be better simply to venture to each clan in turn, telling them directly of their discovery.
But they would doubtlessly look on her with far less kindness than the Mihr. She did not belong to them, and she had betrayed her position as Lightkeep by straying from her purpose.
To disappear, silent and ethereal, that was her role.
Not to return, unhooded and give voice to terrors unimagined.
“You are going to bite that lip clean off if you continue chewing at it like that,” Grimult breathed against her ear, warm while the rest of her was cold. Had she been biting it that hard? She had not realised, ceasing her abuse at once, lathing the inner indent with her tongue. “We will stand with you,” he reminded her. “All of us.”
She looked up at him, eyes serious. “And if words fail me? Will you speak when I cannot?”
He glanced at her in some surprise, and she reached up to touch his cheek. “You stay silent, you know. You have seen all that I have, yet you allow me to be the one to speak of it.”
His brow furrowed, and he looked pointedly away from her. She did not press, allowed him his silence, to gather thoughts and attempt to put them into words. “That was not part of my training,” he said at last. “It was yours.”
He did not say it meanly, but she had to suppress a flinch all the same. “I was given words to say,” she admitted. “You know that well.” He certainly did, had learned to recognise when phrases were not her own, and she was getting better and stopping them from coming at all. Maybe someday she could forget them entirely and simply be herself, but that time was not yet. Perhaps not even for a long while. “But not these ones. And I am...” she took a breath. “I am so frightened,” she confessed, looking down at the sea below them. There would be land to cross yet, but for now there was endless blue, the beach a smudge of white against the surf.
He brought his head to nudge against hers, as much comfort as he could offer when he was already holding her tightly so she did not fall.
“Of the sages?” he asked, more statement than question.
“Yes,” she acknowledged, feeling small at the admission. They had put that fear inside her. Had confused it with respect, demanding rather than earning such a privilege, but it was enough to make her quake even now, feeling just as she had when she was a fledgling, ripped away from yet another minder, instructed not to question, to quell her tears, to rely only on herself for that is all she would have for the whole of her life.
It was cruel. She saw that now. All else had families and community. They were social creatures, thriving only when others were near.
But she was expected to be alone.
And expected to wither quickly, her task complete.
“And I am afraid of the fighting. Of who may be hurt, when...” she glanced back at her husband. “When there are people I love. Who I would like to spend a very long time with.”
He gave her something that he might have intended to be a cheeky grin, but the seriousness of what they faced disallowed it to form completely. “Are you speaking of me, wife?”
She was. And family she had now met, and others she still had yet to know.
She tightened her grip about him, hugging him to her, pressing a kiss to his neck for that was the nearest thing in reach. “I do love you so very much,” she reminded him. “I am sorry if I have neglected you this last day.”
His scoff was resounding, and she pulled back to look at him more fully. “Penryn,” he said sternly. “That is the last complaint you would receive from me at such a time.”
Some buried worry loosened at his reassurance, and she tucked her head beneath his chin. “Still,” she murmured. “You are no less important to me now than you were before.”
And she was so relieved to find that it was true. She had known with the whole of her being that her attachment to him was not merely proximity or convenience. It was far deeper, borne of an admiration for him, not merely her loneliness.
The discovery of a family of her own did not change that.
“You are a silly wife,” Grimult informed her without great complaint. “To worry over such things.”
Maybe she was. Or maybe she was simply overwhelmed with all that she had to be grateful for.
And all that she now had to protect with all the fierceness she could manage.
The thought of that bolstered some of her spirits, and settled some of the nerves plaguing her stomach, making the flight a less tedious experience than it otherwise might have been.
When the sun started pushing through the clouds, revealing how high it had gotten, the group drifted toward the shoreline. She felt a clutch in her belly wondering if they were growing close to their destination, but when she caught sight of a few of their party settling on the beach, Grimult answered her unasked query.
“Food and rest,” he clarified. “If we push hard afterward, we should reach the keep before evening.”
She swallowed at that, hoping that the light would stay with them. The keep was foreboding enough without adding shadows and torchlight to accentuate the imposing figures of the sages themselves.
They were only men, she reminded herself firmly. Ones that lacked wisdom in many things, driven by tradition rather than rational thought.
And she did not have to fear them any longer.
Flasks of fresh water were passed around, salted fish and hunks of bread were pushed into her hands in generous portions, and she was heartened to see that Grimult had been given even more. They did not pepper her with questions, sitting in the sand and looking contemplatively out at the sea, although a few stood, hands on weapons of spears and fishhooks, eyeing their surroundings cautiously.
She did not ask, but knew they must have reached another territory by now. Were relations between the clans so volatile that they had to resort to sentries even over so short a time? “It is the size of our group,” Grimult whispered to her. He was seated nearest to her, Rezen at her other side, content simply to look at her every so often, although there was a tension in him that he had not possessed within his own home. “It is bound to make some uneasy if we linger too long.”
Penryn frowned at that. “Would they really fight?”
Grimult gave a shrug, his eyes drifting from their companions to their surroundings beyond. “Some do. I will not pretend to know the inner-workings of clans that are not my own.”
Penryn glanced at him. “And yours?”
She did not expect his scoff. “A farmer’s life is a hard one, with few hours left in the day for squabbling.”
Penryn toyed with a crumb of her bread. “But there is time enough for a wife, yes?” she murmured, softly enough that it was just for him.
And had to suppress her coy smile at the burn of his eyes
upon her. “Aye,” he rumbled out, and she was very aware that he would have liked to tuck her close, to perhaps kiss the impudent turn of her lips.
It was a welcome distraction from what was to come. To focus on something sweet and gentle, if even for a moment.
A small envoy appeared to the side, Harlow approaching with hands outstretched. The leader was a grim-faced man, which only grew all the more furrowed and worn as he and Harlow spoke quietly together, apart from either group.
It was enough to push away the remains of her appetite, although she forced herself to keep nibbling lest Grimult grow worried for her. She tried to keep her attention away from the conversation, truly she did, but when she felt eyes settled on her, there was little point in maintaining the pretence.
She set her posture a little straighter, holding her food carefully in her lap and allowed them to look. She did not know what Harlow was telling them, of her relation to Rezen or of her place as their Lightkeep, but in either way she would bring no shame to the role.
And for the first time, she wished she had kept some of her red clothing, needing the symbol now more than ever.
She tried to find any cues that she was being summoned, that the party-leader required an audience with an actual witness rather than the leader of her clan.
Bows were exchanged, and Harlow turned, a sharp whistle coming from lips with the aid of a crooked finger. “We move on!” he instructed. The few that had not finished shoved the remainder of their meals into their mouths rather than lose out on their sustenance, and Penryn watched as Harlow came toward her.
“Trouble?” she asked, heart quickening with worry.
His lips quirked even if his eyes remained serious. “Not in the way you fear, I think,” Harlow answered, but he shook his head, refusing to answer more.
And she felt the glances still on her, the familiar prickling of her skin alerting her to their attentions.
Perhaps the trickles through the clans would begin sooner than she realised.
She pushed away the unease, embracing only gladness in its wake. They needed to know. Needed to see to the protection of their peoples.
The Lightkeep Page 27
