Chapter 18 - Reap and Sow

Eda was glad of Kit’s inability to talk as they rode from the city. She doubted they’d have much to say regardless. Dismounting beneath the shade of the great oak tree, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Eda stalked off to the relative safety of the Oriana. She had no desire to discuss anything that didn’t directly pertain to her brothers’ rescue, and least of all with him.

Autumn harvest drew near. So, too, did Ben and Lawrie’s demise.

The next day was little better. An illusion of reprieve was swiftly dashed when Kit decided to grace them with his presence after luncheon. Might you be so kind as to piss off, she wanted to say, but that would involve acknowledging he existed.

Robin must have picked up on the stifling atmosphere. She accepted Eda’s retelling of yesterday’s events as explanation enough—it had been a harrowing trip. “How comes the planning?” she asked, nodding at the layouts on the table.

Weak sunlight streamed through the Oriana’s portholes. Water knocked against the hull. Eda tried to let it soothe her nerves as she studied the papers. She’d pored over them long into the night. “The sermon Fane mentioned will mean lots of Blades stationed at the Great Templehouse. With these, I know exactly where those left behind will be posted.”

She glanced at Kit. He’d slipped inside to lounge upon the steps beneath the cabin doors. He rolled a copper across his knuckles, offering neither insight nor derogatory comment. His silence should have been welcome. Instead, it made her uneasy. Eda had been rather harsh in her criticism, there on the street, but she did not think her argument without merit. She couldn’t bring herself to apologize.

Robin met her eyes and mouthed, Sulking.

Eda nearly smiled. Powerful demon lord he might’ve been, but Kit was still male. She knew well how men could be when a mood struck them. Ben and Lawrie had given her quite the education. And they say women are the more emotional sex.

Robin leaned in to look. “The cells are belowground.”

“Yes. It’s a straightforward enough walk from the main entrance to the lower levels, which, according to these sheets, are always guarded. The mantle should help.”

“It won’t protect you if you deliberately draw attention to yourself,” Robin warned. “The mantle is a clever illusion, but it’s no cloak of invisibility.”

“I know. I can’t just muscle past. I’d still need a distraction.” She looked pointedly at Kit.

His eyes didn’t leave the coin he played with. “Are you asking nicely, darling?”

Definitely sulking. “Do I need to? The entire reason I made this Pact was for your help.”

“Manners cost nothing.”

“Then I’ll politely suggest that you be the distraction I need.”

“Causing a ruckus on the street is all well and good, but it isn’t likely to draw out the interior guards.”

“I suppose you’ll have to cause a ruckus inside, then.”

His fingers stopped their little dance. “That will set off the warning fires. They’ll know a demon is in their midst.”

“And it’s a demon they’ll be looking for. But you’re a shape-shifter. A skilled one, no?” Eda gave him her full regard. By now, she was certain he liked flattery. “I doubt Blades will think to look for a mouse or cat scurrying about. Besides, now we know that it’s not the perimeter of the keep that’s warded. It’s the stone itself.” She tapped the papers. “You see? That’s why the warning fires were unchanged when you flew over them. So long as you don’t physically touch the stone, they won’t be triggered.”

He frowned. “I can’t hold a shape indefinitely.”

“Do I detect reluctance, Lord Ansellis?”

Kit finally looked at her, irritated. “I will do what’s required of me, as agreed. Doesn’t mean I’ll start performing cartwheels at the prospect of throwing myself into the viper’s nest. Enough of them at once…”

She knew what he was getting at. Powerful as he was, he’d be sorely outnumbered by mortals with weapons enough to bring about his destruction. “That’s why not getting caught is a rather important element of the plan.”

“What a mastermind strategist you are! What about your brothers, then? Unless Robin’s got two more of those mantles hiding in her underwear drawer, they’ll have a hard time going unseen.”

Robin tutted and stroked Old Bastard as he settled on her lap. “She’ll need to get into their cell, first.”

