Chapter 18 Penny
Penny
My sketchbook lay open across one knee as I sat on the couch.
Most nights, I would have started dinner by now or at least put on coffee in anticipation of Kit’s return from the smithy.
But, with his evening committed to my half-brother and his loathsome wife, I figured they could provide food and beverage for a change.
I still needed to eat, though. My stomach protested my decision to skip lunch since I’d been sulking then and ever since, indulging a foul mood over my brother managing to wreak endless havoc on my life.
I was far from home and should have been far from him, too, yet he plagued me.
From what he’d said, he seemed to feel the same.
The house was still in shambles from the Sentinels’ raid the day before, but I couldn’t be bothered to tidy up.
It felt futile. They could barge in again at any moment, for any reason, and wreck the place all over again.
The sense of safety I’d had here before was shattered.
Now, I wanted to leave and take Kit with me, go somewhere we could be together the way we should be. Unafraid. Unashamed.
When the front door opened, I busied myself with the sketch I’d started at Rosie’s house before the second Oath.
I’d thought about revisiting my drawing of Kit.
I could fill the details from memory at this point, but I didn’t want to look at him right now.
Or talk to him. Which was why, when he tugged off his boots and greeted me, I only grunted in response.
He sighed, and I watched without raising my head as he crossed through to the kitchen where I’d left the dessert he’d asked me to pick up on the dining table. He noticed it immediately and called over.
“This tart looks delicious, Pen. What flavor is it?”
“Lemon,” I replied, then smirked. “Merrick hates sour things. Probably because they remind him too much of himself. But I hope you and Violette enjoy it.”
“And you?” Kit prompted.
I scribbled another line down the edge of the page of my sketchbook, then tipped my pencil to the side to apply a bit of light shading.
“Not going,” I muttered.
Kit returned to the living area to stand with his arms crossed. “Yes, you are.”
I shook my head. “You accepted. I did not.”
“You can’t avoid this. We have to make some sort of peace.”
My jaw clenched, and I moved my pencil faster, filling what should have been a patch of gray to near black.
The lead tip rapidly blunted and, when I pushed harder, it snapped off completely.
I sat upright and swore, then closed the sketchbook and flung it and the pencil onto the coffee table.
It skidded off the other side and landed open on the dusty floor.
Kit frowned as he bent to retrieve it and set it on the table.
The gesture was not unappreciated, but I was so full of ire it couldn’t help but leak out.
“Tell them I’m sick,” I said. “Because I am. Sick of this place, its people, and its rules. I hate it here.” I bit out the words, tense all the way from my feet to my shoulders while my hands coiled into fists.
“I hate it here too,” Kit replied in a quiet voice. “And I’m relatively certain I’ll hate this dinner, but I can’t skip it and neither can you.”
He looked haggard. Shadows of exhaustion ringed his dark eyes, and his features pinched like he was in pain. Guilt nagged at me because we were still fighting, or fighting again after he’d forgiven me for kissing him the day before.
But a kiss shouldn’t require forgiveness. I should have been able to kiss Kit whenever I wanted. He was mine, after all. He even said so, or close enough. We belonged with each other.
He’d been with Levitt just now. Smoothing over the damage he claimed I’d done.
I wondered what they’d discussed or said about me.
Kit’s impetuous recruit. Brash, petty Penny.
Kissing men to prove a point. I’d said I wasn’t that sort of person, jealous and, as Kit pointed out, proprietary. But maybe I was.
My next question came out as a snipe, words that won the race against thought. “Will Levitt be joining us?”
Kit’s brow creased. “Why would he?”
I folded my arms, refusing to back down while becoming increasingly certain I should. “He’s Violette’s brother. That makes him my brother-in-law.”
Kit frowned. “Does it?”
I shrugged.
Turning toward the kitchen, Kit called over his shoulder. “I’m not sure it does. Regardless, I don’t think he’ll be there. At least, he didn’t mention it.”
The abrupt departure reminded me of his unbidden exits from the smithy earlier in the day.
He was on the retreat from the tension in the room, from this conversation, from me.
I should have let him go. Should have gone back to drawing and sulking and simmering over the dinner I was being forced to attend.
But after sitting still for a handful of seconds, hearing the water crank on and a pot fill for Kit’s evening coffee, I stood and ventured into the adjoining room.
