Warmth radiated through him. “Next, we will put in the piercings?” Kit suggested.
“Not today. Not this week, either. Next month, maybe,” Nick added.
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to be sore. I’m kind of”—Nick gestured to his unclothed bottom half—“big,” was said with an abashed tone.
“I noticed.”
That elicited red cheeks. A shy, lop-sided smile.
Nick rolled out of bed, stretching with a groan. At the top of his buttocks, right where a tail grew from a kit, was a spell. Kit had noticed it on several occasions, though often when he was either too shy or preoccupied to properly examine it. It had the look of a pocket-watch, notches marked in a circle, but the script was one Kit did not know.
“What does this spell do?” he asked. It had a different look from the script on Nick’s arms.
Nick peered down his own broad back at the little symbol. “It’s a compass, a navigation device. I got it when I started college and was feeling a little…lost. It’s not meant to be a spell, but who knows?” Nick smiled faintly. “Maybe it’s what helped me find my true north.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Kit
Nick held up a cage. “These are chickens.”
Kit stood on the deck of the lean and strange ship Nick’s family owned and peered into the cage. The two ‘chickens’ lacked tails. His own curled around his leg in sympathy. When his mother had stolen the witch, the council had considered removing her tail as punishment before mercifully settling on death. “They are deformed?”
“No, ours just don’t have tails like yours do,” Nick explained.
Kit examined the birds closer, Mini peering into the cage alongside him. The ‘chickens’ were huge. The biggest of the two was a brilliant copper red with neat, orderly feathers, white plumage beneath the colourful outer layer. The other ‘chicken’ was closer to what Kit was familiar with. It shared the same black plumage, fluffy black feathers decorating head and feet aswell as body, but there was no tail, and it was twice the size of the biggest chicken Kit had ever seen.
“This one is a Rhode Island Red, and this one is a Silkie.” Nick pointed to each in turn.
Nick’s brothers watched from a pair of chairs on the decking. Kit felt the monarch’s presence heavily, as if the half of his body nearest him was submerged in freezing water. Instinct told him that two steps in that direction and he’d find himself at the bottom of the ocean, fathoms below the surface, crushed by the immense weight of the sea.
“I was wondering why you brought chickens,” Laurence said, taking a break from glaring at Kit to address Nick.
“You could have asked me,” Nick pointed out. He frowned at the chickens. “I feel a bit bad for them now, actually. I brought them to another world just to show you they don’t have tails.”
“I will take care of them,” Kit promised quickly. “They will be well tended.” He inclined his head towards Mini, who in turn waved one of the children crowding the dock to approach. Mini efficiently doled out instructions to bring the chickens to Kit’s home and construct a coop. The thought of his engineer, Olis, being dragged away from his work to help the children house two strange chickens was an amusing one. Even funnier would be Captain Hin objecting to the loss of his engineer—there were always so many repairs needed on a ship—and end up getting dragged into helping the children too. Captain Hin was notoriously soft on children, despite how much he pretended otherwise.
“I have a box of different foods for you to try, and a full box of books too…” Nick looked contemplatively at his haul. “How about I just grab out what I need for breakfast for now, and you can get a little taste of my home? Oh, and this is for you too.” Nick offered him a small box from the top of the pile.
Kit opened it. His tail stalled mid-sweep. Nestled in the box was a pair of black leather gloves, finer than any he’d ever seen. Matching black thread pieced them together in flawless stitches. Hesitantly, he reached for the hem; the leather was impossibly silky. A purr rumbled through his chest, unstoppable.
“Where did you find such a craftsman?” Kit asked, too eager.
“I checked out a dozen different places. Funnily enough, it was actually a woman who specialises in horse tack that had the nicest gloves. Try them on? I didn’t have you there for sizing, so I had to guess.” Nick stopped searching through the crates and stood next to Kit. “I hope they fit.”
“They will.”
Nick chuckled. “If they don’t, I’ll bring you with me next time for sizing.”
Kit angled his back to Nick’s brothers as he tugged off the old gloves, too impatient to wait for privacy. Nick took the old pair as Kit pulled on his gift. They were so soft and supple. So fine and lovely!
His purr was embarrassing, but Kit couldn’t help it. Desre had despised him wearing gloves. He already knew that Nick was not aggravated by his aversion to touch, but he had not anticipated that he would endeavour to make it more comfortable for him. Kit clasped Nick’s wrists and licked his cheek. “Thank you. I will take great care of them.”
“I know you will,” he said.
Still delighting in his gift, Kit turned towards the cold spot at his back. Connor, the monarch, looked faintly amused, while Laurence seemed to have shifted from irritated to sulky. He now sat with his arms firmly crossed. Kit got the impression of a child trying to hold on to anger that had already run its course.
