Page 103 of Last Rites

His hands roamed over me like mine had him. Tentative at first, across my belly and over my ribs, mingling his blood and mine. When he didn’t quickly find the injuries he sought, he yanked up the hem of my shirt to expose my middle. I looked down while he stared at the new jagged scar across my stomach, and the second further up that was a twin to his own. They were both stained with red, but I could easily see the extent of the damage Merrick had done to me, healed over by the mercy of the gods.

I stood, still and speechless, as Kit traced the scars with trembling hands.

He looked so sad.

I could barely think but to grab his hands and pull them away from it all, letting my shirt hem fall and hide the evidence of an event we weren’t yet prepared to face. I clasped his hands in mine, our skin sticking together as we jointly scanned the small crowd of survivors.

A few dozen people remained, watching, wide-eyed and stricken. A cursory glance informed me the members of our resistance were among those left alive, including Isla, who broke the silence before it became crushing.

“What just happened?” she asked.

My gaze strayed to Merrick again, torn between feelings of disbelief and bone-deep sorrow.

“It’s over,” Kit murmured from beside me. “Eeus has come and gone.”

“And Paneus with him,” I added.

Kit didn’t release me, but he did turn and glance at the remnants of the Vessel piled on the floor. He hated working here, building that abomination, and I was fairly sure he didn’t want to be here now. I didn’t. A night of imprisonment in these depths had made it unbearable even before it was my temporary grave.

Kit would want to clean it up, bury the bodies; I wanted to close it off. Fill it with rocks and forget it was ever here. Entomb every memory of what had happened. For now, I would settle for getting away from it.

I tugged on Kit’s hand, drawing his notice. “Can we go, too?” I asked.

He seemed distant still, but he would never deny me, and certainly not now.

“Of course.”

Further questions passed as whispers among our friends and neighbors as we began a slow trudge toward the mouth of the cavern and fresh air.

The daylight outside blinded me. I squinted against it at where the wall separating the caves from the rest of Ashpoint had been partially dismantled, the new opening creating a passage back toward town. I was glad not to need to squeeze back through the tunnel to the Ossuary to get there.

It still took time to walk the long path back to Ashpoint proper. By the time we made it to the square and the smithy, Kit and I were both a bit unsteady, burdened with new scars both physical and emotional. He drew me to a stop to let the others continue on without us.

We hung back, leaning on each other as I found my home in Kit’s arms. Most of our resistance members lingered, too, but the other residents filed past. They crossed the square in an uneven line, then split off in family groups, winding gradually out of sight toward their homes. It was as somber and silent as a funeral march. We had succeeded in our mission to stop the Bone Men, but our win had not come without a price.

“I saw Father,” I murmured after several long moments had passed.

Kit made a surprised sound, and I smiled ruefully against his shoulder.

“We saved him after all.”

“And the rest of the world with him,” Kit replied.

The gentle, repetitive pass of his hand over my back lulled me into quiet until the sounds of distant shouting shattered the fragile peace.

Voices boomed and clamored, and Kit went instantly rigid. He snagged my hand and led me and our group toward the commotion near the Ossuary.

My head swiveled around, taking in the chaotic scene playing out in the streets around the square. Men on horseback like the ones who had descended on Forstford were closing in from the side streets, corralling the citizens back into the square and into an uneasy cluster.

Kit and I had barely stopped moving before I spotted the ward commander who’d held me gagged and bound in Forstford’s tavern. So, these were the same militia soldiers as before. They’d come after all, but they’d come too late. Just like I warned them they would.

The commander noticed me half a second later and steered her mount toward us. I turned my body to form a barrier between her and Kit, taking a defensive posture he protested by clapping his hand on my shoulder and pulling me back until my spine was flush against his chest. The resistance members closed ranks around us, flanking us on either side.

The horse and commander skidded to a stop on the cobbles, towering over us all.

“What’s going on here?” she barked. “I demand to speak to the person in charge.”

Heads swiveled our way, not only from the resistance members, but from our neighbors gathered behind the commander, too. When enough pairs of wide eyes fixed on Kit, she gave him her attention as well.