Chapter 19 - Reap and Sow

They bid farewell to Robin, who murmured an Old Weslic blessing and squeezed Eda’s hands before letting her go. Good luck to those who do good deeds.

As they neared the city, Eda considered that she might be riding straight toward her own demise. A cowardly part of her yearned to step back into the shadows of the night before, when nothing beyond the circle of firelight had been real.

She wished that Kit could speak to her in this form. Are you truly as confident as you seem? she might have asked. Do you really think we’ll get them out? Where will you go once our Pact is done? What will you do with the fifty years I gave you? Will you miss me at all?

But Eda could only stare at his inky mane and velvet ears as they set a brisk trot along the river. He was all somber professionalism since his first appearance that morning, hardly meeting her eyes. Something had shifted out of joint after she’d left him there by the bonfire. Or perhaps the opposite—a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.

In Blackbridge, few people lingered on the streets. The day was damp and chilled, mist clinging to the margins of the canals. Fear brewed like coming rain. But Eda caught whispers as she and Kit cut their way into the city’s heart: breathless, hopeful mutterings. It seemed word of the evening’s sermon had spread.

They journeyed to the high walls of the Botanic Gardens. Built at each cardinal point, a patina-covered statue of a notable saint stood guard. Kit transformed at the feet of Saint Aurelia, directly facing both the Great Templehouse and Fell Keep. He scooped Eda up without word and leaped impossibly high onto the saint’s rounded shoulders. Eda’s stomach flipped—fault of the jump, she told herself, and not his arms around her.

The statue was set inside an alcove that protected it from the worst of Wesland’s irritable weather. The wall’s overgrown ivy hung wild enough to shield them from view. Through the green tangle, they could see when the commonfolk arrived. Eda clung to Aurelia’s flowing hair as Kit crouched upon her other shoulder.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” he said. If Bishop Florian had sowed fear and promise of salvation effectively, a great crowd would soon gather.

Eda worried her lip. “How will Fane collect all those years?”

“That, I don’t know. He’ll need their blood. It’s not unheard of for a contract to be signed by many rather than one. So long as the bishop can disguise the true purpose of the document…” He shrugged.

“Bloodletting isn’t common in templehouses, I hear.”

“But alchemy is. Perhaps he’ll play off the blood offerings as part of his protection spell.” Derision was plain on his tongue. Kit could scorn the deception all he liked; it didn’t mean it would not work. Bishop Florian had a demon on his side, after all.

Eda glowered at the towering points of the templehouse, pitch against the gray-washed clouds. But so do I.

A small pop split the air.

“You aren’t needed yet, Tripp.”

Tripp bowed to his patron, perched neatly on Saint Aurelia’s open palm. “Tripp knows, m’lord, but I wish to be ready!”

“You remember what you have to do?” Eda asked.

“Of course I does!”

“And you’re not scared, going amongst the Blades?”

He puffed out his little chest. “Tripp would die for His Lordship! You question my valor?”

Eda restrained laughter. Saints help her, but his nature was coarse and ornery enough to be nearly charming. “Never, good sir. For all your questionable traits, your bravery isn’t one of them.”

Tripp stared as though trying to make sense of the backhanded compliment. “Hn.” He scratched his hooked nose. Were his skin not so leathery, he might have even blushed. “You have some wits. For a mortal.”

Eda smiled. She looked at Kit. His eyes snapped away as though he’d been watching her, and her smile waned.

He was being exceedingly reserved. No saucy jests, no good-natured teasing. And shouldn’t she be glad of it? That silly dance in the firelight had been a mistake. Now that Kit was finally respecting the boundaries that should have always existed between them, was she truly unhappy about it?

Seems I really am a hypocrite.

They waited until the sun sank low beneath the clouds, casting lavender light across the cobblestones. The shadows grew darker, longer. The people of Blackbridge began to arrive. They clustered about the gates of the templehouse like a skittish herd of deer, eyes everywhere, children held close. Their fear was eclipsed only by the prospect of salvation.

