I should have been worried about the journals that detailed unknown horrors of Oaths and rites of passage. Kit insisted it shouldn’t concern me, but I was concerned forhim. I’d seen the horrible scars that marred his chest. He’d been branded like cattle, marked as the property of his father’s god.
He said I deserved to be treated kindly. He deserved the same.
Reaching across with my free hand, I looped one finger through a lock of Kit’s coal-black hair.
You’re a fool, Penwell.
Merrick’s frequent statement haunted me, taunted me, and Sayla’s impish teasing followed close behind. About Father being confused by my strange proclivities. About the time I kissed Dawson Hilliard. About me and all my wisdom.
This wasn’t what we came for. I wasn’t here to cuddle up to a man I barely knew, and who might be horrified by how often I thought about his strong arms and muscled chest.
We were among dangerous people, some of whom already doubted my fealty to a dark god I knew almost nothing about. But I let myself enjoy this closeness and the warmth of a body pressed against mine.
When it was over, I would do my best to forget it ever happened.
16
Kit
My body was stiff when I drifted awake, and hunger gnawed on my insides and made me regret not visiting the market the night before. There would be nothing to fill my stomach but the last of the coffee, and the thought of that made me nauseous.
Peeling my eyes open, I stared up at where the afternoon light slanted in and highlighted the old spiderwebs crisscrossing the ceiling beams. Without curtains to block it out, the sun’s heat had built to almost unbearable levels in the cramped room. Shifting around found me practically buried beneath my and Penny’s traveling cloaks and what looked to be a quilt from the bed. I appreciated the consideration even if the execution was a bit much.
I kicked the covers off my feet and stretched. My back and hips ached from spending so long sitting hunched on the floor, and sleeping on the firm couch certainly hadn’t helped. Considering all the things I’d read, it was a wonder I’d been able to sleep at all.
The silence of the house roused my suspicion. It wasn’t like Penny to be quiet.
I called his name but got no answer.
Propping myself up on an elbow, I caught sight of my mug, washed out and filled with water, on the coffee table within easy reach. A sheet of paper torn from Penny’s sketchbook was tucked beneath it. I bypassed the note in favor of chugging the water to alleviate my dry mouth.
I replaced the mug and plucked the paper off the table to scan the few short lines.
Went to the market for food. Borrowed some coin. I promise I’ll pay you back.
My stomach growled at the prospect of lunch, then twisted at the thought of Penny being out amongst the townspeople alone. With any luck, he’d keep to himself and be back soon and reduce my worrying to a minimum. Though, given he’d spent the night before building a list of all the so-called necessities the house was lacking, he could be gone a while. If making this place look like a home put him at ease, I wouldn’t stop him. He might as well be comfortable here even ifInever would be.
I left the cloaks and quilt in a heap on the couch as I toted my mug to the kitchen to refill it and guzzle several more glasses of water to dull the sharp edge of hunger.
Apparently, Penny had cleaned while I slept. The thick layer of dust was gone, and the window above the counter was cracked to let in intermittent puffs of cool, fresh air.
Returning to the living room found it similarly tidied. The journals were stacked in a neat pile next to the coffee table, their pages marked with slips of paper. The candles had been scraped into the ash bucket beside the fireplace. The charred logs were swept from the hearth, and fresh logs were stacked in their place. Penny’s bag was gone, presumably stashed in what was now his room, and mine was propped against the arm of the couch.
Already it looked more like a home than it had during the time I’d lived here as a child.
I sank back down on the couch and scrubbed my hands over my face. My eyes burned with exhaustion, but the events of that morning were slowly filtering back in. I wasn’t sure I’d been fully aware when Penny found me slumped in the middle of the floor surrounded by nightmare fodder. But he sat with me, absorbed the prospect of the horrors in those hundreds of pages, and quietly looked after me when I’d lost the ability to do so myself. I was grateful, even with the flush of embarrassment at the thought of passing out on him like we were much closer than we were.
With any luck, he’d never mention it again.
A knock at the door startled me from my thoughts. Violette was the only person who knew where we were staying, and the thought of spending any more time with her made me want to crawl out of my skin. But she was a valuable ally to maintain, so I hefted myself to my feet and crossed to the entryway.
Through the window beside the door, I saw a man on the front step dressed in dark ceremonial robes. It was strange to see someone out and about wearing a getup normally reserved for formal events, so whoever it was, he was looking to make an impression. I was glad it wasn’t Violette, but there were other, worse possibilities.
I pulled open the door, and the man swung around to face me. The string of finger bones around his neck clicked against his high, starched collar. He was half a head shorter than me and built more wiry than muscular, with sandy blonde waves that had been meticulously styled to lay across his forehead. His jaw was tense, and his thin mouth strained in an attempt at a smile. There wassomething eerily familiar about the green eyes beneath his hooded brow, but I was too tired to place it.
“So, this is the infamous Kitingor Koesters my wife has spoken so extensively about.” The man sounded as unimpressed as he looked.
“One and the same,” I said, keeping hold of the door. “But you have me at a disadvantage.”
