It must be a tower, there were so many stairs. There were a few alcoves with doors of their own, but when she hesitated at each, Henrik bade her continue. “For those that serve you,” he explained. Not truly her corridor then. She was not entirely certain of what the role of such people would be, whether they were tasked with her protection or ensuring she did not flee. Either was entirely probable.
So she kept walking until at last, a much taller door appeared, twice her height, the handle a thick twist of blackened metal.
“Just a push,” Henrik instructed, hesitating a few steps downward so as not to crowd her.
Just a push was not entirely accurate, at least not to one of her stature. A shove was more needed, a full pressing of her weight against the impediment, but it yielded quickly enough, as if the hinges were well oiled and the only true obstacle the thickness of the door itself.
The chamber was much larger than the one she had known growing up. The bed was large enough for two people, perhaps even three if they were willing to sleep with shoulders brushing. The carpets on the floor were thick, crimson and golds mingling into swirling patterns that would have been dizzying if not so darkly hued.
There was even a fire in the hearth, bright and warm.
She turned, eyeing Henrik quizzically. “We are to always be ready to receive you,” he explained with a shrug of his shoulders.
She thought briefly of Edgard, of a life spent waiting.
She supposed that was much the same as her own.
The windows were small, and she would have to stand on tiptoe to see even the barest glimpse of the outside, and they were far too small and narrow to slip through, even if that was her desire.
It was a lovely space, but a prison all the same.
“The wardrobe is empty, I am afraid,” Henrik said, pointing from his place at the doorway. He would not enter, and for that she was grateful. Perhaps not all ways had been forgotten. She would remind them of the rest, in time.
Remind them of a very great deal, it seemed.
“But I will have someone bring something from the stores now that we know more of what you require.”
She nodded, not knowing what else to do or say. Now that a bed was near, it beckoned most heartily, and she realised how little true rest she had received over the course of the Journey.
He did not have a bed. Not yet. Not for weeks yet, unless his wing healed quickly. And then it would be surrounded by family that slept nearby, not the topmost of a tower with windows she could not even see from.
“I will also send a healer to assess your injuries,” Henrik continued, and she realised she had missed what else he had said before. Perhaps something about clothing?
So she gave another nod and hoped that if it was something else entirely, it would reveal itself quickly enough.
An outsider then. One without the signet on their collar, able to enter the Lightkeep’s chamber unencumbered by vow and stringent decorum.
“And a meal?” This, the first enquiry that suggested an actual choice. And one even more welcome than a healer.
As if any such person could tend what was truly wrong with her.
“Yes,” she agreed, adding a soft please soon after, since manners mattered even here in this foreign place. “And,” she continued, feeling awkward for even mentioning it. “A bath?”
Henrik did not appear to share her discomfort. “Of course.” He allowed a hand to enter the chamber, pointing toward a door in the wall she had paid little heed to. “Through there is all you shall require.” Penryn blinked, not expecting such a luxury as an attached chamber just for such a purpose. Better a large copper tub stationed before the fire, to keep warm as water was brought by the bucketful, more warm than hot once it made the long trek to her quarters.
She wondered if the servants here minded the extra steps.
“If that is all?” Henrik paused, waiting for her to interject with anything further, but at the subtle shake of her head, he took hold of the black hook on the door and began to shut it between them. “Until later, then.”
And then she heard the footsteps against stone, and she stood listening until only the crackle of the fire met her ears, and the emptiness spread, leaving her cold and almost hollow. She sank against the bed, the coverlet an unfamiliar texture beneath her fingers, rough yet smooth all at once, her palms catching on a nap she did not expect.
She took a deep breath and then another.
Waiting. She knew it well, and would know it better still before the end.
And experience told her that it would pass all the better after a bath.
Better at least than stare into a fire and think of others once shared. For stories and warm lips against hers, desperate with longing and a brief moment of rightness so sweet she could nearly taste it even now.
Better a bath than to remember all she once had and would never know again.
Two
Penryn stared at the bath, flummoxed at its use. It was not merely a simple tub stationed in the middle room waiting to be tended. Henrik had not mentioned anyone coming to provide the water for it, and claimed the small space held everything she could require. There was even a washbasin stationed within with the same strange metal-workings that confused her by the bath.
It was not wholly dissimilar to the strange device she had seen within the cottage weeks before, and even now she readily recalled the deep groan it had made when she had attempted to use it.
She reached out, hand at the lever, and braced herself for a similar sound.
And gave a tug.
Not a protest, simply a gush of water.
She blinked at it in surprise, the torrent full and ready. The ingenuity was not lost on her, most especially given the height of the tower. She would be amazed at pipe-work transporting water from a well at all let alone straight into her bath.
The amazement dulled slightly when she reached out to touch and found it cold. Surely these people did not enjoy icy baths. They could not be so wholly different from her kind.
Or so she hoped.