Blades were there too. They stood vigilant at the great silver-wrought doors, in the street, along the walls. She wondered if Bishop Fane was already inside.

“Now or never,” Kit said.

* * *

The next time Fell Keep’s eastern gatehouse swung open, Eda was ready.

She shuffled in behind a group of tradesmen delivering horse feed and hay, waiting until their cart was checked. Head down and eyes averted, she slipped past. The mantle scratched at her throat. She clung to it with shaking hands as she waited for someone to stop her, but no one did. Eda’s eyes were everywhere, flitting more than once toward the warning fires. They crackled on, orange and undisturbed.

This was the easy part. Here in the bailey, there were all manner of workers milling about—stablehands, smiths, couriers, deliverymen. They wore no uniform. Eda wouldn’t stand out even forgoing the mantle. Within the keep itself would be a different matter. Stay calm, stick to the plan, she reminded herself. They’d spent much of the morning going over their plan of action, yet so much might still go wrong.

Eda would get herself and Kit inside. Once there, it was mostly up to him and Tripp. She needed his power to get to Ben and Lawrie, and trusted him to do so. But getting out meant trusting in the plans Wolfram had given her. The original records show forgotten passages that don’t officially exist, he’d told them, and he’d been right. Eda did not want to pit Kit against a fortress full of Blades, but if the passage they’d found was not really there…

Something scurried up her back. “Get back in the hood,” she hissed at the black mouse perched upon her shoulder. He blinked at her, ears twitching, before doing as he was told.

The plans had revealed that the very ground Fell Keep was built upon warned off demons. The stone was blessed, from the foundations to the bailey walls. Kit would not activate the warning fires…so long as he didn’t touch anything.

Eda swiftly made her way toward the portcullis, careful to get in no one’s way. She was a shadow, a passing brush of wind. The mantle would work so long as she didn’t draw undue attention to herself.

She was nearly there when a low, grating sound reverberated through the stone. The portcullis—shit!

It was coming down.

Eda sped up. No, no, no. It wasn’t supposed to close this early, not until sundown.

She nearly broke into a run. A brawny man in an oilskin apron walked across her path; she skittered sideways to avoid him.

He did a double take. “Wha—hey!”

Eda ducked beneath the portcullis. She rounded the corner and pressed herself against the wall, chest heaving. The gate slid into place with a great thunk behind her. The man did not call out again, but it wouldn’t do to linger.

For a moment Eda dared not move, afraid of drawing unwanted eyes. Kit shuffled around in her hood, then up her shoulder and beneath her hair.

They were in a wide, imposing hallway. Tapestries and suits of armor from battles past lined the walls, disappearing around a corner at each end. There were no windows. Heavy cast-iron braziers had already been lit. The stone was cold against her back, spanning upward into a high eaved ceiling. Opposite the main entrance, a set of aging double doors were thrown open; inside lay a hall with long tables and a mighty hearth. A small cluster of Blades sat eating and laughing.

She knew the layout of Fell Keep by memory alone thanks to hours spent poring over the plans. This corridor made a square border around the central hall. Other rooms could be found on the first and second floors via winding turret staircases at each corner—but Eda didn’t want those. They needed to go down.

She found mettle enough to inch along the wall, slipping around mounted pikes and shields. Distant voices echoed off the stone. The keep whispered everywhere with the low hum of life, but it was hollow; so many Blades were stationed at the Great Templehouse today.

Kit’s warm little body pressed against her neck, and she was thankful, for she felt less alone.

They passed few people: Two Blades in rapt discussion as they walked, unarmed. A priest of the Faith thumbing through a book. Cautious optimism took root and bloomed within her. No one stopped her. No one so much as looked her way. Ben, Lawrie, I’m coming.

Around the second corner, Eda stopped dead. A wide alcove off the center of the corridor was hewn into the stone, surrounding an opening in the floor—a descending staircase. It was guarded by two Blades.

