29. Penny
Penny
Iwoke to Rosie’s shake and rough whisper, followed by a point at the empty bedroll next to mine.
Kit was gone. He’d forbidden us from making any more plans, but clearly that rule didn’t apply to him. Of course, I’d decided the same when I’d paid the messenger to get a warning to Forstford, so it seemed we were equally matched in our pigheadedness.
Whether that was a strength or a flaw remained to be seen, and I didn’t have the time to consider it as I scrambled to standing and cast about the camp.
The guards were asleep. All of them. From across the way, perched in the center of her bedroll, Isla looked over at us, her face pale and eyes owlish. Unsurprised.
She knew where Kit had gone, but of course, so did I.
My head swung toward where Forstford lay beyond the trees. Rosie stood beside me and did the same.
My heart thrummed as I glanced back at Isla once more.
I wouldn’t wait for her, but if she wanted to come, I wouldn’t stop her.
It may not have been safe for her to linger here with the dozing guards.
It could be disastrous if they woke before we returned, and she would be left to bear the brunt of the consequences.
In answer to my questioning look, she shook her head and remained in place, lording over a small pile of crossbows before her that I assumed she’d stripped from the guards.
Rosie pulled on my elbow, though I hardly needed encouragement to move. Wherever Kit was, that was where I belonged.
I would follow him anywhere.
We took off without a word exchanged, hugging the tree line so we could blend into the shadows.
Fear clenched at my chest, making my breaths rattle and strain.
I didn’t dare glance at Rosie, but she must have heard, or maybe my panic was evident in the furrows of my brow, because she slipped a hand out and caught one of mine.
It was awkward to jog hand in hand, but I held on desperately with my gaze fixed ahead.
The town was quiet and empty.
It would have been suspicious if I didn’t know why. Instead, I felt a flutter of joy knowing my efforts had paid off. The message was delivered, and the people were saved. But I couldn’t truly celebrate until I knew that my people were safe, too.
Winding down lanes and rows of houses found them blessedly abandoned. Even the few horse stalls we passed were evacuated.
Hot tears of relief blurred my vision and slipped down my cheeks before I scrubbed them away on my sleeve, never loosening my grip on Rosie’s hand.
In the eerie quiet, the sudden rattle of a fist knocking on a door was as loud as a thunderclap.
Rosie and I whipped around the edge of an abandoned stall for cover, and my heart nearly tore itself from my chest. With dark curls, broad shoulders, and the profile I’d spent months studying and sketching, it was undeniably Kit.
I must have breathed his name; I surely couldn’t keep it in. But that petering cry was stymied by Rosie’s free hand clapping over my mouth as she shoved me backward so hard we both tumbled to the ground.
She landed on top of me in a jumble of elbows and knees, pinning me down in a narrow alley between shops.
I bucked, panic lending me strength, and rolled her aside. Breath rushed back into me, half a sob, half a scold, but then I heard voices from beyond the tavern.
Not Kit’s.
I froze, then lunged forward, desperate to see Kit, or better yet reach him before those voices did.
Rosie’s hand snapped around my ankle, yanking me down. Her grip was iron, unrelenting. Rage and fear tangled inside me so sharp that I thought to kick her free. Shame scorched me, but it didn’t kill the instinct.
Didn’t she understand? Kit was right there. He was in danger. He needed me.
A plaintive whine edged out of me. “Rosie…”
Her fierce gaze locked on mine.
No. Her mouth shaped the word as her braids swung with the shake of her head.
My free leg curled tight, coiled and ready. I couldn’t help it. Every muscle screamed at me to fight, to move, to do something.
Rosie’s brows crashed down. If she’d looked fearsome before, she was almost frightening now.
When she spoke this time, she did so in a hiss through gritted teeth. “Penny Oliver, if you kick me, I swear to both the gods—”
I didn’t realize we were near a door until it swung open, knocking into Rosie’s ribs and making her grunt. She released me, and we both scurried back from the large man who emerged through the darkened doorway.
