Except for my brief foray through the sketchbook the afternoon I’d found his letters, I hadn’t had much opportunity to look at Penny’s art before, and I was impressed by his talent. The flowing pencil strokes created soft curves and graceful shapes that seemed effortless, and the shading made the drawings look almost like they could rise off the page any moment. It was like seeing things I knew but through different eyes.
I’d told him he didn’t know the world like I did, but I wondered now if maybe he knew something I didn’t, too.
His arm brushed down my side as he turned the page, but he was so intent on describing the next set of sketches that he didn’t seem to notice.
Eventually, I stopped looking at the book and found myself watching him instead, so nearly enthralled that I had to wonder if there might really be something to Sayla and Anders’s assumptions about us.
If he kissed me now, would I react differently than I had two weeks ago?
I was so far from understanding my own feelings that they may as well have been a foreign language, but I wished he’d try. I wanted him to turn that bright smile on me and realize I hadn’t seen anything on the last three pages because I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
He had such warmth. It seemed to radiate off him, and I remembered how hollow and cold the house felt without him in it. I’d worried about something happening to him, but more about others realizing what I was starting to understand: Penny was important to me. Important enough that it no longer felt like an obligation to protect him, but a need.
And every part of that was terrifying.
34
Penny
It was past midnight when I dragged myself off the sofa and into the kitchen to scrounge up something fast and edible. I wasn’t sure how long I talked to Kit about Rosie’s cat, or the mantis that perched on the ledge of my bedroom window back home, or the myriad other things cluttering the pages of my sketchbook, but he surely grew tired of it all long before I did.
Speaking of pages, I was running out, and crowding new drawings alongside old ones. What would I do when there was no more space to make? I considered the hefty tomes Kit’s father had filled and wondered if such books could be purchased here. It would take me years to draw that much, but I’d like to try.
Before bed, Kit had produced a tin of the salve he’d gotten from the local apothecary. He claimed it would help ease the pain of our healing brands. I hesitated to pull off my shirt and slather my chest with the stuff. It drew the heat out of my skin, but was too reminiscent of the months upon months spent with Mother putting such ointments and balms on my hands and arms, slicking the raw skinuntil it was glossy. Between that and frequent bandage changes—wrapping and rewrapping my fingers so they didn’t web together—I’d long ago had my fill of burn care. All told this wasn’t as bad, but something in the smell and the feel of my scorched skin made my stomach ache.
The next morning during breakfast, a knock at the door interrupted our daily chatter. I stood in the doorway between the living room and the hall, watching as Kit paused with one hand on the doorknob, and drew himself into the stiff-backed posture I’d come to view as a shield meant to protect himself. And me.
When he pulled the door open, a hooded figure stood outside.
“Good day, initiates.” A male voice seemed to creak out from under the cloak that covered the visitor from head to toe. “A second task is set before you. In two weeks, you must go into the world and bring back an offering for Eeus. One body to add to his altar.”
“One bodyeach?” Kit asked.
The nameless messenger shook his head. The motion made the folds of his cloak ripple all the way down. “Due to scarcity, this task should be completed in pairs. Only when everyone has returned with their tribute may we proceed to the third Oath.”
News delivered, the messenger took his leave. Kit closed the door as soon as was prudent and relaxed as his steely mask fell away.
“Just one between us,” he said as though I hadn’t heard. “Small blessing, since it used to be one apiece.”
We’d read as much in his father’s books, so I’d been prepared. Past the second rite, though, Kit had kept tight-lipped. He’d insisted more than once on getting through the first two tasks before concerning ourselves with the third. I was coming to realize he may have been delayinghis own worries as much as mine, and considering the possibility of something worse than being branded or robbing graves filled me with dread.
I returned to the kitchen and the food going cold. Kit joined me and we sat, and I started scooping scrambled eggs up with my fork. “It won’t be simple tracking down a body or grave. Unless we find another fool like me.” I raised the helping of eggs to eye level and stared at it.
After finishing what little remained on his plate, Kit sat back in his chair. “Penny, in my whole life I have never met anyone like you.”
I snorted. “I believe it. Most people have better sense.”
Kit sighed as though the statement irked him. “I told you I know a place. It’s an old graveyard with old bones, so there’s not likely to be any immediate family still alive.”
My eyes angled toward him, and I wondered if he’d included that detail for my benefit. “How far away is it?”
“A few days’ travel. No farther than Eastcliff, but the opposite direction.” He stood and extended his hand toward the plate of food I’d given up on. “Are you finished?”
“Unfortunately.” I offered up the dish.
“You may be happy you didn’t eat more.”
I joined Kit in standing and followed him to the sink as he began to wash up. “What do you mean?”
