Page 1 of Last Rites

1

Penny

Stretching out in the tiny, straw-filled bed should not have been so easy. After spending the last few weeks wedged in next to Kit every night, it was a novelty to sprawl. I rolled onto my back and flung my arms wide, basking in the beams of light cutting through the cracks in the window shutters.

Planting was done, and it was almost time to return to Ashpoint, a place I had inexplicably grown to miss. I was looking forward to settling back into our cottage there and reuniting with Rosie and Thoma. Checking in with the resistance was equal parts exciting and intimidating. We hadn’t left things on the most stable footing, and they had posed questions and consequences I was reluctant to face.

After arching my back and extending every muscle all the way down to my toes, I finally willed myself out of bed. The smell of sausage frying informed me that breakfast was underway, and Kit would be in the kitchen, nursing his customary mug of coffee.

Throwing on a tunic and lacing up my trousers, I made my way out of the bedroom and into the open area of the farmhouse.

Apparently, it was later than I realized because Mother and Sayla were seated at the table eating. Mother stood and went to the counter to retrieve a platter heaping with entirely too much eggs and sausage for one man to eat.

“Good morning, Pen.” She gave me warm smile. “We saved you a plate.”

There should have been another man. My intended who had first been absent from our bed was missing here, too. Turning a swift circle, I searched the space as though Kit could somehow be hiding in plain sight.

Then I noticed the kettle untouched, the coffee unmade, and I couldn’t help but ask, “Have you seen Kit?”

Blank expressions and shaking heads abounded, and concern sent a shiver through me. I thought back to all that had happened the night before. Kit and I had celebrated, then snuck away to the barn.

We’d enjoyed each other.

Loved each other.

All had been well…

Bypassing the offered plate of food, I went to the window and peered out. The fields were devoid of anything living aside from a few birds, which left only the barn. Kit could have been in there, perhaps doing a final check on the plow or other equipment.

“I’ll be right back,” I called before stepping into my boots and venturing out the back door.

Hours before, Kit and I had looked out from the hay loft at the fruits of our labor, but it looked somehow less fantastic now. Worry cast a cloud over what should have been a beautiful sight because yes, we had celebrated there in the loft. But we’d talked, too. Kit had talked about the dangers in Ashpoint and the consequences I would have liked to avoid, my half-brother foremost among them. Kit promised not to leave me, but he promised to protect me, too. If those aims opposed each other…

Flinging open the barn door, I called inside before bothering to look.

“Kit Mosel, you’d better be here!”

The building was dark, quiet, and empty, but I ventured in anyway.

“Kit! I swear by the gods, if you…”

I stopped, surrounded by piles of hay and hanging equipment and thoroughly, undeniably alone. Tears lined my eyes as I searched the wall and found empty hooks that had once held horse tack. Specifically, the bridle and harness for the horse we’d brought from Ashpoint.

I swore and kicked at a mound of hay, then darted out of the barn. Around the building where the little cart had been parked for the duration of our stay there was now an empty space. It matched the sudden void in me.

He left.

He’d been trying to send me away, get rid of me, leave me behind, for what seemed like always.

I’d fought for him.

For us.

And now, he retreated.

I clasped my hand over the cord knotted around my wrist and tried to breathe through sobs.

Maybe he went into town. He could have gone for supplies for our trip. For our return home together. He was always thinking of those things. Always so prepared.