38. Penny
Penny
When we finally made it home, we washed off the blood and disposed of our ruined clothing, and we sat. At the dinner table. On the sofa. In our bed. There was some talking, but not much, and neither of us slept until late into the night.
Over the next few days, Kit remained withdrawn but attentive, looking after me almost as if I were an invalid. He followed me from room to room and place to place, watching with wary eyes like he expected me to drop dead at any moment. He’d witnessed my passing once already, and it haunted him.
And things were still so quiet, and sleep a less common occurrence than either of us wanted.
When it came to Ashpoint, the militia was surprisingly helpful.
The soldiers and townspeople worked in tandem to clean up the mess left by Eeus’s judgment and bury the bodies.
Kit and I stayed long enough to witness the somber ceremony, then made our plans to leave.
Rosie intended to join us to arrange things in Forstford ahead of her parents, who would follow after us sometime in the next month.
Rosie’s father dropped off some old wooden boxes he had to spare so we wouldn’t have to throw everything into burlap sacks. Though, there wasn’t much to pack, considering we came here with almost nothing.
Mostly, it was my important things: the hand-carved mixing bowl, spoons, and rolling pin from the kitchen; the rabbit fur-lined cloak, leather gloves, and the old scarf Margot gave me from the bedroom; and every tiny treasure I’d turned into my altar to Eeus from the spare room.
Each one of them a memory I wanted to preserve.
Reminders that there were bright moments even when everything felt dark.
Aside from his clothes, all Kit cared about keeping from the cottage were the dozens of my sketches and drawings he’d tacked up on every wall he could.
I watched him while he took each one down, careful not to tear the corners or crinkle the edges, and tucked them neatly inside the cover of my sketchbook for safekeeping until we got home.
It was strange to think that soon, this cottage wouldn’t be home anymore.
It would be just a part of our past. The place we built a life together against all odds.
Aside from this place, there were only a few things in Ashpoint I would miss.
The pecan orchard where we had our first kiss, and the smithy where Kit eased my fear of fire, and the bed we shared for the first time.
But I was ready to put this place behind us.
The morning of our departure, Rosie and her father arrived after breakfast. They brought along a cart hitched to our old plow horse, Rosie’s things tucked neatly into the back corner along with an empty crate for the kittens, and secured the reins to the post out front.
Gerald was already tearful when Kit and I stepped outside with the first of our meager belongings.
As the four of us ferried boxes and bags to the cart and loaded the kittens into the crate, Rosie finally explained what happened in Forstford after I left.
The ward commander had been furious to find me missing.
Apparently, it was only thanks to Ben that the militia had pursued my claims about Ashpoint at all.
I had been dismissed as a troublemaker or a madman. Or both.
By the time we loaded up the last box, we had amassed a small crowd of friends waiting to say their goodbyes.
Rosie’s mother was among them, and both she and Gerald gathered Rosie up in a crushing embrace while Kit and I faced everyone else.
As we cycled through everyone in turn, we made promises to write and accepted more food and provisions than we’d need for the entire trip.
And when we got to the end of the line, Isla looped a woven bag over my arm. The glass jars inside clinked together, but I didn’t need to look to know what it was.
“Tea and honey for when it gets cold again,” she said softly. “It won’t fix your cough, but it should help soothe it.”
“You sure you won’t come with us?” Kit asked, and her cornsilk hair swished against her shoulders when she shook her head.
“Ashpoint needs an herbalist, and I’m the only one left. Besides…” Her smile was bright and, for the first time since I met her, unhindered. “This is home.”
She slid her arms around my neck and hugged me, then did the same to Kit. His embrace was tight enough to make her squeak. Her fingers dug into his back in turn.
“Thank you,” Kit mumbled against her shoulder. “For Forstford. For everything.”
She gave a tearful chuckle. “I should be the one thanking you.” Her head tilted enough to catch my eyes. “Both of you.”
When she finally stepped back, she scrubbed the heel of her hand over her cheeks to dry them while she made room for Rosie’s parents to close in on us next.
“Be careful,” her mother told me as she gave me a squeeze.
Her father clasped Kit’s hand tight. “And take care of our daughter until we get there.”
“She can take care of herself,” Kit said through a smile, “but we’ll keep an eye on her.”
