Chapter 19 #2
Kit had a way of making me feel valuable.
Capable. More than I’d ever felt at home in Eastcliff with Merrick doling out criticism, or when I managed to sabotage myself at every turn.
I wasn’t cut out for farm work. Not cut out for much at all, and trouble trailed behind me.
Kit had almost convinced me differently, but those fears lurked.
Worries that I ruined everything I touched, and that maybe I’d ruin this, too.
I chewed my lip for a moment before I worked up the nerve to ask, “This is what you wanted though, isn’t it, Kit?”
He still had his hand in my hair, tucking it behind my ear, then pinning it there.
“It is… I think.”
My face must have fallen because Kit tagged on quickly.
“I’m sorry, it’s just a lot. I thought I was ready, but clearly I wasn’t.” His chest swelled with a deep breath. “I’ve never been good with people. But you are, and you’ve done wonderfully so far. Keep going. I’m right behind you.”
It was the nearest thing to a dismissal, albeit an encouraging one, and I accepted it with a shaky smile. I wasn’t ready for this, but there were no other options. I kept hold of his hand and returned to the living room, where everyone fell quiet at our reappearance.
Eight pairs of eyes shifted between Kit and me, waiting to see who would speak.
Kit took his position at my side. He brushed his thumb across my knuckles as I cleared my throat.
“Thank you all for coming,” I began, “and welcome. Kit and I are so glad to have found a group of likeminded people. It gives us so much hope for the future of Ashpoint, and for the world.”
Gradually, the divided attention became focused. Both families hung on the speech I had not prepared and didn’t fully know how to carry out. But, in most things, honesty was as good a starting point as any, so I began with that.
I told them about my father and about Merrick.
Then, how I found Kit and begged him to bring me here, to spare my family the curse that Sybil told me was a lie.
I smiled to myself about the other things the Symbiarch had told me, and squeezed Kit’s hand a little harder as I thought of Eeus and Paneus not as faceless, distant gods, but as lovers.
Halves of a larger whole. Better together than apart.
I explained the truth of the ritual the Bone Men were trying to pervert, touching on its truer, purer purpose. And Eeus’ nature as a god who fostered balance and community in support of Paneus’ creation.
Thoma had said something similar when he explained why he came to Ashpoint in the first place, that he was lost and looking for a new home and a place to belong. So, I shouldn’t have been surprised when he piped up.
“No one should have to die to find community.” His voice was severe, and there were tears lining his warm, brown eyes.
Reimond’s mother, who had not left his side since their arrival, hooked her arm around his shoulders. They turned toward each other, embracing in a sudden fit of sobs.
Somber quiet dominated the room, leaving me uncertain how my words had been received. I scanned the small crowd, and my heart beat faster until I found Rosie and fixed her with what must have been an imploring look.
She had perched on the arm of the sofa, and my attention prompted her to stand.
“It doesn’t match up,” she declared. “We’ve been lied to.
Forced to undertake dangerous, even deadly Oaths, and make sacrifices in the name of a distorted image of our god.
This isn’t what any of us came to find.” She motioned to me.
“What Penny’s saying sounds like what I was told growing up.
What I think this place should stand for. ”
Kit’s hand tightened this time. He must have felt my excitement, or maybe my relief, as both sets of parents began to nod.
“Things need to change,” Reimond’s father said. “If sending our children to slaughter is truly the will of a god, then that is not a god I’m interested in serving.”
“But this”—Rosie’s mother gestured to me—“is good. It can be good. We can change things with enough support.”
“Kit’s planning to usurp Merrick as Shroud Warden,” I announced.
I could feel my confidence returning in a surge of tingling energy.
“He already has Levitt’s ear, and then he’ll have the power to put our plan into action.
With our backing, he’ll be able to sway things in our favor.
Toward good. Toward change. And justice for all those we’ve lost.”
I shifted sideways, bumping into Kit in an affectionate gesture that nearly knocked him off balance. His foot hit the floor hard, setting his stance, and I glanced over to find him less than half as pleased as I thought he would be. If anything, he looked angry as he surveyed our guests with scorn.
