Chapter 10
Penny
We slept late the next morning, tangled up in each other and blissfully warm. I roused first and snuggled closer to Kit, pressing my face into the crook of his neck and breathing him in. I wasn’t sure what had drawn me from sleep until I heard it again: the rapping of a fist on our front door.
Rolling reluctantly away, I peered out the bedroom window and saw the pink-orange hues of dawn creeping in. We weren’t expecting anyone at all, much less someone so early.
Kit would have wanted me to wake him. He preferred to be the face presented to unwanted guests. The stern, foreboding face I’d seen when we first met. These days, I saw nothing but the softness beyond his sharp edges. It had always been there, not as carefully concealed as he probably thought.
But I’d told him I didn’t intend to live in hiding, and I meant it, so I peeled away from him and stepped out into the chilly air.
My shirt was draped over the chest of drawers, and I tugged it on before opening the door and letting the kittens bound in from the hall.
They pounced the bed and Kit’s sleeping form, and I chuckled to myself as I headed to answer the door.
I may have opened it more slowly than I meant to, more trepidatious than I’d like to admit.
And I may have drawn a deep breath, readying for a rebuke if it was Merrick.
I wasn’t supposed to confront him, but if he came to me, I would welcome the chance to vent my frustrations.
Instead, the air went stale in my lungs when I saw not one, but two guests on our stoop.
A hooded messenger, short and hunched, and Anders, as tall and broad as the trees he felled, holding a knapsack slung over his shoulder.
“Good morning?” I said, unable to keep the confusion out of my voice.
“Penny!” Anders surged forward. He caught me in a one-armed embrace that ended with a back thumping so hard it drove out a cough.
One cough turned into three when I sucked at the cold air, and I stepped back with my face tucked into my elbow, incidentally clearing the path for Anders to barge into the house.
His boots thudding across the floor and my hacking proved too much for Kit to sleep through.
He emerged from the hall shirtless with his knife in hand.
At the sight of our visitors, Kit’s countenance first paled then flushed.
I’d recovered myself enough to catch my breath and went to the rack beside the open door to grab Kit’s cloak and offer it to him.
As much as I enjoyed the view of his bare torso, I knew he’d be more comfortable—not to mention warmer—a bit more covered up.
Kit tucked the knife into the waistband of his trousers, then took the cloak and threw it around his shoulders. While he fussed with the tie closure, he stepped forward into the space between the messenger and me and cleared his throat.
“Morning. How can we help you?”
The messenger fished into the folds of their cloak to extract a folded piece of parchment. Kit took it, then shook it open to read while I crept over to look over his shoulder.
“It’s a map.” Anders supplied the answer to a question no one had asked.
I rolled my eyes toward him while the messenger explained.
“The time has come for the fourth Oath.” His voice—I could tell it was a man from his deep intonation—was a drone that made me drowsy. I could have counted on Kit to relay important details later, but it took only a sentence more before I was fully engaged.
“For this, you will venture out of Ashpoint to gather supplies to aid our cause,” the messenger continued.
“The map will lead you to a nearby town with a mission well-stocked with food goods and other necessities. You are tasked with confiscating those items and bringing them back for the glory of Eeus.”
I glanced at Kit, who stared at the paper he held in a tight fist. I wondered if he was familiar enough with the area to know which town we were being sent to, and which mission from which we would be “confiscating” things. Robbing was a better word for it.
As always, the messenger’s departure was as unceremonious as his arrival. He raised his hand in some sort of salute and bid us luck, then turned and headed down the lane.
Kit folded the paper, then moved forward to shove the door closed. Good thing, because the house was frigid with our fires gone out and the winter wind whipping through. I hugged my arms around myself as Kit turned on Anders.
“We’ll need time to pack,” Kit said, a subtle nudge at sending our visitor on his way, but Anders shrugged.
“I was ready last night,” he replied. “The others won’t be leaving till tomorrow. I figured we could get an early start.”
Anders looked at the couch, and I imagined he was planning to plant himself there while we flurried about, trying to eat, dress, and load our bags while he lounged. The thought made my lip curl.
Kit lingered in place, glancing between Anders and me, then finally dropping his eyes to the map. While he debated, Anders did indeed go and flop down on our sofa. He kicked his clunky boots up on the table beside my sketchbook and dropped his bag on the floor.