I stared up at his hulking form and stony features before recognition dawned.
Ben, was it? Kit’s butcher friend. And the one I’d crashed into at the tavern not so long ago.
Rather than speak, Ben stooped and grabbed Rosie, then me. He didn’t wait for us to right ourselves before dragging us into the building and closing the door silently behind.
It wasn’t until we were sprawled on the wooden floor of the shop’s interior that I realized it was the butcher shop. That was made obvious by the tang of blood in the air, potent enough to turn my already uneasy stomach.
The dim light of the single lantern hanging outside the front window of the shop made it hard to make out Ben’s towering frame, but I followed his gesture toward the corner.
A small knot of townsfolk huddled there, barely visible, pressed tight into the shadows behind the counter with fear-pale faces.
The street outside had gone muffled, but the pull of the shopfront window was irresistible.
I crawled toward it, my palms thumping against the floorboards.
When I peeked over the sill, I craned my head to see past the bench I’d sat on last time I was here and on down the street, where I finally spotted him.
Kit, so close he could have heard me if I called.
Whatever relief I might have felt was dampened by the sight of the two people who flanked him, caging him in. All three of them marched our way, and as they drew near, I was able to identify them.
Klaus and Violette.
What were they doing here? We’d left them behind in Ashpoint.
“Penny…”
Rosie’s voice rasped from the recesses of the shop, but I didn’t so much as glance in her direction. My gaze was fixed on Kit, pinned between Klaus and Violette with his head hung low.
He wasn’t fighting. Not even twitching in resistance. The passivity in him hollowed me out and left my stomach roiling.
I bit down hard, teeth carving into my lip to keep from crying out—keep from hurling the words clawing at my throat. I wanted to curse the Sentinels, to claw Violette’s smug eyes out, to fling insults like stones.
But the small, terrified flock of civilians crouched behind me held me in place. If I screamed, if I made myself known, I’d condemn them all. My outrage would damn more than just me.
Still, my body trembled as my fingers dug splinters from the window frame. I inched forward, peering over the sill to watch them drag Kit away.
It was a gallows walk, as plain and merciless as a noose swinging in the sun.
And I could do nothing.
Rosie’s hand settled on my shoulder, and I swallowed the urge to snarl at her. She’d kept me from enough. I wouldn’t be robbed of what little remained, this fleeting glimpse of my darling. This parting glance.
They would take him to Ashpoint. He would die. Merrick would kill him and revel in it.
No. I wouldn’t allow that. I wouldn’t cower and watch. There were only two of them, and I had… given away my knife.
Releasing the window ledge, I clenched my fists and stood to spin toward where Ben hovered. My brows dipped as I fixed my gaze on him.
“What do you use to cut the meat?” I asked him.
The big man blinked, then swung toward the back of the shop. “I have knives… a saw for bones…”
“I’ll take them.”
Ben hesitated. “Which?”
“Any. All. Anything that could kill a man.”
Rosie gasped. “Penny, you wouldn’t!”
My throat tightened, but I forced a growl through it. “I might.” My hands shook, but I curled them into fists until my nails bit my palms. “If they think they can drag Kit to his death and I’ll just sit here, they’re wrong.”
Ben’s expression hardened, then he straightened, resolute. “I’ll go with you.”
From the shadowed corner, the cluster of townsfolk stirred, voices overlapping into a statement of defiance, pledging their assistance, too.
Their eyes fixed on me—steady, afraid, determined all at once. I nodded to them, then turned back to Ben. “Everything you have, then. Quickly.”
He scrambled to the back of the shop, and when he returned, his arms were loaded with blades and tools. Some gleamed, some were dull, but all of them could hurt, and that was enough.
I reached for the big, square cleaver, the kind made for splitting joints and bone. I tested its weight, my pulse quickening, then glanced at Rosie. She stood slightly back, cheeks pale and lips pressed together.