I started to ask him what was wrong, but Reimond’s mother beat me to speaking.
“It’s all very nice,” she said between sniffles. “But too late, I’m afraid. I’d much rather have my son back than seek justice for his death.”
Kit’s fingertips pressed into the back of my hand. I could feel his nails almost digging in, and the nearly-healed cuts on my palm ached.
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” he asked, his voice startlingly sharp. “Perhaps someone should have done something long ago, but they didn’t. So, I suppose we’ll all have to make do with this.”
As suddenly as he’d spoken, he pulled free of me.
“Kit?” I reached for him, but he stepped back.
“It could have been stopped, you know.” His ire went first to Reimond’s grief-stricken mother, then spread wider.
No one was spared as he continued. “Any one of you could have spoken out while this place wreaked havoc on other families, ruined other lives. But those didn’t matter because they weren’t your losses. Not your children. Not your concern.”
Slack-jawed stares answered him, mine included.
From the start, I had misread this entire thing. Going so far as to ignore what Kit all but plainly said. He was upset, yes, but also hurt. I saw it in the pinch of his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. It may have looked like anger, but it stemmed from a deeper wound.
No one responded before Kit muttered, “You’ll have to excuse me. I have an early day in the forge tomorrow. Need to get some rest.”
He turned away, and I took a step after him.
“Kit—"
He spun to face me, holding up both hands. Not in surrender, rather in refusal, putting distance between us.
“They’re your people, Pen,” he said. “You should be with them.”
But I want to be with you, I thought, almost insisted. Because I used to be a follower, ever eager to tag after him. But now I was a leader. I had to be.
Kit left in a rush, disappearing down the hall and to our bedroom where I heard the door open and snap shut.
His departure left a void in the room, and a silence that kept swelling until Reimond’s mother babbled belated apologies. She hadn’t meant offense; she was just grieving. It seemed we all were.
The food had gone nearly forgotten keeping warm in the oven, and I was grateful when Rosie reminded us of it. I didn’t move from the spot where Kit left me, staying put as the others gradually rose and filed into the kitchen to make their plates.
A few offered to go, but Rosie insisted it was too much food to waste, and surely, they were hungry.
She really did remind me of Sayla. Though the youngest of us, my sister had been the putty that held the family together.
She certainly held me together sometimes, and Rosie was doing that job now, taking over as hostess without even being asked.
Once everyone was settled, I joined them at the table.
Dinner conversation was largely benign. Chatter about the weather and the warm season ahead, compliments on the meal, questions about the arrival of supplies and food to sustain the town through the last of winter.
I was fairly certain everyone ate quickly.
The atmosphere was awkward despite Rosie and Thoma’s efforts to keep things congenial, and I remained tense and worried, casting glances toward our closed bedroom door and convinced Kit was not sleeping as he’d claimed.
Even if he was tired, he wouldn’t rest with the house packed with strangers, and he didn’t sleep well without me beside him.
I managed to recover myself in time to see everyone out and bid them goodnight without promising a repeat gathering.
Rosie and Thoma both hugged me goodbye, and Rosie pecked a kiss on my cheek before they took their leave.
The door was barely closed and locked behind them before I turned and scurried down the hall to our bedroom.
On the off chance Kit had managed to doze, I pushed the door open a crack. Ember and Nutmeg barreled out and skittered between my ankles, eager to explore the house now that our company had departed.
Inside, the fireplace was lit and Kit was on his feet before it with his arms crossed, still fully dressed.
I slid inside, softening my steps as I padded up behind him and snugged my arms around his waist, clasping them over the buckle of his belt.
He was only a few inches taller than me, but I couldn’t quite hang my head over his shoulder, so I turned it aside instead, resting it against his back and feeling the subtle swell of his chest as he drew a deep breath.
“Made an ass of myself,” he grumbled. It wasn’t the kind of statement that merited a reply, so I kept quiet until he added, “Didn’t embarrass you too badly, I hope.”
