I meant to wait until morning to talk to Kit. It must have been past midnight since I’d been turning restlessly for hours, but the idea of passing the rest of the night in lonely quiet was unbearable.
Reluctant but desperate, I crawled out of bed, rubbing one hand over my bare chest and arms as I padded toward the door. The paper remained pinned between my fingers, and I brushed my thumb over it as I stepped out into the hall.
The whole house was dark. Even the fire was down to dim embers, making it difficult to see Kit’s form scrunched on the sofa. He was a bit too tall to stretch out on it, always hanging off by one arm or leg or with his knees bent against the back cushions. I stopped a few feet away, hesitant to rouse him.
Luckily, I didn’t have to, because after barely a moment, he bolted upright and huffed a breath. “Pen? You startled me. Is something wrong?”
I tried to speak, then swallowed and tried again. Neither attempt yielded anything that could be considered words as Kit shifted to sitting. In the blue-black light, his eyes had the faintest gleam as they skimmed over my exposed torso. I would have appreciated his notice any other time, but now it only made me feel more conspicuous.
Nodding toward the couch, I croaked out, “Mind if I sit?”
He shook his head and patted the lumpy cushion beside him.
I took the offered seat, perching stiffly and wishing I could crawl into Kit’s lap instead. But this needed to be said, explained, and if I let myself be weak before I even began, I might never find my strength again.
With my elbows on my knees, I offered the note to Kit. “I want you to have this,” I said.
“What is it?” He squinted at it briefly before rising and going to the shelves beside the fireplace. After striking a match to a candle stored there, he carried the paper and small flame back to the couch.
I kept quiet as he set the candle on the low table, then opened the page and smoothed it against his thigh. The flickering light cast a glow on his face as he skimmed the lines squeezed in between drawings of leafy trees and nesting birds.
“I ran out of paper,” I explained sheepishly.
Kit’s expression turned solemn as he read my best effort at a formal contract, signed at the bottom in an unsteady hand.
“Father left the farm to me when he died.” My voice wavered, threatened to crack. “And I’d like to leave it to you.”
He read it again, maybe twice more, and his jaw worked as he considered his reply. When he looked at me at last, his features were pinched.
“Penny, I can’t accept this,” he said. “What about your mother and Sayla?”
Tears threatened, and I clenched my fists as though I could physically fight them off. “IfI’myour family, maybe they can be too?”
His brow furrowed deeper, and he looked at the letter again.
It was a lot to ask. Kit had his own home and occupation in Forstford. He had a life there, one I imagined he was eager to return to when this was all over. But I couldn’t shake the memory of our day spent checking items off Mother’s list and how naturally Kit had taken to the duties I so often struggled with. He would thrive on the farm and make more of it than I ever could, or at least keep the plow blades in fine repair.
“You could sell it if you wanted to.” I talked to fill the quiet, going over the details I’d mentally rehearsed. “Sayla’s likely to wed the silversmith’s son soon. He’s quite taken with her. That would only leave Mother…” I wrung my hands. “The farm should be worth enough to afford her lodging elsewhere. She could have a comfortable life.”
Kit sat still for another lingering moment, then refolded the paper and set it on the table beside the candle. Turning toward me, he took hold of both my arms and tugged me around until I faced him squarely.
“Pen, where is this all coming from?”
I swallowed while searching for words. I’d managed to put my fears aside for days, flirting with Kit in the smithy, cuddling together in the evenings, making meals and spending time like we were a married couple with a quiet, normal life. I’d gotten quite good at pretending I was living in the future, in a time removed from the Bone Men and the initiation rites that threatened our lives.
But I couldn’t hide from it now.
“The poison. The Oath tomorrow.” I drew a steadying breath. “I…”
No sooner did I have a hold on my apprehension than did it grip me instead, cinching like a noose around my throat. I remembered that feeling, going lightheaded and suffocating while the hemlock coursed through my body. It could happen again. I was near certain it would.
“I’m afraid, Kit. Nora said I shouldn’t… We were only taking a little bit, but…” My eyes flooded with useless tears that wouldn’t solve anything. “I couldn’t breathe. I thought I would die. I think it might kill me, and then…” I hiccupped a breath. “And then…”
Kit slid his hand around the nape of my neck, brushing his thumb through my hair. He shook his head slowly. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said. “I promise.”
Of course, he would say that. He would protect me from the world if he could, but there was little he could do to stave off the effects of a deadly poison.
I wiped my face and set my expression as sternly as I could manage. “Butwillyou take care of Mother and Sayla? If I…” My throat tightened again, and I gathered my resolve to force out, “If something happens?”