Eda bit her lip. “Could you make something, like you did the mantle? A sort of skeleton key or—or some enchantment that can open any lock—”

“I’m not your own private alchemist, girl. Demon’s horn is only worth so much. Besides, what you ask would be challenging to complete in so short a time. I’ve never even attempted it.”

Kit sat upright. “You don’t need Robin’s magic tricks. If I’m to enter the pit anyway, you shall make use of me. I’ll get them out.”

Eda failed to keep the surprise off her face. “That’s almost chivalrous of you.”

“I can be gallant when I wish.”

His roguish sneer was decidedly not gallant. It was downright dangerous. He looked it, too. Forgoing all layers except his claret shirt, open over his collarbones, Kit was more villain than hero. She’d thought her lingering anger would temper her reaction to his good looks, but her body disagreed. Eda studied an extremely interesting scuff on the dining table and crossed her legs.

Robin played with the pendant about her neck—a habit she indulged whenever in thought, apparently. “You’ll have to be on your best behavior tonight, Kit’rath. We’re going downriver. There’ll be many folk about, so no shape-shifting. Or any other demonic nonsense.”

Kit bared his teeth.

Eda straightened. “We’re moving?”

“I am moving,” Robin said. “If that doesn’t suit you, you’re welcome to find other accommodations. The riverfolk gather at the Embel Morrowstones every year when autumn harvest approaches. There’s always much trading to be done, and my coffers need filling.”

“How far downriver? We’ll need to get back into Blackbridge.”

“Don’t fret, lamb. It’s less than a mile from here. Just remember”—she pointed in Eda’s face—“no talk of Pacts or prison breaks.”

“As if I would.”

Robin’s finger swung Kit’s way. “And absolutely no—”

“No demonic nonsense. I heard you, hag.”

“That includes running underneath women’s skirts as a mouse.”

“Not sure I can promise anything.”

“So you are a lecher,” Eda accused.

“A jest, darling. Where I come from, a male risks his head being swiftly removed from his shoulders for such disrespect. I’m not crawling under anyone’s skirts.” He glanced at her from beneath his lashes. “Unless invited, of course.”

Kit clearly enjoyed flustering her. But Eda was resolute: She’d make it quite clear that he was not dealing with some naive, blushing virgin he could melt like butter. “I doubt you get many invitations. You’re so very opinionated, it’s a wonder you’d shut up long enough to put your mouth to good use.”

The silence echoed. Robin’s cheeks bulged with restrained laughter. But Kit’s reaction was far more interesting: his sudden unnatural stillness. Eda thrilled at her own hubris to goad him so.

“I can assure you, Eda Shaw. When I want to be quiet, I can be quiet for a very long time.” He leaned forward. Absurdly, she got the impression he was about to attack her. “And when I put my mouth to good use, I’m not the one who starts babbling—”

“Right!” Robin stood up, looking nauseated. Old Bastard leaped down with a grumble. “Time to make way, I think.”

Eda bit her lip so she didn’t say something silly to him like Do your horns get in the way? and now she was thinking about horns and how they would, technically, make a rather convenient place to hold on to.

Kit stared as though he meant to swallow her whole.

Eda looked away. “I can help. These sorts of boats need multiple people to power them, don’t they?”

Robin’s eyebrow lifted. “How exactly do you think I got around before you two fools turned up?”

“Um…”

She wiggled her fingers in Eda’s face. “Enchantments are good for more than making coin, you know.”

* * *

They cut a steady path along the Embel as the sun began to set. The Oriana was deft for such a sizable barge, her twin hulls breaking cleanly through water that rippled like a cascade of broken glass beneath the gloaming.

The air was chilled. Still, Eda sat and watched as the lever controlling the waterwheels turned entirely under its own power, an invisible hand cranking it round.

Witchcraft, some might have whispered.

Alchemy, others would say.

