Page 56 of Last Rites

“It’s better than being roasted alive in the forge, at least,” I grumbled. I’d told her about my harrowing experience when she’d come to our house the other night. She’d been sympathetic then, but now it seemed slightly diminished.

“I don’t think Cedric meant any real harm,” she said.

I spun toward her. “I was covered in oil, and he stuck my arm in the fire!”

“In the fire?” She fixed me with a skeptical squint, and I balked.

“Near it!” My exclamation seemed to further her point more than my own. I nibbled my lip while considering the details of the event. “Over the coals…?” I offered at length.

Rosie kept staring with one brow arched and her lips pursed.

“My skin was frying like chicken in a pan! I could smell it.” Not to mention the awful memories it drew to the surface. I left the spoon to rest in the pot while wringing my hands together. Cutting my gaze aside, I gave a stiff nod. “Yes. Lumbering is better than being cooked in the smithy.”

“I don’t think that’s what lumbering means…” She stepped around me to take the cherry mixture off the heat and set it aside.

“I’m a lumberman now. I lumber,” I told her as she went next for a pan to fill with the dough she’d rolled out. “And lumbering has given me quite the appetite, so I hope those don’t have to bake long…”

Rosie laughed. “It takes a good while, I’m afraid. Looks like you’ll have to endure my company while I endure your stench.” Her face crinkled dramatically, and I stuck out my tongue.

She was bustling then, moving dough into the prepared pan then layering it with the fruit filling. I stood by and watched, considering my one-sided conversation on the way here. The words I offered to the sky or a silent bedroom. I couldn’t keep them to myself any longer.

“Rosie, I’ve been doing something.”

“Oh?” The cherry compote steamed as she slathered it across the crust base. She didn’t even glance up, which might have made it easier for me to confess.

“I’ve been praying. To Eeus.”

It didn’t alarm her. Most people here made prayers and offerings to the god. But, considering our mission to sabotage the cult and all it stood for, my statement must have sounded strange.

She did pause, though, and flicked her eyes my direction.

“What about?” she asked.

I considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m not sure, actually. It started after we went to Eastcliff, and I saw what had become of the place. The farm was mine to give, and Merrick took it. From me. From Warren and Sayla, and I was…” My fists clenched as a flush of heat crept up my neck. “I was so angry. I didn’t know what to do. I was desperate, so I… started praying. And I haven’t really stopped.”

And I’d started making preparations, but I wasn’t ready to share that part, even with Rosie. I got the tea from Isla. Had to apologize a bit for my outburst at the farm. Fortunately, she was as sorry as I was for her brother’s involvement in my family’s troubles.

What I did need to share with Rosie was my idea about spreading abundance. Strawberries were in season, so if we could find a patch or two, we could collect enough to bake tarts and perhaps gift them to our friends and neighbors.

I was still thinking as Rosie slid the strudel pan into the oven, then wiped her hands on her apron.

“Does it help?” she asked.

“Praying?”

She nodded.

“Sometimes I feel a little better afterward. I can say things I don’t say anywhere else. To anyone else. Mostly, I think I’m waiting for a sign. Something I can do. Maybe more than caving in tunnels and leaking water all over Merrick’s precious idol.” I rolled my eyes and huffed.

“Leaking water all over what? What are you talking about?”

She knew about the cave-in, but I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about the idea Philippa gave us at lunch the day before. Kit and I had spent the previous night discussing logistics, and had ventured out after dark to scout the location.

“It’s another delay,” I told her. “Trying to stall the completion of the Vessel, or cause enough damage to set Merrick’s timeline back so we can figure something else out. There’s a stream near the cave, overhead. We’re going to divert it and flood the place.”

“Divert it how?”

I recalled our findings around the stream and the ensuing discussion. Kit had strategized, but we’d been talking for hours, and by the time we climbed up the mountain to find the little stream, I’d been half-asleep on my feet.