Dungeons. The papers hadn’t lied about this, at least. She had expected two guards, and two was precisely what they needed. Eda clenched her fists. Kit’s whiskers twitched against her pulse. No doubt he could hear how it raced.

She whispered, “Be quick. We won’t have much time.”

Eda held out her hand. Kit scurried along her arm. With bated breath, she set him down.

The bowl-like braziers at each end of the hallway flickered orange to blue. By the time the first guard noticed the icy glow bouncing against the stonework, Kit was skittering unseen through his legs.

“Saints,” he hissed, turning to his partner, “is that right?”

Black smoke rose up behind them.

“N-no. Not here. There can’t be an actual—”

“Demon,” Kit said, almost apologetically, and rammed their heads together. One guard slumped to the ground. The other stumbled but remained conscious enough to grab at his sword; Kit threw him against the wall, leaving a bloody mark where skull met stone. The guard’s eyes rolled. He dropped atop his friend in a boneless heap.

“Are they dead?” Eda hurried toward them.

“Not yet.” Kit reached down as though to finish the job.

She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”

All Eda could think of was Ben. In another life, if he’d gotten his way, he could have been a Blade. It might have been Ben standing here, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kit scowled and snapped his fingers. “Tripp.”

The imp materialized at once. “Sire.”

“You know what to do.”

As if on cue, a horn bellowed from without the keep. The warning fires were lit, and now everyone knew it.

“Tripp lives to serve, m’lord.” He took off running on all fours and scurried up the wall like an oversize spider, disappearing around the corner.

For all that Blades were trained on matters of the demonic, many went their whole lives without actually seeing a creature from the Otherworld. The sight of Tripp skittering about with his glittering black eyes and needle-sharp mouth would be an awful fright.

“Sure he’ll be all right?”

Kit dragged the guards down the spiral staircase like sacks of flour. “He’ll keep them busy as long as he can, but he’s not foolish. When he returns, we’ll know our time is up.”

They descended beneath the earth in a hurry. Around and around they went, down stone steps sagging in the middle from centuries of passing footsteps. Eda’s entire body was a live nerve, raw with adrenaline. Her breaths came fast and shallow. So close. She prayed that Tripp would prove a convincing enough distraction. That the Blades would believe the imp alone had set off the fires, at least for a little while.

They reached an iron gate built into another archway. Beyond was a long room, hewn from the basalt beneath the keep. Firelight glanced off cell bars. How many wretched souls had wasted away here in the dark, awaiting the noose? She could hardly reconcile that her own brothers were among them.

Kit transformed in a black swirl and scurried through the gate on tiny paws. He changed back. “Do either of them have keys?”

She rummaged in the guards’ red livery, palms sweating. “I can’t—I can’t feel anything.” Don’t start panicking. Hold it together.

“Sod it.” Kit grabbed the gate in both hands. With a grimace, he planted his feet and pulled. The bars slowly widened. His face twisted with effort, fangs bared.

Eda knew he was strong, but not like this. Her heart skittered foolishly at the raw primality of it.

When the gap was big enough she squeezed through, but a voice stopped her dead.

“You there—who are you?” A Blade appeared around the far corner of the room. He drew a short sword.

Eda didn’t realize Kit had transformed again until something hissed at her ankle. A dark shape shot past her, one she’d never seen before.

A serpent.

Thick as both her arms combined and many times longer, its iridescent oil-black body swept over the stone with breathtaking speed. His fifth form.

The Blade paled. “What the fu—”

Kit struck. The Blade was quick, jerking aside just in time. He spun and brought his sword down hard. Eda gasped, but Kit lurched clear with a terrible seething sound. Fangs sank into the man’s sword arm. He screamed, grabbed at the snake’s undulating body, tried to tear it off. Kit only used the distraction to wrap himself around the Blade’s torso, pinning his arms. Tighter and tighter he squeezed as the man struggled and fell to one knee, gasping. Kit’s great jaw unhinged and he bit down again—on the man’s neck. The Blade gurgled, spasmed, mouth flapping like a dying fish.