She’d seen its work in numerous little ways. The silver swords of the Blades, the great bells of the templehouses that rang all by themselves every hour. Smaller, more secret things too: a traveling craftsman’s toy horse that actually neighed. The old woman at the end of their street who could cure nearly any ill. Magic was alive and well in Blackbridge, but outside of the Alchemists’ Cloister, it had long been relegated to the margins of society. Like a beggar, both seen and unseen while the world moved on around it.

Magic was power. Was that why she’d admired Mr. Night? Eda controlled so little of her own life, but for him, destiny was what he made of it. A creature for whom mirrors were doorways between worlds and shadows were worn as easily as cloaks.

Then she met Kit. Powerful, yes, but fallible too. When you take the magic away…how different are mortals and demons, really?

Voices rippled over rushing water. Eda stood, stiff with cold.

The Embel had opened onto a particularly wide stretch of river. Moored on each side were dozens of canal boats. Some were docked next to one another, up to four vessels deep. Upon the grassy banks, numerous standing torches had been erected. The very sky seemed to glow above a sea of firelight. Fatty smoke from a cooking pit rose into the night, shy stars peeking through like distant jewels. People gathered, laughing and carrying supplies.

The Oriana docked herself just beyond the glow of the outermost torch. Trees crowded the riverbank. Their browning limbs could not conceal the structures that rose beyond: a towering cluster of monolithic rocks, each as tall as a house. They were engraved with strange symbols lost to the erosion of time. Ivy had done its best to strangle the vaguely circular formation, but it would take more than wild vegetation to topple the Embel Morrowstones.

Eda had heard of them. She was only surprised that the Faithhood hadn’t yet destroyed the things. They were a testament to an age long past, when the Weslic people had worshipped a whole pantheon of gods instead of the Lordfather alone. A pantheon of demons, if what Kit claimed was true.

It seemed the riverfolk kept the old ways. Or perhaps they simply found this a convenient meeting point for autumn harvest festivities. It was once a pagan holiday, yet the Faithhood still marked the date with feasting and prayers. Guess you can pick and choose which bits of paganism to uphold if it means an excuse to get sloshed.

“Keep frowning like that and you’ll get wrinkles.” Robin approached her.

“I won’t live long enough for wrinkles.”

She’d meant it in jest, but Robin’s expression turned sour. “There are always loopholes, lamb. You know this.”

“Like what? Please, if there’s some way to get out of the two Pacts I’m entangled in, I’d like to hear it.”

“You know how. But you must be the one to do it.”

Eda swallowed. She did know. Kill Mr. Night. Kill Kit. “That’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”

“Easy, no. But possible.” When Eda said nothing to this, Robin continued in a soft voice, “Does it bother you, the thought of killing him? Even if it meant saving yourself?”

Eda looked at her sharply. “That’s not…It isn’t even worth considering. Mr. Night is far too powerful—”

“I speak of Kit’rath.” Robin’s expression was deceptively tranquil, nearly unnerving in its stillness. “He is fond of you. And you him. I can tell.”

Eda gawped at her.

“A word of advice from an old woman, lamb. Demons and humans have more in common than either might acknowledge, but our differences are legion. To surmount such odds requires…sacrifice.” She turned her face toward the river, a strange, melancholy look softening the lines about her eyes. “A heart is more valuable than any number of years, and harder still to get back. Be certain of the one you give yours to.”

Eda was baffled. You presume far too much, she wanted to retort. My heart is in no danger, least of all from Kit’rath Ansellis. But the words snagged somewhere inside her throat, and a dim sense of panic bubbled within her chest. Why did she suddenly feel like a cornered animal?

The old woman regarded her without scorn or judgment, dark eyes glittering. Eda wondered how far Robin’s powers stretched. How deep the well of her magic. Hers was a potent, inscrutable presence Eda had never felt in another mortal—but perhaps that was commonplace among alchemists. She’d met no others, and magic and its workings were a mystery to her in general. Once considered heretical, the Faithhood renamed magic alchemy after they discovered how useful it could be. Now the Cloister were a guild both revered and carefully controlled in Wesland: a mysterious weapon kept sheathed. Lawrie loved to rave about such things from his collection of banned sociology books.