My question must have been clear enough on my face, because she nodded before I even got a word out.
She stepped forward and took a serrated blade from Ben and turned it over in her hands.
The growing distance between Kit and me wouldn’t let me stall for long.
Ben had dragged us in through the side door, but I planned to go out through the front.
Barge into the street and call Klaus and Violette down.
I would make them deal with me and my small army, and if blood was spilled in the process… so be it.
Shoving the door wide, I strode out into the muggy night. My eyes locked ahead, to where Violette and Klaus were marching Kit along the road. Not far. Not yet out of reach.
I broke into a sprint, trusting the others to follow.
My breath sawed in and out, each inhale sharp as glass, each exhale a rasp.
My feet pounded the cobbles, eating the distance between us.
I had ground to make up, and I intended to barrel down on them before they could turn.
Then I would tackle them and knock Kit free of their grasp.
I wouldn’t shout. Wouldn’t alert them. Not until they were helpless to defend against it.
I was so intent on my silence that the crack of a gruff voice calling out “Halt!” seemed to splinter the air.
My legs jolted, momentum stuttering. I skidded to a stop, cleaver swinging wide as I whipped my head around.
I was alone.
Ben, Rosie, the townsfolk—my small army—were still back by the shop’s steps, a good dozen yards behind. Their weapons lay scattered in the dirt, and their hands stretched high as shadows loomed over them.
Troops on horseback.
One after another they emerged from side streets, hooves striking stone with a thunderous rhythm. They circled and closed in fast, cutting off every retreat and every chance of flight.
The air shrank in my lungs. The cleaver weighed twice as much now, slick in my palm. Ahead, Kit was pinned between Klaus and Violette. Behind, my would-be allies stood frozen under the swords of soldiers who outnumbered us ten to one.
My jaw clenched, and my heart thrashed against my ribs, urging me one way, then the other.
Kit was still in sight. If I ran now—if I hurled myself forward—there were only two to face. Klaus and Violette. Maybe I could tear Kit from their hands before they dragged him further into the dark.
But behind me, Ben, Rosie, and the others had been forced to their knees.
They were safe, weren’t they? The militia was here to help, called by my summons, answering my warning.
And yet as their banners snapped in the air and their swords glinted in the moonlight, they seemed less saviors than executioners. A hinderance, not a blessing.
They could kill us. At least Rosie and me. We wore Eeus’s mark and presumably bore his curse. I wasn’t confident I could convince them we were anything but villains.
Again, I glanced side to side, swaying with indecision.
I thought I’d made up my mind, but I didn't move before another voice shouted.
“You there! Stop where you are!”
I already was. Mired in place with one fist grasping at the air and the other wrenching around the handle of the cleaver.
“Drop your weapon!” the voice bellowed.
I saw him then, a man on horseback with short sword drawn and angled toward me as his mount trotted forward.
My muscles bunched and my face scrunched with the strain of holding everything inside. I flicked a desperate gaze once more toward the road.
Klaus and Violette had reached the distant tree line. Kit stumbled between them, still allowing himself to be led like a lamb to slaughter.
I could call for him now. Assure him I was near and that he hadn’t been forsaken. But I wasn’t confident enough of my own fate. Turning the militia on him might be another kind of death sentence.
So, I stared after the trio in retreat, watching until the darkness of the woods swallowed them whole.
Emotion swelled inside me, anger, fear, and heartache clawing over each other and straight out of my chest. I let out a wounded cry. Not words, just a hollow sound that seemed to scorch my throat as it broke free.
The cleaver slipped from my hand and struck the cobbles with a dull clank.
My arms rose, slow and shaking, fingers spread to show I carried nothing else as the horseman bore down.
Then, as if my very bones had broken, I dropped to my knees. Grit bit through my trousers as I knelt in miserable submission with my head tipped back enough to watch the night close over the place where Kit had vanished.