34. Penny
Penny
I t 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 skin until 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 body each ?” 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 delaying his 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?”
He pumped the faucet to start the water running. While he stared down at it, I searched his face, every day growing more familiar with the way his eyes had a tinge of gold and how his cheeks held the faintest blush.
“The third Oath,” he said at last, “is poison.”
My brow furrowed. “What kind of poison? Is it deadly?”
“It can be, for those who aren’t prepared. But I’ve taken necessary steps to ensure we are.” Opening the upper cabinet, he reached inside and pulled out a small glass bottle. It glinted in the sun streaming through the open window, reminding me I needed to hang the new curtains.
Kit tipped his chin past me at the cups we’d left on the table. “Do you have any coffee left?”
“A bit,” I replied, and he nodded.
“Grab it. Mine, too.”
I did as asked and carried both mugs to where he was lifting the cap off the small bottle to reveal a dropper top. His fingers quivered as he drew up a measure of the liquid inside.
“Set them here, would you?” He aimed a look at the counter beside us.
Again, I followed his instruction and watched as he squeezed a few drops of the liquid into each of our cups, adding more to his own than to mine.
“What is that?” I asked after he’d closed the bottle and returned it to the cabinet shelf.
“Poison,” Kit replied.
“But you said it was the third Oath,” I protested. “We haven’t done the second. And why do you have it? Isn’t that something Levitt should give out? Or Merrick?”
“One question at a time,” he said, then sucked a deep breath.
“It is the third Oath, and no, we haven’t done the second, but this is time-sensitive, and it can’t wait.
I got the poison while you were at Rosie’s yesterday, and technically I’m not supposed to have it; I may or may not have had to resort to blackmail to get my hands on it.
Officially, the Shroud Warden dispenses it on the night of the third Oath, but my father gave it to me for years to build my tolerance so I wouldn’t die during my Oaths, even though it was against the rules to interfere.
” He gave a dark chuckle. “Rules were for everyone else, not for him. ”
His father’s plan to save his life sounded almost like affection, an effort to protect his son from a gruesome fate.
Was it affection when it came to me? Kit must have seen some merit in the process to repeat it now.
He took my mug from the counter and held it out to me while gripping his own in his other hand.
Reluctantly, I took it and squinted down into the black liquid. Kit brewed his coffee strong, and I hoped it would be enough to overpower the taste of what might have been concentrated death. “You haven’t told me what it is,” I said after a pause.
“Poison,” Kit repeated, sounding tired. “Hopefully enough to build up a tolerance over time. We have a few weeks yet, and I hope that’s long enough.”
My laugh betrayed my anxiety. “You sure you aren’t trying to kill me because I kissed you the other night?”
Kit made a choked sound but recovered quickly enough to reply, “I always have my Penny-menacing knife on me.” He gestured to the blade in its plain leather sheath strapped to his belt. “I wouldn’t need poison if I wanted to kill you. Which I don’t.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, staring down into the tainted coffee. “Because I?—”
“I’m sure,” Kit cut in. “I am actively trying to keep you alive, and I’m sorry for what that currently entails because drinking this is going to be awful.” He held up his own mug in a sort of mock toast. “Here’s to not dying in a few weeks.”
I raised my cup as well, though with far less resolve. “To not dying,” I echoed, and we drank.