My stomach lurched at the mentions of me, though I couldn’t tell whether it was from guilt, discomfort, or something else entirely. It made sense he would write about me to his family. He was supposed to be my apprentice. I just hadn’t expected him to be so… candid.
I should have put the rest of the letters away, but my interest was piqued. And I couldn’t dismiss the concern that he might reveal more about Ashpoint than he should, so I unfolded the second letter. It was dated a little under a month prior and was much shorter than the first. Again, a scan of the text found an alarming number of mentions of me.
Yesterday was a bad day. I was homesick, and missing both of you and Father, and worrying about not doing well in the smithy. But Kit was so kind and gentle with me. He sat and let me talk until I got tired and then sent me to bed. He even let me sleep in and made me breakfast this morning. And today, he let me try my hand at carving leather for sheaths and straps.
I wish you’d gotten the chance to see this side of him when we were there. He’s not as reserved as he seemed when we visited. He sees potential in me, and he’s the first to step in to defend me, even when it’s from myself. He’s a good man. I’m lucky to have found such a good master to apprentice under.
I was relieved to see that he’d omitted the altercation with Merrick in the stairwell, but the rest had me feeling almost sick. I wasn’t sure there had been a single point in my life where I’d seen myself as a good man. Maybe Iwasn’t as bad as the rest of them, but that didn’t make me good.
The remainder of the letter made brief mentions of meeting Reimond and Thoma and baking shortbreads with Rosie, but somehow everything Penny told his family became him telling them about how I reacted to the cookies and how I didn’t notice that the two men were more than friends.
The third letter was from two weeks back once his baking lessons with Rosie were in full swing. I was sure he’d spend the whole thing gushing about the treats he made, but it didn’t take more than a few words before my name cropped up.
I’ve been spending every afternoon at Rosie’s lately because she’s teaching me to bake. Cookies and cakes and pastries, and she always lets me bring some home for Kit. He’s been working himself to the bone in the smithy catching up on repairs that piled up while the town didn’t have a smith. I’ve been glad to be able to have dinner and something sweet for him when he gets home.
I’ve also been making progress on my carving. Kit always makes sure to tell me how well I’m doing. I like making him proud. And knowing that I’ll be able to contribute to the work in the smithy and bring these skills home when this is over is nice, too.
I didn’t understand how a man I’d known for a month and a half had more to say about me in his letters than my own father did in the eight expansive journals he filled after I escaped. There were so many other things Penny could have talked about or focused on, but he always ended up back at me.
We spent a good deal of time together, yes, but where was the endless prattle about Rosie’s pregnant cat or the enthusiastic babble about the colts in the stable about which he’d spent hours tellingmeevery detail? What aboutthe wild pecan orchard that he’d drawn over and over for days after Rosie took him the first time?
I didn’t think I was a particularly interesting person, at least when you discounted my past, which thankfully Penny hadn’t included. Still, he managed to find endless things to say about me, even if they were mundane everyday occurrences. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but there was one letter left, dated the day after our dinner at the pub. Unlike the others, this one was addressed solely to Sayla.
I sold my first commissioned piece to Rosie’s father, so I finally have some coin of my own. It took a little convincing, but I got Kit to agree to let me take him to the pub for dinner last night.
Luck was not on my side when we got there. Whatshouldhave been an intimate meal was quickly interrupted by Rosie and Tessa inviting themselves along. So, we left before we even had a chance to eat and took a walk in the pecan orchard instead. It was chilly, but the moon was so bright.
Then I did another stupid thing. I kissed him, and I’m not sure he liked it. But hesaid he didn’tdislikeit. Maybe it’s hopeless, but he put his arm around my shoulders to keep me warm on our way home, and he smelled like smoke from the smithy. I always thought I hated the smell of fire, but it’s pleasant on him.
He’s so different when we’re alone together. He’s freer and more relaxed, and sometimes I catch his eyes on me when he doesn’t think I’m paying attention. And when he smiles at me, my insides go all twisty. He doesn’t smile like that at anyone else. He’s polite with others, but he’sniceto me. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s just different. He’s not placating or humoring me. He genuinely cares that I’m happy.
I couldn’t read anymore, so I carefully folded each letter and tucked them back where I’d found them. My mouth was dry and, much like Penny said happened to him when I smiled, my insides were twisting themselves into knots. I never should have invaded Penny’s privacyand wished to return to that place of being ignorant of how he really felt about me.
I was his friend, and I was responsible for him and his safety here. That was where our attachment ended, wasn’t it? I wasn’t ready to think about whether that night in the orchard had revealed anything to the contrary, or about how the moonlight had made his pale hair seem to glow. I refused to dig into what had possessed me to tuck that hair behind his ear. There could be no feelings to be had beyond taking care of him and protecting him from the threat the Bone Men posed. It was too dangerous to consider anything more.
I would need to be more careful in our interactions going forward. I didn’t want to break his heart.
Closing the sketchbook with a snap, I forced myself back to the abandoned roast and pulled spices from the pantry. There were better things to think about than Penny’s fondness for me while I mixed together a rub of herbs. With some effort, I dragged my thoughts to considerations for the handle and sheath of his knife instead.
The possibility of carving some sort of plant felt less personal now that I knew him better. My mind drifted back to the night after our meeting with Levitt and the subsequent argument with Merrick and the way Penny had touched my chest at the mention of the prospect of his own branding. In a few days, the phoenix tattoo would no longer be able to disguise the scars beneath when they were burned anew. But the symbolism was the same: I had risen from my own ashes once, and I would do it again.
Penny had done the same, though a bit more literally than me. He bore the flames and came back stronger for it. We were more alike than I gave us credit for, and so my mind was made up. I only hoped my minimal carving skills would stand up to the subject matter.
I was getting the roast into the belly of the stove when there was a knock on the door. Wiping my hands on a dishtowel, I fought the feeling of dread at the possibilities of who could be visiting and pulled the door open. Relief flooded through me when I found Levitt on the front step wearing an easy smile.
“Afternoon, Kit. I tried to catch you at the forge, but you’d gone by the time I got there.”
I stepped back and motioned him inside. “Took off a bit early today. Just getting started on dinner.”
He glanced around as he entered, though there wasn’t much to take in. Penny had picked up a few odds and ends in the market that made the place look more like a home, but it was still sparse.
“Is Penny not here?” he asked.
“He’s taking baking lessons from Rosie, so he’ll be out another few hours at least.”
Levitt turned another smile in my direction. “He seems to be settling in well. Better than you, anyway. He’s actually madefriends.”
His tone was teasing, but he wasn’t wrong.
