Page 22 of Last Rites

I lifted my hands to his face and cradled his jaw between my palms. His skin was clammy and cool. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean in, either.

“Kit…”

The shake of his head didn’t break my hold. “Not now, Pen. It’s too fresh. All of it. Please. Give me some time.”

I waited until he met my gaze to try again. “We can do this,” I said, low but firm. “We can… stop this.”

Kit huffed a breath. “Sounds like you need some time too. To make that argument even marginally convincing.”

The silence that followed stretched until it wore thin, and a hole tore straight through it. Kit’s eyes fell shut, and he drew a shaky breath. His shoulders shook with the effort of holding back, holding in.

“I caused this,” he whispered.

“No.” I stepped closer. “You didn’t. Merrick’s been plotting it for years. Since my father… since yours…”

“His doing, then,” Kit acquiesced. “And our undoing.”

My heart broke at the resignation in his voice.

“We can stop it,” I said again, softer this time.

Kit’s hand cupped the back of my neck as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead. He lingered there, holding me while his breath ghosted across my skin.

Finally, his grip shifted to my waist. Not to draw me in, but simply to rest. I mirrored the gesture, looping my arms around his middle and pressing my palms flat against the small of his back.

Outside the window, the sky was brightly blue. It might have been cheerful, but inside the cottage was only gloom.

The next morning, he’d said, work began for us both. Him at Merrick’s beck and call, and me under the tutelage of a new blacksmith. Kit’s assurances were kind, but they didn’t hold much weight compared to my lack of skill in the smithy and my rekindled fear of fire. I was dreading it already. Dreading so many things.

“We’ll take today,” I said, as much to myself as to him. “We’ll rest, and eat, and sleep. And tomorrow, when the sun rises, we’ll rise with it.”

Kit gave the faintest nod, and I felt him exhale against my temple. Not a sigh of relief—just the weary acknowledgment that yes, there would be a tomorrow.

And we would meet it.

Together.

8

Kit

Penny and I made our way to the square the next morning hand in hand. The sun peeked over the mountains and tinted everything above the ring of cliffs in gold, but left Ashpoint smothered in shadows. That felt fitting considering the last few days. Warmth and light were so close we could imagine what they’d feel like on our faces but remained hopelessly out of reach.

A fitful night sleep hadn’t done much to temper my fatalism. Penny had slept no better, fretting about the new smith and worrying himself into knots until I wrapped him up in my arms so tight he could no longer fidget. We both settled then, but sleep was still far from easy.

We stopped in front of the Ossuary, and Penny turned me to face him. He flashed an uneven smile.

“I’ll see you at home for dinner,” he said, straightening the collar of my robes.

As I leaned in to kiss him, I wondered if Merrick was watching from his office in the tower above. I cupped a hand at the back of Penny’s head to hold him close, and he pushed up to meet me halfway. His arms crept around my waist and pulled us flush together.

“I love you,” I said when we finally broke apart. “I hope today goes better than you think it will.”

He rubbed his nose against mine. “I love you too. Please be safe.”

“Always.”

It was an effort to pull away when all I wanted was to scoop him up and leave this place, or at the very least not let him out of my sight for the rest of the time we were here. We were more vulnerable apart. But since I would be with Merrick most of the day, that made one less threat to Penny’s wellbeing.