“No one should have to die to find community.” His voice was severe, and there were tears lining his warm, brown eyes.
Reimond’s mother, who had not left his side since their arrival, hooked her arm around his shoulders. They turned toward each other, embracing in a sudden fit of sobs.
Somber quiet dominated the room, leaving me uncertain how my words had been received. I scanned the small crowd, and my heart beat faster until I found Rosie and fixed her with what must have been an imploring look.
She had perched on the arm of the sofa, and my attention prompted her to stand. “It doesn’t match up,” she declared. “We’ve been lied to. Forced to undertake dangerous, even deadly Oaths, and make sacrifices in the name of a distorted image of our god. This isn’t what any of us came to find.” She motioned to me. “What Penny’s saying sounds like what I was told growing up. What I think this placeshouldstand for.”
Kit’s hand tightened this time. He must have felt my excitement, or maybe my relief, as both sets of parents began to nod.
“Things need to change,” Reimond’s father said. “If sending our children to slaughter is truly the will of a god, then that isnota god I’m interested in serving.”
“But this”—Rosie’s mother gestured to me—“is good. It canbegood. We can change things with enough support.”
“Kit’s planning to usurp Merrick as Shroud Warden,” I announced. I could feel my confidence returning in a surge of tingling energy. “He already has Levitt’s ear, and then he’ll have the power to put our plan into action. With our backing, he’ll be able to sway things in our favor. Toward good. Toward change. And justice for all those we’ve lost.”
I shifted sideways, bumping into Kit in an affectionate gesture that nearly knocked him off balance. His foot hit the floor hard, setting his stance, and I glanced over to find him less than half as pleased as I thought he would be. If anything, he looked angry as he surveyed our guests with scorn.
I started to ask him what was wrong, but Reimond’s mother beat me to speaking.
“It’s all very nice,” she said between sniffles. “But too late, I’m afraid. I’d much rather have my son back than seek justice for his death.”
Kit’s fingertips pressed into the back of my hand. I could feel his nails almost digging in, and the nearly-healed cuts on my palm ached.
“Thatwouldbe nice, wouldn’t it?” he asked, his voice startlingly sharp. “Perhaps someone should have done something long ago, but they didn’t. So, I suppose we’ll all have to make do with this.”
As suddenly as he’d spoken, he pulled free of me.
“Kit?” I reached for him, but he stepped back.
“It could have been stopped, you know.” His ire went first to Reimond’s grief-stricken mother, then spread wider. No one was spared as he continued. “Any one of you could have spoken out while this place wreaked havoc on other families, ruined other lives. But those didn’t matter because they weren’tyourlosses. Notyourchildren. Notyourconcern.”
Slack-jawed stares answered him, mine included.
From the start, I had misread this entire thing. Going so far as to ignore what Kit all but plainly said. He was upset, yes, but also hurt. I saw it in the pinch of his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. It may have looked like anger, but it stemmed from a deeper wound.
No one responded before Kit muttered, “You’ll have to excuse me. I have an early day in the forge tomorrow. Need to get some rest.”
He turned away, and I took a step after him.
“Kit—"
He spun to face me, holding up both hands. Not in surrender, rather in refusal, putting distance between us.
“They’reyourpeople, Pen,” he said. “You should be with them.”
But I want to be with you, I thought, almost insisted. Because I used to be a follower, ever eager to tag after him. But now I was a leader. I had to be.
Kit left in a rush, disappearing down the hall and to our bedroom where I heard the door open and snap shut.
His departure left a void in the room, and a silence that kept swelling until Reimond’s mother babbled belated apologies. She hadn’t meant offense; she was just grieving. It seemed we all were.
The food had gone nearly forgotten keeping warm in the oven, and I was grateful when Rosie reminded us of it. I didn’t move from the spot where Kit left me, staying put as the others gradually rose and filed into the kitchen to make their plates.
A few offered to go, but Rosie insisted it was too much food to waste, and surely, they were hungry. She really did remind me of Sayla. Though the youngest of us, my sister had been the putty that held the family together. She certainly heldmetogethersometimes, and Rosie was doing that job now, taking over as hostess without even being asked.
Once everyone was settled, I joined them at the table. Dinner conversation was largely benign. Chatter about the weather and the warm season ahead, compliments on the meal, questions about the arrival of supplies and food to sustain the town through the last of winter. I was fairly certain everyone ate quickly.
The atmosphere was awkward despite Rosie and Thoma’s efforts to keep things congenial, and I remained tense and worried, casting glances toward our closed bedroom door and convinced Kit was not sleeping as he’d claimed. Even if he was tired, he wouldn’t rest with the house packed with strangers, and he didn’t sleep well without me beside him.
