Page 80 of Last Rites

I must have breathed his name; I surely couldn’t keep it in. But that petering cry was stymied by Rosie’s free hand clapping over my mouth as she shoved me backward so hard we both tumbled to the ground.

She landed on top of me in a jumble of elbows and knees, pinning me down in a narrow alley between shops.

I bucked, panic lending me strength, and rolled her aside. Breath rushed back into me, half a sob, half a scold, but then I heard voices from beyond the tavern.

Not Kit’s.

I froze, then lunged forward, desperate to see Kit, or better yet reach him before those voices did.

Rosie’s hand snapped around my ankle, yanking me down. Her grip was iron, unrelenting. Rage and fear tangled inside me so sharp that I thought to kick her free. Shame scorched me, but it didn’t kill the instinct.

Didn’t she understand? Kit was right there. He was in danger. He needed me.

A plaintive whine edged out of me. “Rosie…”

Her fierce gaze locked on mine.

No. Her mouth shaped the word as her braids swung with the shake of her head.

My free leg curled tight, coiled and ready. I couldn’t help it. Every muscle screamed at me to fight, to move, to do something.

Rosie’s brows crashed down. If she’d looked fearsome before, she was almost frightening now.

When she spoke this time, she did so in a hiss through gritted teeth. “Penny Oliver, if you kick me, I swear to both the gods⁠—”

I didn’t realize we were near a door until it swung open, knocking into Rosie’s ribs and making her grunt. She released me, and we both scurried back from the large man who emerged through the darkened doorway.

I stared up at his hulking form and stony features before recognition dawned.

Ben, was it? Kit’s butcher friend. And the one I’d crashed into at the tavern not so long ago.

Rather than speak, Ben stooped and grabbed Rosie, then me. He didn’t wait for us to right ourselves before dragging us into the building and closing the door silently behind.

It wasn’t until we were sprawled on the wooden floor of the shop’s interior that I realized it was the butcher shop. That was made obvious by the tang of blood in the air, potent enough to turn my already uneasy stomach.

The dim light of the single lantern hanging outside the front window of the shop made it hard to make out Ben’s towering frame, but I followed his gesture toward the corner. A small knot of townsfolk huddled there, barely visible, pressed tight into the shadows behind the counter with fear-pale faces.

The street outside had gone muffled, but the pull of the shopfront window was irresistible. I crawled toward it, my palms thumping against the floorboards. When I peeked over the sill, I craned my head to see past the bench I’d sat on last time I was here and on down the street, where I finally spotted him.

Kit, so close he could have heard me if I called.

Whatever relief I might have felt was dampened by the sight of the two people who flanked him, caging him in. All three of them marched our way, and as they drew near, I was able to identify them.

Klaus and Violette.

What were they doing here? We’d left them behind in Ashpoint.

“Penny…”

Rosie’s voice rasped from the recesses of the shop, but I didn’t so much as glance in her direction. My gaze was fixed on Kit, pinned between Klaus and Violette with his head hung low.

He wasn’t fighting. Not even twitching in resistance. The passivity in him hollowed me out and left my stomach roiling.

I bit down hard, teeth carving into my lip to keep from crying out—keep from hurling the words clawing at my throat. I wanted to curse the Sentinels, to claw Violette’s smug eyes out, to fling insults like stones.

But the small, terrified flock of civilians crouched behind me held me in place. If I screamed, if I made myself known, I’d condemn them all. My outrage would damn more than just me.

Still, my body trembled as my fingers dug splinters from the window frame. I inched forward, peering over the sill to watch them drag Kit away.