23. Kit
Kit
P enny didn’t shuffle out of bed the next morning until after I’d finished cooking eggs and sausage for a late breakfast. He was miserably hungover, and he ate in grouchy silence while I plied him with coffee until he took himself off for a bath to try to perk up.
I washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen while he soaked, unable to stop our conversation the day before from looping through my head.
I’d only agreed to bring Penny with me to Ashpoint with the intention of sending him away before any of the Oaths took place.
Letting him attempt them wasn’t part of the plan.
I wasn’t sure I could handle another death on my conscience.
Without the liquid courage pumping through his veins, I hoped he would reconsider. Surely he couldn’t face down the possibility of leaving his mother and sister with no one to look after them but Merrick.
A knock at the door broke me from my thoughts.
On the front step was a messenger dressed all in black who informed me that my apprentice and I would be expected to start work at the forge within the next two days.
As much as I suspected Penny would protest heading there that afternoon, I knew a distraction would be good for both of us.
I’d barely reengaged the locks when Penny appeared in the doorway to the hall, shirtless and mopping his dripping hair with his towel.
For a moment, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his smooth, lightly muscled torso.
Water left a sheen on the tan skin that made his blond hair seem even brighter.
My mind wandered back to the feeling of his hand on my chest the day before.
The pain and sympathy on his face when he mentioned my brand and what had been done to me.
The thought of him suffering the same torture made me sick.
He’d looked afraid when he talked about them burning him, too, but I’d been so caught off guard by the whole conversation that I’d given few reassurances.
He sought the same comfort I had our first morning in Ashpoint, and I’d pushed him away.
It felt almost intimate, to have him pressed against my chest with his head tucked under my chin.
It might have been nice if he’d been sober and in his right mind…
It startled me to think I might have enjoyed it.
“Who was that?” Penny asked.
I cleared my throat and reined in my wandering thoughts. “A messenger letting us know the forge is ours. We’ll head over there in a little while.”
He made a face, then nodded and turned toward the hall.
“Penny?” My voice stopped him short, and he glanced back. “What we talked about yesterday?—”
“I feel the same.” He fixed me with a look that was equal parts fear and determination. “You said if I hadn’t changed my mind in the morning, you’d accept it. ”
I wanted to remind him that he had a family to look after and they couldn’t afford to lose him, but he disappeared down the hall and closed himself in his room before I could say anything else.
Clearly, he was done talking about it even if I wasn't. Undergoing the Oaths was a foolish decision on both of our parts, but I at least knew what I was getting myself into. I was prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice if that’s what it took to wipe the Bone Men off the map.
It would be a fitting end to my story. A punishment I fully deserved, but one he definitely didn’t.
What I wouldn’t have given for Penny to have left a little whiskey for me. A dull buzz to drown out those pervasive thoughts would have been preferable to sobriety.
I settled on the couch while I waited for Penny to get ready.
My father’s journals remained stacked beside the coffee table, and I pulled the one from the top into my lap and flipped it open to the marked page.
It was dated the year before my father’s arrest and execution.
My eyes skimmed the tail end of an entry from early autumn detailing a particularly bloody sacrifice, then settled on the next one notated as three days later.
Thirteen new initiates received their brands tonight in the second group of the year.
I don’t expect many of them to make it past the third Oath, but the Death Watch overruled my request to bar eight of them from the attempt.
They are of more value to Eeus as simple laborers, and their addition to the ranks of carefully selected acolytes dilutes our strength.
They are lesser beings and do not deserve to partake in the sacred rituals.
Those meant to serve should never be allowed to rise into positions of power, no matter how small.
O shares my sentiment, as I expected he would.
He’s one of the few who shares my vision for what the Bone Men can and should be.
In time, we will find new Sentinels to replace those who are blind to the true path to bringing Eeus down to walk among us.
The Death Watch was meant to protect us.
Instead, they hold us back. They have lost their way.
But these things take time and must be handled delicately. If a tragic accident should befall one of them, it would be highly suspicious for another to fall ill soon after. So we will bide our time and wait for the right moment to strike.
I wished it was surprising that my father plotted with his protege to murder the members of his Death Watch.
As a child I’d watched him slowly poison Hugo Morin, the Right Hand he served under as Shroud Warden, until he dropped dead in the street after a prolonged illness.
Hugo was a portly man prior to my father’s intervention, and in the end, there was nothing left of him but skin and bones.
It was a cruel and painful end for a man who had been kinder to me than my own father.
Penny reappeared in the doorway, fully clothed and with his damp hair neatly combed. When his gaze settled on the book in my lap, he grimaced. It was clear he had something to say, but he kept it to himself.
I closed the journal and set it on the tabletop. “Ready to head out?”
His eyes met mine for a moment, and I could see the worry there before he nodded and stepped into his boots.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
I followed suit and locked up behind us as we set out toward the square.
“Why couldn’t you have been an architect or a map maker?
” Penny whined as the town center came into view between rows of houses.
“Then perhaps I could justify all the time I spend drawing.” He worried his sketchbook between his hands, curling the leather cover forward and back.
The pencil tucked behind his ear pinned his hair away from his face .
“There's plenty of drawing to be done designing sheaths or carving handles,” I said.
He scuffed his boot against a clod of dirt. “What sorts of things do Bone Men want on their weaponry? Skulls? Coffins?” he suggested bitterly. “That cursed thing?”
His gesture to the brand hidden under my shirt drew my eye. I stopped and turned toward him, grabbing his arm and giving it a squeeze.
“You don’t need to be nervous. There’s ample work for you to do that has nothing to do with the forge.”
He stared down at the point of contact until I released him and broke into motion again, leading the way to the shop.
Inside, everything was familiar. Not only was it much the same as it had been when I’d worked here as a child, but it looked enough like my setup in Forstford that I felt at home.
I went straight to the charcoal piled inside the firepot and set about stuffing paper into the spaces between them before setting a match to it.
Penny remained in the doorframe, a wide-open arch that allowed light and air to spill in from the town square, as far from the fire as he could get.
I glanced back to ensure he was watching so I wouldn’t surprise him before I pumped the bellows, making the flames swell and grow. They stretched taller, putting off smoke that was sucked up the stone chimney as I fed in additional charcoal and packed it into the outer ring of the hearth.
When the forge was fully lit and the flames had died back to leave the once-black coals aglow with orange heat, I dusted my palms on my pants and moved to the wall where a leather apron and pair of gloves hung.
I tugged them on while Penny stood, hugging his sketchbook to his chest and keeping a wary eye on the smoldering firepot .
“Is there anything you want to learn?” I called over to him.
He startled from his stupor and swung his gaze around the space. He pointed to a lopsided stool in the corner and made his way toward it. “I have a knack for causing more trouble than I’m worth,” he said as he clambered onto the stiff wooden seat. “Might be best if I stay out of the way.”
“Is that something your brother said?” I shot him a narrow look, and he offered a weak smile in response.
“On that point, he and Father happened to agree,” he replied.
I closed the gap between us while fighting to undo a knot in the waist string of the apron. “Well, I don’t,” I said. “And I was serious about the sheaths and handles. It takes an artistic eye, which I sorely lack.”
I tipped my head down the wall where rolls of tanned leather were pinned behind a table. Tools poked out of wooden cups along with small chisels and files, and pots of dye cluttered one corner.
Penny eased off the stool and crossed to the assorted supplies. Standing beside them, he walked his fingers over the items. The dust and grime that covered most of them made it clear they hadn’t been used in some time.
He was thumbing across the leather when I came up behind him. He glanced at me as I finally tugged the knot free, then wound the apron strings around my waist.