Kit grunted through another drink of water. When the cup was emptied, he set it aside and stood, then offered me a hand up.
I let him pull me to my feet. His touch left my skin warm long after he let go.
“We’ve a few things left to finish and not much time before dark,” Kit said. “Better get to it.”
At dinner, we filled our bellies and packed our bags with food that would keep on the road. Mother spoiled us both, fawning over me and praising our productive day. Sayla had less to say than the night before, for which I said silent thanks.
I was bone-tired and sore when I collapsed in my bed. But the sight of the other mattress heaped with what must have been our entire winter stock of canned goods dragged me to my feet again. Kit was busy washing up and took long enough that I had time to remove every jar from the pile and line them against the wall.
I flung the pillow onto the cleared bed as Kit entered the room. He scrubbed his dark hair with a towel, and ribbons of water streaked his face until he mopped those dry, too. He scanned the space, registering the change before ending on me where I sat on the edge of my straw mattress.
“Did your sister give up so easily?” He gestured to the relocated preserves.
“Looks like it.” I shrugged.
“Pity. I’d just found the soft spot in the floorboards.” He tapped the wood with his stockinged foot.
He dropped the towel into the hamper and lowered himself onto the second bed. His movements were stiff enough to imply that he, too, felt the strain of our day’s labors. I waited until he laid down to pull out my sketchbook and pencil from where I had stashed them beneathmy pillow, eager to put down a few lines while they were fresh in my mind.
Kit reposed, flat on his back with his hands folded behind his head and one leg kicked over the other. His eyes slid closed while quiet stretched between us.
“Thanks for your help today,” I said finally, but the statement was lost to the silence because he was already asleep.
Kit woke me the next day with a gentle nudge and a shake. At least, I thought it was the next day, but it could have been any hour of the night considering the black sky visible through the bedroom window.
“Time to get on the road.” Kit stood with a pack thrown over each shoulder. One for him and one for me.
Yawning, I pushed myself to sitting and found my boots waiting at the bedside. When I didn’t immediately rise, Kit prodded me again. From the impatience on his face, I guessed he would have put my shoes on for me if he hadn’t been so heavily laden that he might tip over if he bent down.
We’d said our goodbyes the night before, explaining that I would try to be back to visit in a few weeks. Then I would put Mother's fears at ease by assuring her I would not, in fact, become a blacksmith, and throw myself wholly into my responsibilities on the farm.
Kit gave me room to stand, then turned toward the open doorway. I tugged on clean clothes and stepped into my boots, then paused to ensure my sketchbook was tucked safely into the left one.
When I joined Kit at the front door, he held my cloak out to me. My stomach swirled as I walked out of the house and into the darkness of early morning. A gust of autumn wind made me shiver.
By the time the sun rose, we’d left Eastcliff and the restof the ward well behind us. As we walked, I talked, and Kit listened. But he was a good listener, asking timely questions and corralling my wandering thoughts into succinct statements. It was different than the days spent on the road to my house when he had been as lively as a corpse and about as responsive.
Over the next two days, we passed through farmlands and woods. We wandered along a river—the Veilwater, Kit told me, named for a waterfall farther down its path—until we found its source and the dry bed that stretched up into the foothills of the Shattered Peaks. The craggy, hilly area seemed to go on forever.
In the distance, mountains cut a jagged scar across the landscape for miles in both directions. I’d only ever seen them as vague shapes, hazy on the horizon, and never expected to see them so close. The harsh terrain that stretched out beneath them made for poor farming and offered little else to encourage establishing any sort of settlement.
This far out, there were no wards, no towns, no militia outposts. Just scrubby mountain grasses and tumbled rock and the occasional grove of trees that had found enough soil to put down roots.
It made for lonely travel, but Kit wasn’t bad company.
By the afternoon of the third day, “only a few miles left” had been the mantra for more than a few miles now. My feet alternated between numb and aching, and I couldn’t decide which was worse. In contrast to the blistering pace he’d set at the beginning of our trek, Kit had slowed dramatically. As his stops became more frequent, I worried we were lost in this wilderness.
Trees were fewer and farther between—and so was shade—and pushing my weary legs up the incline made my muscles burn. Maybe that was the reason for Kit’ssluggish amble, but the way he searched every stone outcropping and checked compulsively over his shoulder made me suspect there was more to it than that.
We walked along the base of a sheer cliff, where Kit dragged his fingers over the crumbling shale. His brows lowered over his dark eyes as he scanned the area for the tenth time in as many steps. When his survey ended on me, I slumped against the stone wall and sighed.
“Just a few more miles?” I supplied.
Kit shook his head and moved back, craning his neck to look up at an overhang that towered at least ten feet above us. When I searched the same direction, I saw the blue-gray sky with sparse, wispy clouds, and the sudden blots of four human-shaped figures descending.
They leapt off the cliff, dropping fast with arms spread. I yelped and darted back, slamming into the stone wall before one of the bodies crashed into me. It dragged me down, raking my elbows and spine against the crumbling rock and sparking pain. The collision knocked me to the ground, and my attacker jerked me over onto my belly. Pinned by the assailant now crouched on top of me, I scrambled in the dirt.
My heart raced, and I sucked rapid breaths, inhaling more dust than air as a cloud rose around me.
