“Don’t get up. I can see myself out.”
17
Penny
I’d only seen a few town squares in my life: the one in Eastcliff nearest the farm, where Mother and Sayla sold our vegetable crop and excess milk, eggs, and wool; the one in Forstford, where I’d salivated over food vendors and gotten myself kicked out of Kit’s blacksmith shop; and now Ashpoint’s.
People of all ages drifted from one vendor stall to the next, smiling and chatting. A few waved to me, and I waved back, cracking a smile that was partly friendly but mostly relieved. These people, this place, they weren’t so bad. Perhaps the next week or two would be more tolerable than Kit anticipated. Perhaps the state of things had improved in his father’s absence.
The smells of bread, fish, and cheese made my stomach churn with hunger. Colorful fabrics and knitted wool clothes flapped like flags in the breeze. Kit’s coin purse felt heavy in my hand, full of more copper than I’d ever seen in one place. I had a feeling he would protest being called a wealthy man, but it seemed extravagant to me.
Slinging my pack over one shoulder, I checked the list I’d scribbled in my sketchbook between drawings of the moths that had fluttered around our camp lantern one night on the road. The most recent item to tick off was a bottle of whiskey per Kit’s drowsy request.
As I shopped the stalls, my tab grew at an alarming rate. The little cottage needed everything: dishes and flatware, towels, linens…
I’d promised to repay what I spent, and that thought had me cringing through every purchase, wondering how I could possibly scrape together so much money.
Still, I felt more settled than I had during our journey here. I hadn’t taken well to switching off keeping overnight watch—ortryingto keep watch only to be woken by Kit poking my ribs, then launching into a speech about the importance of vigilance. It was the most words I got out of him some days.
I found nearly everything I came for, except a pair of goose feather pillows for the couch that had to be ordered. I was making my turn toward the cottage when the last booth on the row caught my eye.
Pastries, cakes, and piles of cookies sat on trays atop a wooden counter. Some of them were so pretty they should have been behind glass. I ventured closer, studying the tiered cake that sat front and center. It was draped with curtains of icing and dotted with edible flowers.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
The statement prompted a young woman to rise from where she’d been bent behind the counter. Thick black hair was plaited into braids from her scalp to her shoulders, and a smudge of flour on one high cheekbone made a stark contrast on her mahogany skin.
Her eyes crinkled through a warm smile.“Thank you,” she said. “Made it all myself.”
I pulled my attention away from the golden pastry shells and muffins topped with glittering sugar. “You’re very talented.”
She crossed her arms atop her starched white apron. “And you’re clearly a man of good taste. Though not a man I’ve seen around here before.”
I bobbed my head. “We just arrived yesterday.”
“We?” She raised a brow.
“My friend and I,” I explained. “He’s… I’m his recruit.”
Her cheery expression brightened even further. “For the next initiation group?”
I shook my head. “I’m just here to work. My friend will be going through initiation, though.”
“Me, too. I’m Rosie.” She reached across the counter to offer a shake I stepped forward to accept.
“Penny.”
Her gaze lingered on my fingers where they wrapped around hers, no doubt noticing the skin mottled red and white and cut through with ropy, raised scars. I swallowed, painfully aware of the seconds dragging by until she released my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Penny.”
A held breath left me as a sigh. “Likewise.”
She showed no apprehension or fear about the Oaths, and I wondered if she knew something I didn’t. Or maybe it was the other way around. Surely not all the initiates were warned of what awaited them during the rites. Not everyone had access to a veritable library of information about the Bone Men or the guidance of a former member.
Rather than question it, I turned to the assortment of sweets laid out before me. I motioned to the tray of muffins studded with bits of red fruit. “What flavor are these?”
“Orange cranberry.” Rosie grabbed one and offered it so I could take a long whiff.