Eda turned her back. She grimaced, guilt like poison in her gut. Kit sought out beauty and refinement, but he dealt so easily in blood. This was the truth of him: a demon as comfortable with violence as he was dancing merrily about a bonfire. It was so easy to forget.

She tried to tune out the sound of snapping bone and tearing flesh, running along the cells. “Ben! Lawrie!”

“Eda?”

It was so faint, at first she thought she’d mistaken it for her own labored breath. From the gloom, a drawn face shuffled forward, streaked with days-old grime.

Eda’s knees almost gave out. “Lawrie.”

She stumbled to the cell door. Reached for him. He pressed his face to the bars, and she couldn’t help but cup his cheek to make sure he was real. His hazel eyes were bloodshot. When his visage wavered she realized she was crying.

“Eda, how—what are you doing here?”

He was here. Right in front of her. “I came to get you out.”

A figure moved over Lawrie’s shoulder. Her breath caught.

Ben’s hair was greasy, one of his eyes swollen.

Eda trembled. “Ben.”

Then he was reaching for her, holding her through the bars. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Stupid girl.” There was no wrath in it. Ben’s voice wobbled in a way she’d not heard for years. “What have you done?”

“There’s no time. We have to go.”

“The fuck is going on over…”

Ben trailed off, and Eda knew without looking that Kit had appeared behind her.

“Who are you?” Lawrie demanded.

“Your dreams come true, I’d wager. I am Kit’rath.” The demon swung a ring of keys about his finger. There was blood on his hands and chin.

Ben saw it. “What are you?” He stood motionless, even as their door screeched open.

“I think you know.”

Ben’s lips thinned.

“There’s no time,” Eda repeated. She hugged Lawrie, allowing herself a moment to luxuriate in his familiar smell beneath stale sweat—ink and parchment and wood varnish. “Just hurry. Please.”

Her urgent tone was enough. Kit dragged the two guards through the warped prison door and set about stripping them. With great distaste, her brothers pulled on the wrinkled uniforms; ill-fitting, but they would do. Ben blanched at the sight of the broken figure in the corner, crushed and bitten to death, but took the poor man’s sword without comment. Lawrie was just pulling on a boot when Tripp materialized out of thin air.

“Merciful shit!”

“It’s all right, he’s with me. Us. He’s helping.”

Ben glared. “Eda, what is going on?”

“No time for human yapping!” Tripp cried. “Too many Blades now. They would catch me, m’lord.” The imp bowed in apology. One of his pointed ears was bleeding, as though caught by a stray bolt. Tripp had told her he could materialize only between Infernus and wherever his patron was. For now, he was stuck with them.

“You did well,” Kit said. “Stay here and warn us when they come.”

Eda knew the layout of the cell block. She led them around a corner to a storage room cluttered with crates and confiscated items. Only a single sconce was lit. She ran her fingers over the far wall, breathless with mounting fear. “It’s supposed to be here!”

“What is?”

She found a sunken groove in the stone. “A passage—a very old one. There used to be an exterior door here when the keep was built, before the Great Templehouse was added alongside it. Now it serves as a door connecting the two, but…”

But there was no door. Only depressed stone filling the boundaries of what was once a rectangular frame. A crease was all that was left.

Ben’s voice rang thin. “It’s been filled in.”

“There was no mention of this, not in any of the plans. It’s supposed to still be here!”

Kit’s eyes gleamed like candles in the dark. “Maybe it is.”

“What?”

He swept past her, ran his hands along the seam. “This is the door. You said the man who built this place was a wily old bastard, no?”

“Supposedly…”

“A disguised passage,” Lawrie jumped in suddenly, excited. He quailed when Kit looked at him. “L-Lord Merein. He was the first Commander of the Blades, and he proclaimed that Fell Keep would never be overrun. That’s why he called it that—Fell. Irony, I suppose? He was rumored to have built secret ways for people to get in or out.”

“You must be the clever one,” Kit remarked.