“Hurry up about it.” He flapped his sausage fingers toward us. “Time’s wasting.”
Kit grumbled an unhappy sound and spun toward the bedroom. I tailed after him, dodging Ember and Nutmeg as they went to scope out what had caused the commotion in the living area.
Inside the bedroom, Kit shucked his cloak and pulled the knife out of his waistband. He set the weapon on the dresser top, then slung open the top drawer to begin rooting around while I hung back.
The kittens came skittering in, clearly alarmed at the realization we still had a visitor.
Ember went straight under the bed, but Nutmeg bumped into my ankle.
I bent and scooped her up, holding her on her back in my arm while I watched Kit yank garments out of the dresser and pile them on our mattress.
Backing up a few steps, I pushed our door shut before asking, “That bad, is it?”
Kit yanked a shirt over his head with a grunt.
He’d tossed the map on the bed, too, and I ventured forward to pick it up. Balancing Nutmeg, I unfolded the page again and scrutinized the drawing of trees and towns we would be bypassing on our way to… I saw it, then, scribbled near the bottom: Wendwood.
“The gall of that man,” Kit muttered. “He could’ve waited till tomorrow like all the others. Gods know I’m in no rush to be trapped in a cart with him.”
“He said he wanted to get an early start.”
Kit snorted. “All the better for an early finish, then. How did he even know ahead of time to have a bag packed?”
Moving to the standing wardrobe, he dug out his traveling bag and started stuffing the clothes into it. I’d seen him pack before. It was usually a fastidious task, with careful folding and rolling to make the best use of the available space. This was the opposite, and it was finished in a flash.
With that situated, he seemed to relax, heaving a breath that made his shoulders droop. He gestured to the bag slumped open on the floor.
“Think your things will fit in there?” he asked.
I nodded and let Nutmeg spring away before rounding the foot of the bed toward the dresser.
While Kit returned his knife to its sheath and strapped it to his belt, I tucked the map into my pocket, then turned my attention to the bottom drawer.
From inside, I plucked out a couple of shirts and a fresh pair of trousers.
With the clothing in hand, I turned toward Kit.
“Are we really going to do it?” I asked. “Steal from a mission?”
He backed up to sit on the edge of the mattress and braced his elbows on his knees. “I don’t see that we have another choice. Not with that idiot looking on.” He tossed his head toward the unseen living room.
I twisted my fingers in the wool fabric of the shirt in my hands. “Those are supplies for the town, Kit. The people there need those things to get through till spring—”
“I’m well aware,” Kit interjected. His voice was muffled.
When I looked over at him, he sat hunched with his face cupped in his palms. I crouched before him and slid my hands from his knees up his thighs, counting on the touch to draw his notice.
Sure enough, he peered out at me. His eyelids drooped with fatigue despite the night’s rest.
“It doesn’t make you a bad man,” I told him. “None of this does.”
He hummed a low note. “Certainly doesn't make me a good one.”
Pushing up on my knees, I pecked a kiss on the exposed strip of his forehead.
“It’ll be worth it when it’s over,” I said, though I struggled to believe it. “Maybe we can repay Wendwood somehow, afterward…”
His hands slid away to reveal a weary smile. “And hope they're at least half as forgiving as you.”
I would have kissed him again but was stopped by the rap of cabinet doors closing in the kitchen.
Kit stiffened and sat up, straight-backed. “Is he making himself a meal now?”
He stood, shouldering past me on his way to the door. “Pack what you need,” he called back as he stepped into the hall. “I’ll deal with this.”
With the door left ajar in his wake, I heard a bit of the ensuing commotion. It turned out Kit could stomp through the tiny house almost as effectively as Anders when he was angry enough.
A few more cabinet doors clunked shut before a volley of voices rose from the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” Kit’s question resonated.
“Making a bit of breakfast. No good to travel on an empty stomach.”
“Didn’t you bring rations?”
“For the trip, yeah,” Anders replied. “I’m saving ‘em.”
I snickered and tucked a few undergarments into the sack, then tied it closed and hefted it over my shoulder. Navigating the hall, I entered the living room and found my sketchbook where I’d left it, but now laying open, clearly perused by our nosy guest.
With a frown, I flipped the book closed and tucked it under my arm, then looked ahead at the kitchen where Kit and Anders stood at odds.