There was another lever, and she gave it a quick tug before taking a step backward, waiting for some sign that she had brought about some disaster, yet the water merely continued to flow, the pitch of its descent changing only slightly to suggest that she had succeeded at... something.
She dropped her hand back into the water and smiled to herself. Warm. Not terribly hot, but warm enough that she would not mind submerging herself within.
Belatedly she realised there was a chain with some sort of metal plug for the bottom of the tub, and she chastised herself for the waste when she had allowed so much water to escape already.
Satisfied that the bath had been conquered, she went to the washbasin and made use of its levers, merely to show herself that she could adjust to this new dwelling, and quickly too.
The chamber pot was another matter entirely, one she was grateful she did not yet require, bolted to the wall with a similar lever of its own.
There were large towels available for drying oneself, and she took one closer to the side of her tub before she began the tedious work of divesting herself of clothing. This door had a bolt on the inside, and for that she was grateful, as she would not have to endure any intrusion until she permitted it.
Her boots were first, the leather tight and cracked in places. They were fine, sturdy things, but even they were not immune to the perils of the road and unfavourable conditions. Her stockings came next, her feet feeling terribly naked and exposed when she made her first step on to the hard stone. Leggings peeled downward and her overdress and tunic were more difficult to manage without twisting her ribs and causing tugs of pain with her every breath. She also had to undo Grim’s careful bindings on her wrist, and for that she was most sorry.
But better it be her than be forced to watch a healer do the same, hear his comments on any insufficiencies.
She did not think she could bear to hear any criticism of what Grimult had done for he
r.
She folded everything into a pile, the cloak last of all, covering her bundle in a swathe of crimson.
There was a small table beside the tub, bottles of lotions and potions awaiting her perusal, and she shuddered a little at the prospect of being truly clean.
She was tempted to think of her last bath, one shared and lovely and intimidating all at once, but she pushed the memory of it away quickly lest it threaten to consume her.
She sank into the tub less gracefully than she would have liked given the weakness in her wrist. But she did so without great damage to herself and that was something.
The water still flowed, unrelenting warmth trickling over her in the most delicious of ways.
And despite how inappropriate the thought, she wished this too might be shared. Perhaps the ache would lesson in a few weeks, when she could plausibly imagine him back home, back where he belonged. Forgetting her.
When she did not have to think of him cold and alone, walking endlessly until he could at last take flight instead.
He was beautiful in the air, though she had never told him so. She had experienced it once and watched it the second, and the power and grace at his disposal was enough to leave her breathless.
She sank beneath the water, dunking her head and hoping that she could collect herself before her solitude was no more and she had to pretend yet again that people like Grim did not exist. That wings were made of stone and lined this very building in a watchful myth.
Yet even so, she wondered if her deceit was worth anything. These sages might have breached their contract already, in more terrible ways than the one she already knew.
Everything might be for nothing.
And then she truly was in danger.
She returned to the surface, gasping lightly for air, turning her attentions to the vials beside her. She did not know the use of any of them, the colours of blues and greens unnatural and slightly disarming for soap or lotions for her hair.
But they were all she had, and now that she was amongst company once more, she was acutely aware of the layer of grime clinging to her skin despite her best attempt to wash as best she could when water was plentiful enough for scrubbing.
They were lightly fragrant, almost pungent with tinges of flora she did not recognise. But the sharpness was welcome as she used it in her hair, scrubbing with as much force as she could stand, the soapy residue leaving her bathwater milky as it mingled downward.
Her body was next as her hair floated about her in dark tendrils, inky against pale skin that flushed pink in the heat and from her ministrations.
But she was clean and that was something.
She gave her pile of clothing a dubious look, not wanting to corrupt her efforts by putting on clothing travel-worn and dirty, but she also could not imagine emerging from the room in naught but a towel to wait whoever dared venture up first, healer or keeper of a Lightkeep’s wardrobe.
She was about to rise when a knock upon the door startled her into sinking as low as possible within the tub.
“My lady?” came through the thick wood of the door, muffled and almost inaudible.
She had never been addressed so, and she wondered if it was more respectful than the miss she had been given before.
“Yes?” she called back, wishing she had already been out and dried rather than still prone. She fumbled quickly with the handles, trying to stem the flow of water in case they had come to chide her for some improper use of them, and she gasped when at first she had merely succeeded in stemming the flow of hot, leaving icy cold in its wake, tumbling over her hands and forearm as she wrestled to put all to rights.
Until that too was stopped, leaving Penryn’s heart racing as she gave another panicked look to the door.
“I have clothing for you, my lady,” came the muffled voice again, this time a little louder and more clear.
Penryn yanked on the chain stopping the water from escaping the tub, the force required a little greater than she might have otherwise expected, and stepped out of the warmth, the soothing swirl of heat that relaxed muscles she had not even realised had been tensed.