The Saunders traded places, said their last goodbyes, and then Kit, Rosie, and I climbed up into the cart.
Kit clicked his tongue, and we were off, waving until our friends were all out of sight.
It was surreal to leave for the last time. Watching Ashpoint’s gates shrinking into the distance as we rode out felt like the realization of a dream. I hadn’t noticed how much the town had begun to feel like a prison, long before Merrick put me in chains.
The day and a half it took us to get to Wendwood was uneventful.
More often than not, Rosie teased Nutmeg with a piece of string through the bars of the crate when Kit plucked Ember from within to curl around his neck.
He didn’t sit quite so tense with her purring in his ear, which left me free to join Rosie in the back so I could sketch.
When we finally passed by the mission building outside of town, still under construction after the fire, the sight turned my stomach.
There was still so much to do.
The mission itself was serviceable enough, with walls and a roof in place, so we stopped there first. Most of the supplies we brought were intended for the town.
Repayment for what we stole during the fourth Oath.
Rosie waited with the cart and the kittens as Kit and I went in with armloads of food and seeds with the hopes the Symbiarch would be happy enough to see us.
The place still smelled faintly of smoke, and that alone was enough to make me want to turn tail, but Kit held the hem of my shirt while struggling to balance his share of the goods, so I couldn’t very well dash out.
We’d barely made it into the hollow shell of the building when Sybil came into view. The structure was similar enough to the original design that I assumed she had been in her living quarters. Her neutral expression became cheerier the moment she recognized us.
“Penny,” she said. “And Kit. Welcome back. What brings you back to Wendwood?”
I jostled the supplies piled in my grasp. It wasn’t nearly enough to replenish their stores, but it was a start. “We owed you this. And our thanks once more. Your advice proved invaluable.”
She smiled, deepening the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “Well, that is very generous.” She guided us to the back of the room where there was a simple table, and we heaped the supplies on top of it.
Once we were unburdened, I was eager to ask if she’d seen or heard about my mother and sister coming to town, but her question came first.
“What advice of mine was helpful to you?”
“About the gods,” I replied. “The rites.” Thickness clogged my throat, and I swallowed past it before concluding, “I think you saved my life.”
“Both of our lives,” Kit agreed in a low voice.
I’d explained it so many times in recent days, told this story time and again until it had become practiced. I shared it with Sybil, as much as felt prudent.
She didn’t seem as stunned as I expected.
If anything, she appeared so oddly satisfied that, by the end of it, I was the one confused.
Rather than speak in response, she turned toward one of the burlap sacks we’d carried in and peered inside.
Her pause gave me time to think, and eventually, realization dawned.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
Her thin lips curved, and my mind raced.
“But how? We didn’t tell you…?”
“I had an inkling.” Her eyes twinkled with mirth. “Enough to assume who you were and what you were trying to do. And I had faith.”
I was still slack-jawed but not too stunned to ask, “Faith in Paneus?”
“In you,” she replied, and my face flushed. Her expression softened as she glanced at Kit and added, “In both of you.”
In my retelling, I’d only touched on how much her encouragement meant and how far it had carried me. Hers were the words on my mind when I met Paneus, right before I saw my father’s soul set free.
“Thank you.” I breathed the words, unable to think of anything else to express the feeling swelling inside me.
“I’m glad to have helped guide you in the right direction,” Sybil said, “and to see you safe and well now.”
I hadn’t gone into depth about the sacrifice.
It was difficult to explain, and painful for Kit to recall.
I knew from the way I found him when I woke, and from the new scar on his chest, that he, too, had suffered.
Isla told me he died along with me—buried a knife in his own heart—but Kit himself had offered no explanation.
He would tell me eventually, when he was ready.
Sybil returned to sifting through the goods we brought, which invited a welcome change in topic.
“About the supplies,” I began. “We can bring more, after fall harvest. I own a farm…” I frowned. “Well, I used to own a farm. Now it belongs to my sister and her intended. They’re… I hope…”
“Have you seen them, by chance?” Kit cut in.
Sybil glanced at him, then me. “Your sister?”
“Any of them,” Kit continued in my stead. “Has there been anyone new to town? Visitors? People seeking refuge?”