He should care more for the outcome. Should be more invested, perhaps even offer to go within each clan and escort his wife so she might share of her experiences, of the histories that perhaps the sages were still reticent to present openly.
But the thought of that set a clutch through his belly, a simmering burn. For the injustices within their clans, yes, but far more personal as well.
And when his wife had begged him for home, for their work to be done and to simply... be...
He could not find it within himself to argue. Not on the behalf of the people that perhaps even now would look at her as something lesser. With resentment for having brought a change to the world as they had known it.
And if that meant retreat, to heal and mend bonds strained from too much time apart, to forge new ones as a wife became a sister and a daughter to two others...
Then so be it.
“Still have need for help around here?” Grimult asked, rubbing at the back of his neck. The weapons strapped to his person felt suddenly strange and unnecessary. Talismans for another life, one that had no place tainting this one.
His father’s smile was bright, and perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, but Grimult was fairly certain there were tears there, hidden behind the pride that shone brightly outward. “Always,” came his easy reply.
Only then did his attention waver from his son to the woman standing a few steps away.
Hands tugging at her skirt and cloak, looking far too uncertain of her welcome.
“Penryn,” Grimult introduced, holding out his hand for her to take. She eyed it for a moment before reaching out and stepping closer. “Papa, this is my wife.”
And from the ease of his smile, one might have thought that Grimult made a regular occurrence of bringing home strange wives, for he stepped readily forward and gave her a welcoming embrace as well. He gave Grimult a questioning look when it grew only too obvious that she lacked wings, but Grimult shook his head. There would be time yet for storytelling. Of sharing hurts and wrongs as well as triumphs.
But for now, he wanted the rest of it.
The family he had missed, the home that he longed for with all of his being.
Even the sisters that drove him mad.
All of it.
And more.
They were moving again, the herd following along, his father handing them palmfuls of grain from a pouch at his belt to offer as tribute, laughing gently as Penryn made first contact with one of them. Grimult could not recall seeing her so nervous, not even with recent events, and it was far more endearing than it should have been.
She fared far better when a baby born late in the season stuck out an impetuous head, nuzzling and insistent, its horns little more than nubs sticking out from a fuzzy head.
She was lost then, and both men knew it, shaking their heads as she paid special attention to rubbing its velvety nose.
“Your mother will not forgive me if you take too long to come up to the house,” his father warned, and Grimult glanced over at him.
“But she will forgive me?”
His father laughed, reaching out and patting his shoulder before giving it a squeeze. “I doubt there is much you could do that she would not overlook. Not if it means you’re home again.” His eyes clouded briefly. “Are you?” he cleared his throat, glancing toward the herd rather than look at his son directly. “Home, that is?”
Grimult could well understand his trepidation. To not dare hope, to expect that the son he had done without for so long was not truly back for good.
“We are home,” Grimult promised him. There would be other travels, of that he was certain. He would take Penryn to see her family as often as she wished.
And perhaps, in time, if the travels were mutual, there would be other dwellings built upon the same land. Where they might stay and Penryn’s heart would not be so torn after all.
He grimaced, already imagining what his sisters might do when they caught sight of Worley and Terik, dashing with their pale hair and easy smiles.
Perhaps it was better not to invite them after all.
But if his wife wished it, he would deny her nothing.
“Come along, Pen,” Grimult urged, taking hold of her hand and drawing her from the herd. “There will be time for friend-making later.”
She rubbed her hand against her skirt, already casting a wistful glance to the herd’s smallest member. “It must have hurt you, to be away from them all this time.”
He cleared his throat, looking at the ground rather than at either his wife or his father. “Aye,” he answered simply. But he missed his family all the more, missed his bed and his few belongings.
Missed the monotony of daily life, of hard work and hearty meals, of laughter and teasing.
But he smiled, when he realised he did not have to miss it any longer.
They crested the hill, the house coming into view, stationed high above the field below. The garden had been prepared for the cold season, the main harvest gone, replaced with bulbs and tubers buried beneath the rich earth that covered them.
It would be lush and green again, when the frosts left. With sweet fruits and tender vegetables. Grown, not foraged.
He would not have to worry where their next meal might come from, if he should take the time for traps and hunting, if he would have to watch his wife go hungry the next day if he doled out more of their rations for a current meal instead.
His father flew onward, up to the house likely to tell his mother of their coming directly. His sisters might be out visiting, or might be out walking the fields if they were proving useful in his absence.
Or soon they would all swarm him at once, chattering away and tugging at him as they urged him inside.
His wife peered upward, at the dwelling she could not hope to reach on her own. He would have to change that. He had been beyond the Wall, he had seen the way the land-dwellers coped with only their legs, their buildings accented by towering stairs to assist them in achieving greater heights.
He would build that for her. So she could visit the rest of her new family whenever she pleased.
“Disappointed?” he asked, wondering at her thoughts as she took in his home for the first time.
She blinked, turning her attention back to him. He wondered if it looked humble to her compared to the elaborate dwellings of stone that she had known before. It was made of wooden beams and a roof of tight thatching, well loved and expertly cared for, but it was still simple in its design.
She squeezed his hand tighter. “Just high,” she corrected, giving him a timid smile. She was the only one of their kind that feared heights, and despite their recent travels, evidently she still bore some of the same unease.
“A stairway, I should think,” Grimult explained, pointing to where it might go. “So you may come and go as you please.” He turned them both and pointed past the crest where they had just come. “But our home should be there, perhaps. For privacy’s sake.”
And if her cheeks pinked just a little, he felt himself very accomplished.
“I would like that,” Penryn admitted, and he leaned down and kissed her softly, promising all that would be theirs as soon as he was able to craft it for them.
Perhaps it would even have a little bathing room. And if he was very clever, might see if he could work with the blacksmith to fashion some of the strange pipework that brought water up from seemingly nowhere.
And made his wife smile so when she could have a bath whenever it so pleased her.
There would be challenges yet, of that he had no doubt. There were too many unknowns, with their borders guarded not from mystical unknowns, but from a people, solid and real, forging a new existence of their own.
Of sages who no longer held mastery over histories now exposed.
Of a treaty beyond a far away Wall, who still needed a representative once a generation.
He did not know yet what the world might be once it settled back into place.
But her
e...
He was content.
He held his wife close, and Penryn gave a little sigh against him as she settled so sweetly there, so right and perfect in his arms.
Until suddenly there were a great many more embraces surrounding him, and yes, the girlish chatter of sisterly chastisement for taking far too long to come back, and he was a brute for his selfishness because didn’t he know that they couldn’t be wedded until he was home again...
And then their mother shushing them all and tightening her grip about his waist, audibly sobbing in relief.
And had she heard right that he was married now?
And Grimult laughed.
They were home.
Also by Catherine Miller
Tomes of the Lightkeep
Guardian of the Lightkeep
The Deridia Series
Mercy
Trade
Thrall
The Wholeness Project
Designation 932
Designation 261
Additional Works
Remnant
Destruction of Obsession
A Rose in Winter
A Civic Duty
A Nymph Without Mercy
The Making of a Lady
The Phantom’s Witness
The Lightkeep Page 34