Penny
Chipping away at the walls of the tunnel under the Ossuary did little to prepare me for work in the lumber mill.
My conniving half-brother knew exactly what he was doing sending me into the woods with all of nature’s predators and a crew of men big and burly enough they could snap me as easily as a branch from the trees we were felling.
They were felling.
I was trying to stay out of the way, and unlike Cedric, most of my new coworkers seemed content to let me.
I did a bit of work, of course. I couldn’t be sure who here had a mind to report my performance to Merrick, so I wouldn’t allow myself to be completely shown up.
Though, after lugging log after log into the back of a cart—sweating, wheezing, and staggering all the way through—it seemed that’s exactly what I was doing.
Luckily, Kit had bought me a pair of thick leather gloves to protect my hands from the tree bark that ripped at my skin. The roughhewn edges of the logs had already scraped my forearms raw, and I was sticky with sweat and sap long before lunch.
At the end of the day, I stopped by the little creek that wound past the mill and washed off. I was not about to make the long walk home itchy and caked in sawdust. Since it was still light out, Kit was likely to be at the Ossuary, so I didn’t hurry.
A grumble from my stomach reminded me that if I meant to grow a lumberman’s muscles, I’d also be developing a lumberman’s appetite. But more than anything, I was craving sweets.
Rosie’s bakery stand was shuttered for the evening, which was disappointing, but not enough to stop me. If I wanted a pastry, I could go straight to the source.
I trudged down the lane toward Rosie’s house, whispering a few thoughts to Eeus as I went. Lately, I’d been talking to—or at—him more often. Maybe I was growing devout. Or maybe I was just lonely. Either way, Mother would have been scandalized that I’d chosen Eeus over Paneus.
Still, Eeus was the patron of Ashpoint, and while I was in Ashpoint, it made sense to stay on his good side.
I kept the altar and offerings tucked away in the guest bedroom.
Kit hadn’t stumbled across it yet, or if he had, he hadn’t said anything.
It might have looked enough like miscellany to pass as a setup for drawing practice.
Objects placed to be rendered, candles to cast light and shadow. That was believable. Probably.
Arriving on Rosie’s doorstep, I barely had time to knock before her mother swung the door open.
“Penny?” Her brow furrowed over her dark eyes. “Is everything all right?”
Considering the work our resistance had been doing in secret over the past few days, she was right to be concerned.
I held up both hands. “Nothing’s wrong, sorry. I’m just…”
The smell of cooked fruit wafted from the house, and my mouth watered. I realized I’d fallen silent when Rosie’s mother continued to stare, and I blushed.
“I’m just hungry.”
Her expression eased into one of amusement, and she cleared the entry. “Well, that is a problem I’m sure my daughter can solve.” She looked toward the kitchen, where I spotted Rosie in her apron, working on something at the counter.
“Rose? You have a helper.”
Rosie turned, wearing a wide smile. She beckoned me in, and I thanked her mother before darting by. The exhaustion of my day’s work was tempered by a renewed sense of energy at the prospect of filling my belly with sweets. And spending time with my friend, of course.
As I entered the kitchen, I snagged my own apron and threw it on, then went to the sink to wash my hands.
“What are we making?” I asked.
Rosie abandoned the dough she had laid out to join me beside the basin. “Cherry strudel,” she replied, then threw her arms around me. She took a deep breath, and when she drew back, her nose was wrinkled. “Ugh, you stink.”
Little wonder after toiling outdoors all day. I’d never sweat that much at the smithy, though I was rarely near enough to the forge to feel much of its heat. At least, I hadn’t been when Kit was still working there.
While Rosie fanned her hand in front of her face, I informed her, “That’s the smell of a man.”
She snorted. “A dirty man. Did you come straight from the mill? It was your first day, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.”
Snagging a wooden spoon, she directed me to the pot simmering on the stove. “You may stink, but you can still stir,” she said.
Stirring and kneading were most often my jobs. Sometimes mixing when working with thick dough. But my arms were so tired it was a labor to even lift them. Still, I swirled the spoon around in the pot while keeping watch over the cherry filling.
Rosie returned to where the dough was resting and sprinkled it with a fresh layer of flour before reaching for the rolling pin. “So, how was it?”
“The lumbering?” I asked.
She paused. “The what?”
With a sigh, I gave the spoon another turn. “It was fine.”
The cherries had been pitted and mashed, and were steadily reducing to a jammy texture. It looked so scrumptious I had to fight the temptation to dip my finger in for a taste. Instead, I kept stirring while pondering.
“Do you think my biceps are any bigger?” I looked down the length of my arm, checking for any new bulges beneath the linen sleeve.
Rosie snickered and poked me in the side with the rolling pin. “It’s only been a day.”
“It felt like an eternity. I didn’t see any wolves, though.”
“Wolves?”
I nodded. “In the woods.”
She tilted her head as though in thought. “Probably not… They’re wary creatures. Skittish. And the lumber mill is awfully loud. They’d know to stay away.”
“It’s better than being roasted alive in the forge, at least,” I grumbled. I’d told her about my harrowing experience when she’d come to our house the other night. She’d been sympathetic then, but now it seemed slightly diminished.
“I don’t think Cedric meant any real harm,” she said.
