Page 27 of Last Rites

He smelled like soap, so fresh and clean I would have normally buried myself in him. Nose first, then lips, then clambering into his lap so the scent of him would overwhelm me. I would feel better in the circle of his arms, I always did, but I wasn’t ready for comfort yet. I was too frustrated. Too angry. Too sad. So, I stayed put while Kit raked his hand through my hair, sweeping the sweat-clumped strands back from my forehead.

“Pen, what happened?” he asked.

My arm slid aside, and I peered up at him while taking another steadying breath.

He was still damp from the bath, and his skin was splotched red. He didn’t look sad, though, just… scrubbed.

I frowned and pulled away from him as I worked my way to sitting. “I don’t know anything, Kit,” I said, voice wavering. “And why didn’t you teach me? Did you think I couldn’t learn it? Is it because I’m a dunce?”

Kit’s dark eyes flickered with his blink. “A what? No, I⁠—”

“I am a man, you know,” I insisted, spilling over with the words I’d bitten back for hours. “I’m not a child, and he… he’s not kind.”

“Who isn’t?” Kit asked, still perplexed.

“The new smith!” I exclaimed. The man I’d spent the day trapped with. My new… master. The thought made me squirm. “He’s not kind,” I repeated, “and he’s not… you.”

Kit’s face scrunched, his expression divided between confusion and the compassion he reserved only for me. His hand stretched toward me, but I withdrew further, hugging my arms around my middle and hunkering in.

“Did you show him your leatherworking?” Kit asked quietly. “You’ve come so far in such a short time. And you can manage the hammer and anvil⁠—”

“With you!” I gave my head a hard shake. “You make me feel safe, and he makes me feel small. And stupid.”

Kit’s mouth opened, then shut again. Once, twice. Like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “You’re not stupid.”

Maybe he was tired of saying it. Tired of me. I wouldn’t blame him.

“Or a child,” I added, quieter now.

His gaze softened, and he nodded. “Or a child.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, chewing it for a moment before mumbling, “I don’t want to go back there. I took him pastries, and he didn’t eat them. Didn’t even let me stop for lunch.”

“You know you have to, though,” he said, not unkindly. “Go back.”

“I know.”

The anger was gone, burned out like the coals in the forge. All that was left was a dull ache. I moved closer to Kit, drawn by the warm, clean scent of his skin. I pressed in until his arms came around me without hesitation, soot and all.

He tucked me against him, one hand steady at my back while the other slipped into my hair. Fingers fussed through the mess of it like he couldn’t help himself.

“Missed lunch, though?” he hummed. “And no breakfast this morning?”

I shook my head against his chest. The emptiness was starting to make me feel hollow in places that had nothing to do with my stomach. “I’m starved,” I mumbled.

Kit crooked a finger under my chin and raised my head so I was looking at him. His thumb brushed across my cheek, smearing away a streak of soot. Then he bent and kissed the clean spot, right beside my eye. “You wash up, and I’ll make dinner. We’ll have the pastries for dessert. I’m sure they’re lovely.”

I dragged myself upright and shuffled off toward the bedroom. My clothes were stiff and smelled of smoke and sweat, and I peeled them away with a grimace. From the doorway, I called, “They’re pecan, like the ones we picked together. I’ve had to smell them all afternoon.”

I poked my head out into the hall, squinting toward the sitting room. Kit was still there, half-slouched on the couch, eyes on me.

“How was your day?” I asked, more than a bit belatedly.

His mouth twisted a little at the corner, something private flickering through his expression. “Not quite as bad as yours,” he said. “I saw the Vessel today.”

That pulled me fully out into the hallway, morbid curiosity warring with my need to scrub the stench of smoke off my skin.

“What was it like?”