Page 107 of Last Rites
“Thank you.” I breathed the words, unable to think of anything else to express the feeling swelling inside me.
“I’m glad to have helped guide you in the right direction,” Sybil said, “and to see you safe and well now.”
I hadn’t gone into depth about the sacrifice. It was difficult to explain, and painful for Kit to recall. I knew from the way I found him when I woke, and from the new scar on his chest, that he, too, had suffered. Isla told me he died along with me—buried a knife in his own heart—but Kit himself had offered no explanation. He would tell me eventually, when he was ready.
Sybil returned to sifting through the goods we brought, which invited a welcome change in topic.
“About the supplies,” I began. “We can bring more, after fall harvest. I own a farm…” I frowned. “Well, I used to own a farm. Now it belongs to my sister and her intended. They’re… I hope…”
“Have you seen them, by chance?” Kit cut in.
Sybil glanced at him, then me. “Your sister?”
“Any of them,” Kit continued in my stead. “Has there been anyone new to town? Visitors? People seeking refuge?”
Another look divided between us, then the Symbiarch shook her head. “Not that I’ve seen, no. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t want sorry. Sorry was for bad things, and I couldn’t bear the thought of my family being lost. They were the reason I began this journey in the first place, to secure their future and care for them the way I promised I would. To not see them happy and safe at the end of it would make a failure out of my success.
“No, it’s…” I swallowed hard. “I’m sure it’s fine. They’re probably at home…” I glanced at Kit, and he pulled me in and placed a kiss on my temple.
Sybil bobbed her head, and I wished for a bit of her insight. An assurance that I wouldn’t return to find my family’s farm in ruin.
“Where’s home?” Sybil asked gently.
“Eastcliff.”
“We’re headed there now,” Kit added.
Drawing back, I peered up at him with a furrow in my brow. “I thought we were going to stay the night here?”
The last week had been strenuous, near sleepless, and even now he looked so tired. We needed rest, but Kit knew I needed something else even more.
“I think you’d rather go,” he said.
It wasn’t a question, but I felt the need to confirm it anyway.
“I would.”
He nodded. “We’ll ask around town a bit, then be on our way.”
We exchanged a few further pleasantries with Sybil, then did just that. We passed through Wendwood, stopping at the tavern, the inn, and briefly dropping by to say hello to Elise and Margot.
No one had seen any visitors, so we made it our mission to get out of town and back on the road before supper, prepared to try to make the two-day trip to Eastcliff in one and a half.
We stopped to sleep that first night, but Kit insisted on driving through the second. Rosie slept easy in the back, but my rest was fitful, and Kit refused to sleep at all. I feared he would fall unconscious on the driver’s bench, having finally run out of whatever had fueled him since our encounter with the gods. But, come sunrise, he was still awake, though bleary-eyed, and when he spotted the farm cresting the horizon, a weary smile crossed his face.
“We’re here, Pen.”
I pushed up from where I’d been laying with my head in his lap and peered across the sun-drenched landscape.
It looked right. Safe and serene in the wee hours of morning.
A low fog blanketed the ground, slowly burning off as it was touched by beams of golden light. Rows of crops spread across the low hills behind the tiny house, the fruits of our efforts from months prior.
I wanted to wake Rosie but didn’t dare. If bad news awaited us—death or destruction or, perhaps worse, nothing at all—I wanted to process it before having to put on a brave face. Kit was here; only he was allowed to see me fall apart.
We pulled the horse and cart up in front of the house and climbed out on wobbly legs. I held a finger to my lips, then indicated Rosie curled up and lightly snoring beside the cats’ crate while waiting for Kit to come alongside. He took my hand and, together, we approached the door.
