His worry lessened as he stretched his arms and glanced around, seeming to orient himself while I spoke.
“Thank you. For everything. I'm sorry I didn't say so last night.”
Shifting forward, Kit moved across the bed of the carttoward the crate with our food stores—and the skull. He pushed the lid aside and began rifling through the contents.
“You don't need to thank me for anything,” he said.
“You took me to get help,” I said, then felt immediately abashed as I added, “even though I didn't stay.”
Kit glanced over, his eyes warm in the bright light. “Bit of a wasted trip, huh?”
From the crate, he produced another apple and the pouch of jerky. My stomach growled audibly, and Kit chuckled. He offered the jerky for me to take while he bit into the apple.
We ate in silence, sitting across from each other in the crowded wagon.
Once he’d sated at least some of his hunger, Kit returned to our bags. He pulled out a folded shirt and pair of wool trousers, and I was reminded of the sorry state of his current outfit. It would look odd, not to mention suspicious, to travel through towns caked with dirt and mud stains.
With the fresh garments tucked under his arm, he bounded out the rear of the wagon and headed toward a nearby stand of trees.
“Be right back,” he called over his shoulder.
I settled in to wait and give him his privacy, then perked a few minutes later when he came tromping through the tall grass wearing fresh pants with his shirt open, chest bare, face damp likely from the creek I could faintly hear nearby, and the dirty clothes slung over his arm. It was still a novel sight, and as much as I tried to feign disinterest by pretending to notice a sparrow swooping by, my attention returned to the contours of his torso. His work in the smithy built muscles that always felt so strong when I pressed against him. His arms were most defined, buteven his abdomen was cut with a grid of lines I longed to smooth my hands across. On either side of those, his hip bones arched up and down, past the waistband of his pants, like a path I would have eagerly followed. I would have touched every part of him, explored him with my eyes, fingers, and mouth…
The cart bounced as Kit climbed up into it. He stood a moment longer, dropping his muddy clothes in a heap, then starting on the buttons on his shirt. With my pleasant view suddenly blanked from sight, I could focus on other things, namely Kit’s face as he smiled down at me.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
He retrieved his cloak and slung it around his shoulders, taking up the bag of jerky as well. He sat cross legged across from me and nibbled at a strip of dried venison. “You had a strange look.”
Warmth singed my cheeks, and I rubbed my hand over my face until the embarrassment subsided. “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all.”
Quiet descended again, and I mulled over the happenings at the mission. I was clear-headed enough now to recall Kit’s conversation with the old Symbiarch and her lack of surprise about the brand on my chest. I wondered about the man she had mentioned, Delmer, and how Kit escaped the Bone Men in the first place.
He didn't talk about himself often, and in my panic, I might have missed a chance to learn more about him. But I may have had a reason to ask.
“You said you would explain about Nora. About how she knew you.”
Kit stopped, poised to take another bite. He swallowed. “I did. I think I should explain a lot of things.”
He gestured to the nearby graveyard. “I found this place when I was twelve. I hated the idea of digging up fresh graves—what few there were to be found—and no one’s been buried here in decades. So, whenever my father sent me to find a body, I’d come here.”
He didn't look sad, rather wistful as he continued. “On one of my last trips, it had been raining heavily for days. I naively hoped it would make digging easier, but it was miserable work. I slipped and cut my palm with the blade of my shovel.” He set the jerky aside and held out his right hand, indicating the thin scar that ran diagonally from the base of his thumb to the space between his pinky and ring finger. “There was blood everywhere, and I panicked.
“I’d seen the mission on my way to and from gathering bodies, but I’d never stopped there. I knew they’d have questions about the state of me, covered in mud and out alone, but I decided getting caught and arrested would be preferable to bleeding out where no one would ever find me.”
I scooted in closer, near enough that Kit pulled me to himself. He eased me down until I was lying across his lap with my head resting in the crook of his arm.
“Nora took me in, got me cleaned up, and stitched up my hand. When she asked what happened, I thought about lying, making up some story about foraging and falling down a riverbank, but for once my father wasn’t looming over me, and I wanted to tell the truth.”
His gaze fixed on a faraway nothing. “We talked for hours. About my father and the Bone Men, what they made me do, why I was there, and how I got hurt. She listened to all of it and never once made me feel like the monster I thought I was.
“When I was done, she told me I was welcome to stay atthe mission as her ward until she found a place for me to go permanently. I refused, insisting that I couldn’t abandon my father, and that he’d inevitably find me anyway. She promised that if I ever decided to leave, she would make sure I was looked after. So, when I did finally run after my first Oath, I came back to her. She found a place for me to stay far enough from Ashpoint that I didn’t feel like I needed to be constantly looking over my shoulder. She gave me the chance to have whatever bit of a normal life I could manage.”
It was a lot of information, and I processed it slowly. I liked hearing him talk, but the story he told was heavy. It seemed to take a lot out of him. He sat more slouched than he had before, and his expression was vacant.
I still had as many questions as he'd given me answers, but I could tell the conversation was over.
