Chapter 2
Kit
Penny joined me at the forge near lunchtime and told me about his visit with Rosie: how nice it was to reconnect, their plans to resume baking together, and her request for Penny to tool her a new coin purse.
He followed me from firepot to anvil and back, asking my opinion on pastries and desserts they wanted to try.
It was intoxicating to see him so animated after weeks of quiet fretting.
I’d gotten better at reining in my distraction at having him so close, but that day, he was something else. I scarcely accomplished anything the rest of the afternoon.
The sun was starting to dip below the rim of the valley when I shuffled him out into the market to get what he needed for dinner from the meat merchant.
“Are you sure? I could take the horseshoes to Thoma if you wanted to do the shopping,” he said, leaning back against my hands and setting his heels.
He knew me well enough to assume why I’d put the delivery off for the past few days.
Thoma was still mourning, and the last time either of us had seen him besides in passing had been the day he watched Anders strip the man he loved down to bones.
We missed Reimond, too, but that could never compare to the pain Thoma was in.
I waved off Penny's offer. “I’ll do it. I’ve been meaning to check in on him anyway. I should have gone long before this.”
Penny turned to face me, and with his body blocking the view of anyone outside the shop, slid his hands into mine. “You’re a good man, Kit,” he said, his smile soft and adoring. “I don’t know how you could have ever believed any different.”
My heart throbbed, and I squeezed his fingers.
“Tell him I said hello.” Penny stepped back and let my hands drop. “Let him know he’s always welcome to come by.”
“Of course I will.” I returned his smile as he ducked out from beneath the canopy and called after him, “I’ll see you at home.”
I made quick work of raking out the coals, then turned to the repair rack.
I tugged down the leather bag Penny had hung on the corner of it, his failed first attempt at a satchel for his sketchbook.
I swept the handful of horseshoes off their hook and into the bag before slinging it over my shoulder.
It may have been too small for the book, but it was just the right size for carting the iron shoes around town.
The bustle of the market faded behind me as I headed for the stables on the outskirts of Ashpoint.
There was no one else about, and all the paddocks were empty with the horses put up in stalls for the night.
The main barn door was barely open, and lantern light spilled out in a beam that stretched a few feet down the path.
I slipped inside and started down the line, passing slowly by Flint’s stall. Pausing, I gave him an affectionate scratch behind his jaw. He quickly tired of the attention and turned away.
Continuing along, I came to a stall with a carved wooden plaque denoting it to be Betty’s. A peek inside found her lying in the straw, her legs folded beneath her and her neck curved around Thoma where he was curled against her belly.
It felt like I was intruding on something that I shouldn’t. This was part of why I hadn’t visited yet; maybe he wasn’t ready for company. He hadn’t come by the forge, or to the house, or sought either Penny or me out, and maybe that was because he didn’t want to.
But I also couldn’t leave him alone like this.
I lifted the latch on the stall door, and Thoma’s head jerked up. His brown eyes shone in the lantern light, and tears cut tracks through the dust on his umber skin.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked, easing the door open.
He swallowed audibly, then shook his head.
Betty lifted her muzzle to snuffle at my clothes in search of treats, and I rubbed her forehead. When she gave up on my empty pockets and rolled to lay flat on her side, I sank down cross-legged in front of Thoma.
I kept quiet while he scrubbed at his cheeks with the hem of his sleeve, and he broke the silence before I’d quite figured out what to say.
“I know why you’re here,” he said with his gaze fixed on the ground. “Checking up on me. But I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” I said softly. “And no one expects you to be.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “Don’t they, though?
It’s been weeks.” His lips twisted, and his tone was near mocking when he spoke again.
“He made the greatest sacrifice anyone can make for Eeus. I should be proud. He’ll serve a greater purpose in death than he did in life.
” His voice cracked, and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.
I leaned in to rest my hand on his arm. “You have every right to mourn, no matter what anyone else says.”
His eyelids fluttered shut. “Everyone else has already moved on,” he said softly. “It’s like he was never here. Like he was always replaceable and death didn’t matter.”
“We haven’t forgotten him.” I squeezed his arm. “His death matters to us, too. You’re not alone in this. We’ll be here whenever you need us.”
His scarce nod was acknowledgment enough.
Several moments of quiet passed before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.
“This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
I tried to tell him I didn’t want him to do this, that I fell in love with him as a shepherd, and I didn’t need him to be anything different to make me happy.
I was already happy. And now…” He sniffled and took a handful of shuddering breaths.
“I couldn’t even be there. I couldn’t hold his hand and tell him I loved him, couldn’t take care of him.
He died with no one around but Anders. And Anders is so cruel.
I know he didn’t try to help, just let Reimond suffer… ”
According to the official rules of the third Oath, no one was to interfere.
It was only done in pairs as a way to discourage attempts at cheating—though I doubted they anticipated how that could also work against them in situations like mine.
That didn’t mean that no one ever at least tried to keep their partner comfortable when they were able, but as far as I knew, no one ever helped.
More often than not, both parties would be too sick to do anything but wallow in their own misery until it was over.
Still, knowing Reimond’s last moments had been spent with Anders instead of Thoma, I understood Thoma’s regret.
To lose the man he intended to spend the rest of his life with to something so unnecessary and to have missed out on one last chance to tell him how much he was loved was a pain I could never touch and never wanted to experience.