She dried herself quickly, the towel plush and large enough wrap twice around herself.
At least she would not be entirely uncovered when she went to the door and undid the bolt, peeking to the chamber beyond.
The woman there was barely out of girlhood, her hair pinned neatly at the nap, a cap of plain white covering the crown. Her eyes were downcast, but she held out an offering of cloth, a greater mound of it on the bed behind her, ready to be placed within the wardrobe.
“Thank you,” Penryn murmured, accepting the offering, trying not to sigh.
All red.
Even at home she had only been made to wear the cloak in that colour, the rest whatever she preferred.
Evidently here everything about her was to scream out her place, vivid and unrelenting.
She shut the door again.
Steam had clouded the one looking glass, but that was fine with her. She should tend her hair with more care, it was long overdue for a good combing, but the clothes would have to be first lest the healer also trespass before she was dressed.
She rolled her eyes that even the underpinnings were red.
What a waste of dye, though she supposed none other were permitted to wear the colour unless they were sworn to the sages, so if one’s trade was in its making and production, a fine penny was to be had.
The style was unfamiliar to her. There were no leggings to provide warmth or modesty between a split of skirt, only a long dress that puddled on the floor by a few inches. Evidently Henrik had not been mistaken when he said they were expecting someone of much greater stature.
If they provided a needle, she could see to it herself, but somehow she doubted they would be so keen.
The sleeves were strange in their absence, exposing much more of her arms than she was used to. She held no particular modesty that required they be covered, but she would have to give the fire a good poke to make the room warm enough that she was not desirous of a shawl.
A timid knock upon the door. “Is that well enough, my lady?”
The title was becoming tedious and she had barely used it.
Rather than give an answer directly, Penryn opened the door again.
The woman gave her an appraising look, an interesting feat as it was punctuated by frequent glances to the ground, as if she was afraid of being caught looking at Penryn directly. “If...” she began, but cut herself off quickly.
Penryn suppressed a sigh. “Yes?” she encouraged, glancing down at herself and wondering what might have drawn such notice.
“If you permit me saying,” the woman tried again, “If you pull the string tight at the waist, that’ll help with the length.”
Penryn fought down the embarrassment that threatened to rise at not being able to master a simple dress without assistance, but did as she was bid, murmuring her thanks as she did so. It did help, the shape changing to now suggest that there was a subtle nip at her waist, and at least she would not risk tripping with every step.
“I thought if you needed healing, it would be simplest,” the woman explained quickly, as if she was eager to prove that careful thought had been given to her selection. “The ties at the neck, see? To show...” It was her turn to feel embarrassed, pink flaring in her cheeks as she turned back to the clothing on the bed and took up another piece to hang within the wardrobe. “Well, whatever needs showing.”
Penryn already knew she was not going to offer anything more than the dress already exposed, but this woman could hardly know that.
“A wise selection, thank you,” Penryn complimented, meaning it. It was remarkably comfortable, freeing in a way she had not expected, the material soft against clean skin, although even now she felt incredibly weary. If the bed was not currently overtaken with clothing, she would well see making use of it, slipping into a deep and unrelenting sleep. Surely things could wait until the morrow.
..
But it was in use, and so she took to a plush chair before the fire, tucking her legs up in her skirt.
She did not know what was expected of her, if silence and separation were necessary, or if she could ease into some sort of friendliness without overstepping.
“Have you a name?” she enquired, safe enough to ask someone not bearing the signet.
A quick intake of breath and she looked over at the woman in alarm, wondering if she had breached a code of conduct already. She knew some of this people’s ways, but those texts had been old and much might have changed. “Am I wrong to ask?”
“Of course not!” the woman assured her, crushing an article of cloth to her breast, her eyes glancing very briefly to meet Penryn’s. “I just never imagined you asking me such a thing. To want to know me personally.”
Penryn frowned. For all that had been drilled into her through her studies, little had been said how the common land-folk might view her. She was promised safety during her stay, that her needs would be met, that she should have no fear as she tended to her tasks, but that answered little of the broader perspective.
“Well, I should like to know if you are keen to tell me,” Penryn pressed, feeling awkward simply by having to give such encouragement.
“Mara, my lady,” she answered hastily with a strange bob of her body, as if one of her legs had suddenly crumpled only to be caught and supported by the other before she rose again to full height. It was enough for Penryn’s eyes to widen and ever so briefly to wonder if she needed to rush forward to catch her before she plummeted to the floor.
“Mara,” Penryn repeated when she was certain help was not required.
The woman’s blush deepened and Penryn wondered if using it was a mistake, if it gave such a level of mortification.
Before she could make any further enquiries, the sound of footsteps accompanied by an odd rattling was heard through the thick door of the chamber. Mara abandoned her post by the bed and the artful taming of the mound of clothing, going to the door and opening it without even first asking if it was all right to do so.
The Lightkeep Page 3