I spun toward her. “I was covered in oil, and he stuck my arm in the fire!”
“In the fire?” She fixed me with a skeptical squint, and I balked.
“Near it!” My exclamation seemed to further her point more than my own. I nibbled my lip while considering the details of the event. “Over the coals…?” I offered at length.
Rosie kept staring with one brow arched and her lips pursed.
“My skin was frying like chicken in a pan! I could smell it.” Not to mention the awful memories it drew to the surface. I left the spoon to rest in the pot while wringing my hands together. Cutting my gaze aside, I gave a stiff nod. “Yes. Lumbering is better than being cooked in the smithy.”
“I don’t think that’s what lumbering means…” She stepped around me to take the cherry mixture off the heat and set it aside.
“I’m a lumberman now. I lumber,” I told her as she went next for a pan to fill with the dough she’d rolled out. “And lumbering has given me quite the appetite, so I hope those don’t have to bake long…”
Rosie laughed. “It takes a good while, I’m afraid. Looks like you’ll have to endure my company while I endure your stench.” Her face crinkled dramatically, and I stuck out my tongue.
She was bustling then, moving dough into the prepared pan then layering it with the fruit filling. I stood by and watched, considering my one-sided conversation on the way here. The words I offered to the sky or a silent bedroom. I couldn’t keep them to myself any longer.
“Rosie, I’ve been doing something.”
“Oh?” The cherry compote steamed as she slathered it across the crust base. She didn’t even glance up, which might have made it easier for me to confess.
“I’ve been praying. To Eeus.”
It didn’t alarm her. Most people here made prayers and offerings to the god. But, considering our mission to sabotage the cult and all it stood for, my statement must have sounded strange.
She did pause, though, and flicked her eyes my direction.
“What about?” she asked.
I considered that for a moment, then shrugged.
“I’m not sure, actually. It started after we went to Eastcliff, and I saw what had become of the place.
The farm was mine to give, and Merrick took it.
From me. From Warren and Sayla, and I was…
” My fists clenched as a flush of heat crept up my neck.
“I was so angry. I didn’t know what to do.
I was desperate, so I… started praying. And I haven’t really stopped. ”
And I’d started making preparations, but I wasn’t ready to share that part, even with Rosie. I got the tea from Isla. Had to apologize a bit for my outburst at the farm. Fortunately, she was as sorry as I was for her brother’s involvement in my family’s troubles.
What I did need to share with Rosie was my idea about spreading abundance. Strawberries were in season, so if we could find a patch or two, we could collect enough to bake tarts and perhaps gift them to our friends and neighbors.
I was still thinking as Rosie slid the strudel pan into the oven, then wiped her hands on her apron.
“Does it help?” she asked.
“Praying?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes I feel a little better afterward. I can say things I don’t say anywhere else. To anyone else. Mostly, I think I’m waiting for a sign. Something I can do. Maybe more than caving in tunnels and leaking water all over Merrick’s precious idol.” I rolled my eyes and huffed.
“Leaking water all over what? What are you talking about?”
She knew about the cave-in, but I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about the idea Philippa gave us at lunch the day before. Kit and I had spent the previous night discussing logistics, and had ventured out after dark to scout the location.
“It’s another delay,” I told her. “Trying to stall the completion of the Vessel, or cause enough damage to set Merrick’s timeline back so we can figure something else out. There’s a stream near the cave, overhead. We’re going to divert it and flood the place.”
“Divert it how?”
I recalled our findings around the stream and the ensuing discussion. Kit had strategized, but we’d been talking for hours, and by the time we climbed up the mountain to find the little stream, I’d been half-asleep on my feet.
Still, I remembered enough of the plan to know the general gist.
“Lots of rocks.”
Rosie frowned. “You’re going to need help for that. More than one or two people.”
I nodded. Kit couldn’t be the only strong man in our group this time. My lumbering muscles weren’t anywhere near ready to spend a whole night rolling boulders.
“I think we’ll need everyone,” I said.
A spark lit Rosie’s warm brown eyes. “Do you want me to spread the word?”
“If you would. We’re waiting a few days, and it’ll have to be done at night. We can’t afford to be at it till dawn again. Can’t afford to get caught.”
Her smile faded. Concern swept in to soften the corners of her mouth and tighten her brow. “Penny, be careful. I know you’re aware of the risks, but if Merrick finds out you’re sabotaging things…”
“He won’t kill me, Rosie,” I said—too fast, too sure. Like I was trying to convince us both. “Merrick needs me alive. To manipulate Kit, if nothing else. I hate it, but if he’s determined to use me, I can use that too.”
She didn’t look convinced. “If you say so…”
“I just did.” I tried to lighten the moment, injecting a little grin to go with it. “Now, how much longer on the strudel?”
She laughed and gave me a light swat on the arm. “A while! Come and sit down. We can visit some more while it bakes, then you can take some home to Kit.”
The kitchen’s warmth followed us as we moved to the table, the scent of cherries thick in the air.
I sank into an open chair, letting the creak of the old wood anchor me.
While the strudel baked, we talked like old friends—laughing, sharing stories, and pretending that was all we were.
Not rebels conspiring beneath the noses of tyrants, but just two people in a kitchen, safe for a little while longer.