Page 105 of Last Rites

She cleared her throat. “And after that…”

She glanced toward the Ossuary doors, ajar at the end of the hall and showing a sliver of the view outside. The townspeople were still gathered and joined by militia troops who were no doubt peppering them with questions of their own.

“What are your plans for Ashpoint?” she asked.

Kit hesitated, then gave me a nudge.

“We’d like to see Ashpoint incorporated,” I replied, readier than I should have been to answer the summons. “Recognized and made into a home for those who choose to remain here. A lot of them don’t have anywhere else to go.”

The commander pondered for a moment, then shifted in her seat and looked again toward the Ossuary doors.

“And what about the two of you?” She turned her gaze on us. “What’s your intention for yourselves?”

I pulled away from Kit and caught his eyes. They were weary and ringed with shadows, but absolutely brimming with the devotion that had never faded. He’d looked at me with that same love while the world was going dark. The adoration he’d shown that night in Stagcross when he’d tied the cord around my wrist.

I had plenty of intentions, and all of them involved him. Us. Sharing a life somewhere sunny.

38

Penny

When we finally made it home, we washed off the blood and disposed of our ruined clothing, and we sat. At the dinner table. On the sofa. In our bed. There was some talking, but not much, and neither of us slept until late into the night.

Over the next few days, Kit remained withdrawn but attentive, looking after me almost as if I were an invalid. He followed me from room to room and place to place, watching with wary eyes like he expected me to drop dead at any moment. He’d witnessed my passing once already, and it haunted him.

And things were still so quiet, and sleep a less common occurrence than either of us wanted.

When it came to Ashpoint, the militia was surprisingly helpful. The soldiers and townspeople worked in tandem to clean up the mess left by Eeus’s judgment and bury the bodies. Kit and I stayed long enough to witness the somber ceremony, then made our plans to leave. Rosie intended to join us to arrange things in Forstford ahead of her parents, who would follow after us sometime in the next month.

Rosie’s father dropped off some old wooden boxes he had to spare so we wouldn’t have to throw everything into burlap sacks. Though, there wasn’t much to pack, considering we came here with almost nothing.

Mostly, it was my important things: the hand-carved mixing bowl, spoons, and rolling pin from the kitchen; the rabbit fur-lined cloak, leather gloves, and the old scarf Margot gave me from the bedroom; and every tiny treasure I’d turned into my altar to Eeus from the spare room. Each one of them a memory I wanted to preserve. Reminders that there were bright moments even when everything felt dark.

Aside from his clothes, all Kit cared about keeping from the cottage were the dozens of my sketches and drawings he’d tacked up on every wall he could. I watched him while he took each one down, careful not to tear the corners or crinkle the edges, and tucked them neatly inside the cover of my sketchbook for safekeeping until we got home.

It was strange to think that soon, this cottage wouldn’t be home anymore. It would be just a part of our past. The place we built a life together against all odds. Aside from this place, there were only a few things in Ashpoint I would miss. The pecan orchard where we had our first kiss, and the smithy where Kit eased my fear of fire, and the bed we shared for the first time.

But I was ready to put this place behind us.

The morning of our departure, Rosie and her father arrived after breakfast. They brought along a cart hitched to our old plow horse, Rosie’s things tucked neatly into the back corner along with an empty crate for the kittens, and secured the reins to the post out front.

Gerald was already tearful when Kit and I stepped outside with the first of our meager belongings.

As the four of us ferried boxes and bags to the cart and loaded the kittens into the crate, Rosie finally explained what happened in Forstford after I left. The ward commander had been furious to find me missing. Apparently, it was only thanks to Ben that the militia had pursued my claims about Ashpoint at all. I had been dismissed as a troublemaker or a madman. Or both.

By the time we loaded up the last box, we had amassed a small crowd of friends waiting to say their goodbyes. Rosie’s mother was among them, and both she and Gerald gathered Rosie up in a crushing embrace while Kit and I faced everyone else. As we cycled through everyone in turn, we made promises to write and accepted more food and provisions than we’d need for the entire trip.

And when we got to the end of the line, Isla looped a woven bag over my arm. The glass jars inside clinked together, but I didn’t need to look to know what it was.

“Tea and honey for when it gets cold again,” she said softly. “It won’t fix your cough, but it should help soothe it.”

“You sure you won’t come with us?” Kit asked, and her cornsilk hair swished against her shoulders when she shook her head.

“Ashpoint needs an herbalist, and I’m the only one left. Besides…” Her smile was bright and, for the first time since I met her, unhindered. “This is home.”

She slid her arms around my neck and hugged me, then did the same to Kit. His embrace was tight enough to make her squeak. Her fingers dug into his back in turn.

“Thank you,” Kit mumbled against her shoulder. “For Forstford. For everything.”