“No.”
He sighed again. “Good.”
Covering my hands with his, he pulled them apart then turned so we were facing each other. Sorrow made his face droop, and he looked weary. Not tired, though I was sure his day in the smithy had taxed him. This was a pervasive exhaustion, stemming more from the soul than the body.
I pulled him to me as I moved backward. In only a handful of steps, my legs hit the edge of our bed, and I dropped onto it, still tugging on Kit’s arm.
I scooted until my back was against the wooden headboard.
He tried to sit beside me, but that wasn’t what I wanted.
It wasn’t what he needed. So, I blocked his dodge and pulled again until he got the idea.
His lips quirked in a sheepish sort of smile as he lowered himself in front of me with my legs tucked around him.
He was stiff, I assumed uncomfortable at the reversal of our usual positions.
I rarely hesitated to crawl on top of him whether sitting or lying down, but he seemed to think of me as some delicate flower that might be crushed if I bore his weight.
He wasn’t that big, and I wasn’t that fragile.
Given a bit more encouragement, he gradually relaxed, leaning into my chest until we were both reclined against the headboard and he was fully enveloped in my arms.
I nosed into his hair and ghosted my lips over his brow, taking in the feel of him. His warmth, his smell, and his presence that had become a constant comfort. I reveled in the chance to comfort him this time, and I held him in quiet until he was ready to speak.
“It’s not their fault,” he said softly. “The problem has always been me.”
I frowned in protest as Kit carried on.
“I’m trying to be better about trusting them. Convincing myself not everyone is like my father. He deceived plenty of people here. He deceived me for a long time…”
He paused for a breath that eased in, then out, deep and long, and his arms looped around my ribs, pulling us even closer together.
“I know if we want to have allies,” he said, “if we want to change this place, we have to work together. I’m not good at that. I’m better at being alone.”
“You’re not alone, Kit,” I assured him. I was here. I would always be here with him. For him. I would have told him that, too, but he was already nodding because he knew.
“No. Not anymore, and I don’t want to be.” He kissed my temple, then laid his head on my shoulder while heaving another sigh. “They seem like good people. I’m glad you brought them here. It just… hurt. More than I thought it would.”
His fingers dug into my side, and I nuzzled into his hair again, letting my breaths ruffle his soft curls.
“What did?”
“The fact that they cared?” Kit huffed an unhappy laugh. “They’re doing this for their children. For Reimond and Rosie. They want to change the world, to make it better for their kids. My father only ever made things worse for me.”
My thoughts traveled back to shortly after I met Kit, when he’d showed me his father’s journals and I’d first read some of the things the former cult leader had penned about his life and his mission within the Bone Men.
In all the pages of text I’d seen over the weeks that followed, one sentiment had stood out above the rest.
I will not allow Kit to grow in a world that hides him away from pain. No son of mine will be spared the suffering that forges a boy into a man.
It felt backwards. The greatest suffering of my life had occurred after the barn fire and, as guilty as I’d felt about my part in the incident, I felt even worse seeing how my mother and father worried and fretted over Sayla and me.
They were nearly as ruined as all our winter stores.
Devastated that their children had been maimed, nearly killed.
I never doubted my parents would spare me any discomfort they could.
Imagining them throwing me into another kind of fire, hoping I would emerge stronger for the experience, was haunting.
It was also the farthest thing from my understanding of love, and made sense of Kit’s penchant for solitude. Better to be alone than in the company of someone who didn’t love you, and I was suddenly very certain that Vaughn Koesters never loved his son.
Kit was going limp against me, exhausted from work and the incidental clash with our growing resistance. I gathered him up as best I could and held on tight.
“I love you, Kit,” I whispered, as much a statement of fact as a balm for the wounds that had been opened long ago. Then I repeated it, needing him to be as sure as he could be that, while Reimond and Rosie’s family were fighting for their children, I was fighting for him.
I would change the world until he felt safe in it.
Until he felt loved.