My entry drew Kit’s notice, and his pleasant expression strained. “What is it, Pen?”
I set my stance. “What did you talk to him about?”
“Levitt?”
“Who else?” I retorted. “Did you tell him about us?”
Kit nodded as he set the kettle on the stove, then checked the fire below.
“I did,” he replied.
I crept forward to stand at the counter beside him. “What did he say?” I asked.
“He's happy that I'm happy,” Kit said slowly. “With you.”
“Oh,” I muttered, then added, “good.”
He leaned over the water, seemingly intent on watching it boil.
The liquid sat still in the pot while quiet stretched between us.
The tension that had bound me up all day—the day before, too—began to relax.
My shoulders drooped and my hands fell to my sides, swinging uselessly while I thought on what to say next.
“Did you talk about anything else?” I asked at last.
Kit shook his head, and dark curls brushed his brow. “Not much, but I did realize something.”
“What?”
Finally, he turned to face me, and his earnest expression dispelled the last of my anger. “I owe you an apology,” he said.
And I’d thought I was due to give him one. I balked. “For what?”
Kit stepped forward to close the gap between us.
He laid a hand on my arm, then slid it down to snag his fingers in mine.
That was enough in and of itself. That small connection, like a spark between us.
I wondered if he knew how much I craved his touch.
How much those little affections spoke to me, more than his words ever could.
“For accepting the dinner invitation without consulting you,” he said.
“For not telling you the poison was hemlock in the first place. For making choices for you about what I think will keep you safe. I was trying to protect you, but I think I’ve been suffocating you instead.
Stifling you. All the things I’m angry at Levitt for doing to me because he was trying to protect me, too. ”
I nodded through the list of perceived wrongs, remembering our confrontation at the frozen graveyard when I’d felt helpless.
So decidedly unsafe in a strange, unfamiliar world.
I was scared for myself, scared for Kit because of the poison, because of my brother, because of a curse I wasn’t sure I believed in.
Kit squeezed my scarred fingers, calling my focus back to the present. “The thought of this thing between us ending because I’m putting my fears onto you is… terrifying. Because I haven’t had anything this good before, either, and I don’t want to lose it. Lose you.”
His mouth pressed a tight line like he was holding back the emotion I heard clearly in his voice. It was the opposite of helpless and fearful. He sounded certain, strangely confident, and I realized I’d been craving that too.
We stood for a lingering moment with our hands clasped and eyes searching each other until I blurted out, “I love you, Kit.” Embarrassment heated my face, but I barreled on despite it. “I think I have for a while now.”
Kit’s brows arched, and his lips turned up in a gentle smile. Not surprised like he had been when I kissed him. Not dismayed, which I may have fleetingly feared. He looked almost relieved, and when he pulled me in and wrapped his arms around me, his chest sank in a long sigh.
I relaxed into him with my head tipped onto his shoulder, absorbing his warmth and inhaling the faint smell of forge fire. When I nuzzled into his neck, he chuckled, and I leaned back.
“What's funny?” I asked.
“You found a way to spite your brother with a dessert,” he said. “I thought Sayla was a firebrand, but you're a bit of one, too, aren’t you?”
The blush from earlier returned, and I met his gaze coyly. “A bit.”
“Merrick doesn’t stand a chance.” Kit gave another quiet laugh before seeming to think better of it. “Not that I’m encouraging that. I’d rather you two put your differences aside for tonight, at least.”
On the stove, the water began to roll with bubbles.
My nose scrunched as he pulled away to tend to the steaming kettle. “You’re just worried I’ll ruin your dinner.”
“Our dinner.” His tone held the slightest warning.
I waved a dismissive hand. “I make no promises. Merrick gave me nothing but trouble for years growing up. Whatever he gets now is every bit his due.”
Kit retrieved the bag of coffee grounds and dipped a spoon into them while muttering, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Conversation after that was much more pleasant until Kit took his leave to wash up before our dinner engagement. I reluctantly followed suit and dressed in the new clothes I’d bought with my earnings from leatherwork. A tidy appearance would give Merrick one less thing to disparage me about.
When it came time to leave, we took a moment in the living area. I pressed into Kit with a full-bodied hug and kiss. It surprised me when he slipped an arm around my waist and came back just as enthusiastically, even opening his lips and letting me explore the warmth of his mouth.