Eda’s stomach flipped. Tomorrow. She would get them back tomorrow. “I’ll retire soon,” she announced, eager to pretend this odd exchange had never happened. “We leave for the city in the morning.”

Her nerves must have been obvious. Robin’s eyes softened. “The night is young yet. No good will come from stewing in your own thoughts alone. At least come eat and drink a little.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’m an old woman. I might fall off the boat without help.”

“Robin.”

“Look how these bones creak like sail masts! I need a strong young lass to hold on to.”

“That’s patently untrue.”

But Robin was already snaking her arm through Eda’s and pulling her portside with surprising strength. “What is true is that I smell roasted hazelnuts and pork crackling, and I shall put a curse upon you if you keep me from either.”

Eda liked Robin too much to disappoint her. They crossed well-trodden grass and joined the crowd gathered before the tree line. Eda had never spoken with the riverfolk before, but it didn’t seem to matter. Robin introduced her as the daughter of an old friend come to visit, and that was all it took. She was laden with a cup of warm cider, a plate of herb-coated duck meat, roasted nuts, and legumes.

Seated on a log before a roaring bonfire, she felt the chill in her bones finally ease. The night sky was dark in earnest now, glittering with more stars than Eda had ever seen. So much open space out here.

She basked in the bonfire’s warmth and the sound of merry laughter. Even the air was refreshingly crisp, so unlike the oily breeze of the city. How she wished Ben and Lawrie were here! Eda closed her eyes and imagined them sitting either side of her, their laughter amongst all the rest. She would not fail them. She couldn’t.

“Odd place for a nap.”

Eda jumped. Kit was sitting right beside her. How did he do that?

“I was enjoying the fire.”

His mouth twitched. It was unfair, she thought, how devastatingly handsome he looked in the fire glow. Now more than ever he seemed a creature made of shadow and secret things. His eyes were chocolate brown. Eda realized she preferred them as they truly were.

“You’re nervous about tomorrow.”

She had no will to lie. “Terrified.”

“I’ll let no harm come to you.”

“I know. It’s not myself I’m afraid for.”

“We’ll get them back. One way or another.”

It was easy to believe him, when he spoke so matter-of-factly. Some of the animosity between them eased. Perhaps neither had the zeal to maintain it. “In truth, I’m more frightened of what comes after. I need to get Severin Lich that mirror, or else I’ll have a crime lord after me as well as everyone else. Not that any of it matters if I can’t get Mr. Night his last ten years.” She picked at her thumb. “He’ll kill us come autumn harvest.”

Little over a week away.

Kit’s hand twitched on his thigh, as though he meant to reach for her. His fingers curled into a fist instead. Eda was glad of his silence. She didn’t want empty platitudes or half-hearted reassurances. Her reality was shit, and Kit knew it. It wasn’t his concern what happened to her after Ben and Lawrie were freed and the mirror found.

That didn’t stop her wishing things were different.

Despite everything, Robin was right. She did like him. Liked the way he listened to what she said with rapt attention, as though her opinions and feelings were truly worth hearing. The way his hand in hers felt like an acknowledgment. I see you. You are not a bad person. You matter.

Perhaps it should have meant nothing, coming from a demon. But it did. Eda was more shadow than person, kept apart from the world with only her brothers for company. She was a ghost. Robin’s mantle might as well have been stitched into her skin her entire life.

But Kit made her feel so exhilaratingly real.

She imagined him bringing her to see more plays, as he’d suggested in the dark. Imagined kissing him. Touching him. The warmth of his skin beneath hers, the press of hard muscle to yielding flesh. Those eyes like twin flames, dark and desirous. Dangerous thoughts—but what harm could a thought do? Eda hadn’t been close to someone like that in so long. Likely never would again. Was it so wrong to want to live? To be held by someone who wouldn’t run scared? Who knew her darkest secrets?