Eda scowled. “Open it, then, if you know so much.”

Tripp appeared in the gloom. “They come, m’lord!”

Air fled the chamber. Clamoring footsteps echoing down the prison steps and along the walls. Eda’s dread turned ice-cold.

“Look for a way to get that door open.” Kit bared his teeth. “I’ll hold them off.”

She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t…don’t die.”

His expression softened. “Since you asked so nicely, darling.”

Then he was gone.

“Hurry,” Lawrie said, pushing aside crates, running his hands over the walls. “There has to be something here. A lever, or something like it.”

They searched frantically. If they couldn’t get this door open, they were trapped. Eda wasn’t convinced that even Kit could get them past a gang of Blades in such tight quarters. Would they be killed on the spot, or simply returned to a cell? Beyond the doorway, she heard the sounds of yelling. The scrape of metal on stone. Muffled screams.

Shit. Shit.

The room was cluttered with old junk. They didn’t even know what to look for.

Eda almost stepped on Tripp. “Watch your—”

“Here, humans!” The imp pulled at a long rack of weaponry stacked against the wall. Eda helped him. The whole rack tipped over, sending spears and crossbow bolts rolling over the floor.

And behind it, a small, protruding stone. Eda smacked it with the heel of her hand.

Thunk.

Somewhere behind the basalt, the muffled sound of old iron chains rattled and groaned. The stone door scraped sideways on metal tracks, disappearing into a cleverly disguised chamber within the wall.

“Tripp, you magnificent imp! How did you know it was there?”

“Mortal eyesight is piteous. How did you not?”

Horrid creature. She could kiss him.

“Quick.” Ben ushered them into the dark passage.

A distant pained cry stopped Eda in her tracks.

Kit.

She turned.

“Eda!”

“I’m right behind you. Just—I need to…” No time to explain. She snatched up a fallen crossbow and a single bolt. Ben’s outraged hiss chased her out the door. Eda scrambled to load the bolt, having only ever seen it done in passing, and crept down the hallway. Peered around the corner. Her knees threatened to give out.

Blood. Lots of it. A woman had died still clutching her sword, belly split open and spilling ropy meat across the floor. Her mouth hung ajar, eyes staring. Another man lay slumped where his open skull was lodged around a cell bar. There was no time to appreciate the sheer savagery of it all, for then Eda spotted Kit.

He was a dark shape beneath Tenelle Martine’s boot. His human guise was gone; only bared fangs and gray skin and swooping horns remained. At first Eda couldn’t make sense of it—why he lay prone beneath the commander—until she saw Tenelle’s gleaming blade buried in his forearm, pinning it to the stone. The wound hissed and smoked.

Eda had seen Kit in pain before, but not like this. His eyes shone with unshed tears. His grimace was fierce as he bared his fangs, tail whipping against the floor. Five more Blades had come. One stood upon Kit’s other arm. Another drew his sword, ready to go for the heart.

Eda loosed her bolt.

She was a poor shot, barely grazing the Blade’s shoulder and clipping Tenelle’s breastplate. But it was enough. Kit used Tenelle’s shock to wrap his tail about her foot and yank it out from under her; she crashed to the floor. The man pinning his arm was knocked aside. Perhaps Kit could not transform with a silver sword in his arm, because he wrenched it out with a labored snarl. He slashed it at the Blades, forcing a retreat.

“Go!” Kit cried.

Eda realized he meant her. She ran, quickly overtaken by a black cat trailing blood as they sprinted for the storage room. Ben reeled when he saw them coming. They piled into the dark, narrow passage.

Behind them, a woman roared in outrage. Tenelle stormed into the room with a fury like fire.

“Close it!” Lawrie cried.

The mechanism was easier to find on this side of the door. The door eased across with a rough groan. Tenelle rammed against it, her sword stabbing through the shrinking gap. Someone pulled Eda out of range.

She stared, panting, as Martine Tenelle’s venomous gaze disappeared behind shadowed stone.