Father and Merrick had to get jobs in town. Even Mother took up work doing washing to earn money to build a new barn and put food on the table through the long, cold months.
Kit watched my face as I wrestled with the old emotions stirring up. He kept stroking my fingers and rubbing his thumb across my palm, and half of me wanted to pull away. It was an ugly part of my life, and part of me was ugly for it. I didn’t want him to notice, but it was far too late for that.
“Sayla should’ve died.” The words became harder to push out as I carried on. “The doctor said as much. I thought Merrick would never let me live past it. He wanted me to regret it, as if I didn’t. He told me…” I stopped, realizing my misstep in breaking Kit’s rule not to bring up the things Merrick said. I hadn’t realized how large my brother loomed in my mind or how profoundly his opinions had shaped my view of myself.
I chewed my lip, prepared to leave the story unfinished until Kit prompted me with a gentle, “Go on.”
It had been a long time, but lack of practice talking about the memory made it feel fresh enough to sting as I continued. “Merrick said if I didn’t get better, they’d cut my hands off, and Father would have to sell me to pay back all the money I’d cost them.”
I didn’t confess what Merrick had said afterward—sneered it in my face while I held back tears—that I wasn’t even worth selling because a boy with no hands would be more useless than I already was.
I pulled my hands from Kit’s and sat hugging my arms around my waist and clutching my shirt in tight wads. “It sounds silly now, but it scared me so much.”
Slowly, I told him the rest. After a few months in the infirmary, part of a mission in a neighboring town, I was sent home. A kindly old nurse came by weekly to check on the healing progress and give me exercises for my stiff, achy fingers. The new skin stretched and sometimes tore, causing oozing and bleeding that soaked through the bandages. The process was grueling, and the pain seemed endless, leaving me sobbing into my pillow most nights, trying to keep quiet enough that Merrick wouldn’t hear.
“How old were you?” Kit asked, his expression indecipherable.
“Nine.”
His lip curled. “So he’s always been despicable.”
The retelling had taken all my energy, and I was tired again. Too tired to do more than bounce my shoulders. “I suppose.”
Kit drew his knees up against my back, pitching me forward so I was tucked against him. Residual thoughts and feelings were replaced by longing. I wondered if he felt my body flush or saw my skin prickling with gooseflesh. As close as we were, I wanted to be nearer still. But I didn’t budge, hunkered into myself and avoiding Kit’s eyes until his arms looped around me once more.
“Kit,” I began, already wondering if I would regret it. “What did you mean last night? At the bar?”
He quirked a brow. “You'll haveto be more specific.”
“You said but,” I explained as a frown overtook my face. “You said you'd like to love someone, but…”
Kit watched me for a long quiet moment until I dared to finish the statement.
“But not me?”
Kit's face went stricken. “Gods, no. That’s what you thought I meant? Pen…” He eased me back, catching my face in his hands to level my gaze with his. I wanted to look away but couldn't tear my eyes from his fathomless ones as he shook his head. “The but was about me, not you.”
I swallowed down the fear still mounting, the worry that I'd given myself again to someone who didn't feel the same. But that wasn't what he said.
“What about you?” I murmured.
He chewed his lip, visibly struggling with the words. “Because I'm… wrong somehow. I don’t even know what love feels like. I’m a little afraid I can’t feel it at all.”
It was sad. So much of him was sad, and all of it came long before me. Coming back to the place that had caused it and confronting his father through the pages of those cursed journals had only made things worse. I didn't believe that he couldn't feel love, though. He was too good, too gentle, too kind for that to be true.
Contemplation kept me quiet until Kit said with a sigh, “That isn't what you want to hear.”
I couldn't deny it, but it would do no good to agree, so I kept my peace.
Kit shifted beneath me, releasing his hold on my chin to slide his hands around my back instead. They rubbed up and down in slow, soothing motions.
“I don’t mean to lead you on,” he continued, “because I do care for you. Deeply. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
The sudden pain that pinched his face prompted me toreach out. I rested my hands on his arms and squeezed gently. “I'm not going anywhere. I came here with you, and I intend to leave with you, too.”
He nodded, and a curl toppled over his brow, so perfect and soft I couldn't help myself from brushing it back. I kept my fingers there, tangled in his raven locks as I reassured him of what I'd said before.
“I like you, Kit. You make me happy.”