He is one of your darkest secrets, that oily voice reminded her.

Someone plucked at a lute. Another tapped rhythmically on a kettledrum. A cheerful, jaunty tune filled the clearing. Drink flowed well enough by now that folk danced about the fire. A woman in layered skirts shrieked as she twirled arm in arm with a friend, feet bare in the dirt. Eda ached for the carelessness of it.

Kit snatched her cup.

“Hey—!”

“This morose mood of yours depresses me.”

“I’ll go somewhere to be morose alone, then.”

He pulled her to her feet, fingers curled about her elbow. “Too late, darling. You’ve already infected me with your maudlin. We’ve no choice but to correct it at once.”

“Oh?”

Without taking his eyes from hers, Kit stepped back and lowered himself into a deep bow. Eda swallowed. A tiny thrill raced up her spine.

“Will you dance with me?”

She scrambled to recall all the reasons why she should not wish to dance with him. Eda’s mouth opened. Closed. He held perfectly still. There was something illicit about a demon lord bowing at her feet like a common suitor. Looking up at her with such…unwavering focus. As though she were a lodestone amidst a vast, labyrinthine darkness.

“I—I don’t know any dances,” she stuttered finally. Around them, a small crowd spun and jumped as a pan flutist joined the melody, merry and fast.

Kit’s lips curled. “You don’t need to. Not with the right song and the right company.”

A dare. A flirtation. Were Eda sensible, she would return to the Oriana and leave him there. Dancing around a fire hand in hand with a demon beneath the moonlight would make a real witch of her. But she was pettier than she was sensible.

She snatched up her cup, took two great mouthfuls, then swapped it for his hand. “All right, then, my lord,” she said. “Show me how well you dance.”

Kit’s expression turned slightly lax when she called him lord, which Eda tucked away for future reference. Then his eyes narrowed, and he whisked her off.

She yelped in surprise. He pulled her close. Eda didn’t know much about dancing, but it hardly mattered. Kit guided her deftly among the other whirling bodies, following no particular pattern but matching the tempo of the music all the same. They came perilously close to careening with other dancers before he steered them away, fluid as water. They spun. Twirled. It was effortless, as though their feet hardly touched the ground. Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps they were both dancing on air.

The ale and the firelight and the cheerful music filled Eda up like a thirsty, barren well. She basked in the fragile loveliness of it and realized she was grinning. As the music swelled and people began to clap, Kit suddenly lifted her by the waist. A delighted squeal ripped free as he spun her round, her hands on his shoulders. The gathering passed in flashes around them—smears of color and light. Eda slid back down, chest-to-chest, and found herself wrapped in his arms. Her toes barely grazed the earth. His heart pounded against hers. She hadn’t expected that. Why should a simple dance rouse him so?

Kit seemed to forget they were standing among the dancers. He simply held on to her, lips parted. His eyes were raw lava as they flitted between her own.

Eda’s smile slipped. “Your eyes. Someone will notice.”

Apparently, he did not care. His arms tightened like greedy serpents. “You look different when you laugh,” he said, low and gravelly.

They stared at one another. A thumb rubbed at the dip of her spine, perhaps without his realizing. If you stay here a moment longer, some distant voice warned, you will kiss him, and then you’ll never stop.

Eda pushed against his chest, heart racing. He let her go after a moment’s hesitation.

“I…Thank you. For the dance. I should get some rest.”

Eda fled. No, she wasn’t fleeing. She’d simply stayed up too late already, and the quicker she curled up beneath her blanket, the better.

Robin’s warning rang in her ears all the same. A heart is more valuable than any number of years, and harder still to get back.

It took all her willpower not to look back at Kit’s silhouette against the bonfire’s blaze. Perhaps she should. Perhaps the sight would have helped remind her of what he was. Instead, Eda fell asleep with only the ghost of his arms around her and the guilty wish that tomorrow never came.