The urge to leave, to go home to Penny and tell him again how much I loved him, flared up suddenly and left me feeling breathless. It was all I could do to push it back down when Thoma continued.
“If I’d been there, maybe I could have done something. Maybe I could have saved him. I don’t even know what he went through. How long it took to—” He choked on his words and sank forward, hiding his face behind his hands. His shoulders shook.
I scooted through the straw to settle beside him. When I stretched my arm across his back, he turned into the offered comfort and tucked himself against my side.
For as often as I found myself comforting Penny, I wasn’t used to being someone that people sought solace in. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with someone else. I considered him a friend, but Thoma was still a veritable stranger.
But I knew some of this grief. I was no stranger to death or loss, though I recognized that losing a father figure would never be the same as losing a lover. Still, I’d dealt with my grief alone. I wouldn’t leave Thoma do the same.
I curled my arm around his shoulders, and he sniffled again.
“Penny was lucky,” he said, his words thick with tears. “He had you there to take care of him.”
Guilt stirred up a sick feeling in my gut.
I’d broken the rules to save Penny, but Reimond didn’t get that luxury.
Knowing Anders—especially how he’d taunted Thoma with Reimond’s disembodied heart at the skinning—he took pleasure in watching his fellow initiate writhe in agony until he succumbed to the poison.
“Penny almost died,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t wish having to witness that suffering on my worst enemy.
Not when there’s nothing you can do to help.
” The image of Penny seizing on the kitchen floor rose up in my mind like a phantom.
Despite knowing he was back at home, happy and mostly healthy and waiting for me, it was an effort to move past the memories.
I squeezed Thoma’s shoulders. “Don’t torment yourself with this. He wouldn’t want you blaming yourself. It was his choice to take his Oaths.”
“It’s cruel,” Thoma said. His vehemence was startling in the wake of his tears. “Every part of the third Oath is awful and wrong, and it’s monstrous to expect anyone to go through that.”
I’d almost said the same to Rosie’s father weeks ago. It was a sentiment we shared, but not one that was safe to voice to everyone. It shouldn’t have surprised me to hear it from Thoma. Especially not after what he’d been through.
“Be careful who you say that to,” I murmured.
He peeked up at me. His brows drew low over his dark eyes. “Do you not agree?”
“I do, but I’m afraid we’re in the minority here. I don’t want to see something happen to you because someone thinks that’s blasphemy and not objective truth.”
He straightened out from under my arm and scrubbed his palms over his face. “We’re not the only ones. There are more of us than you think.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he pushed to his feet and brushed the straw from his slacks, then offered me a hand up.
“I have to finish feeding the horses.”
I let him pull me to standing, then kept hold of his wrist when he tried to turn away.
“Want help?”
His eyes flicked from my hand to my face and then off to the side.
“I’m sure you have better things to do,” he replied.
I let go, and he curled his arm around his waist. He reminded me of Penny then, tucking into himself like he could hide his pain away.
I dipped my head to catch his gaze. “I always have time for my friends.”
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then gestured for me to follow.
I handed off the horseshoes, and we made quick work of getting the rest of the horses fed and bedded down for the night. Neither of us spoke again until Thoma blew out the lantern’s flame and ushered me out of the barn.
“Can I walk you home?” I asked as we heaved the main door closed.
Thoma glanced over, and in the brief moment before his eyes darted away from mine, I caught a glimpse of shame.
“I still haven’t—” He huffed a sigh and sagged against the barn door.
“I’m staying with Reimond’s family. I haven’t been able to…
go back home yet. I can’t be there alone.
I don’t know how to be there without him.
” His tearful laugh made my heart ache. “It was always our house. Together. Never separate. And I don’t want to go back.
Because if I do, then it’s just mine and not ours anymore, and I don’t—” His breath hitched. “I’m no good alone.”
For years, I’d thought I was meant to be alone.
I was good at it, and I was better off that way.
But Penny changed all of that. Now, the thought of living or working or sleeping alone left me with a heavy pit in my stomach.
I couldn’t fathom a future without him. To me, a house was just a house, but Penny somehow made it home.
And it had been a long time since I had a home.
Knowing where Thoma came from, the loss he’d suffered that drove him to Ashpoint, and the fact that Reimond had stepped in to fill that void, it was little wonder Thoma now sought out the family that was almost his.
“I’m glad you have his family still. I’m sure you’re a comfort to them right now, too.”
“I’m a burden,” he muttered. “Another mouth to feed and a reminder of what they lost.”
I’d entertained those thoughts, too, the morning of the third Oath.
In the aftermath of my promise to look after Penny’s mother and sister, I’d considered whether they would want anything to do with me.
It would be too easy for them to blame me for his death, and I couldn’t fault them for it. I would have blamed myself, too.
But our situation wasn’t Thoma’s. Reimond grew up here, and he knew perfectly well the risks he was facing when he decided to take his Oaths. Thoma hadn’t talked him into it or forced his hand. How anyone could blame him for Reimond’s death was beyond me.
I caught his arm, and his eyes met mine again. “Come have dinner with us tonight. I know Penny would be glad to see you, and you will always be welcome with us if you need someplace else to stay. We have a spare room, and it’s all yours should you have need of it.”
He chewed his lip for a moment, then managed a small, sad smile. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not up to being company tonight.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
He heaved a heavy breath, and his smile became a little more genuine. “I think I can manage tomorrow.”