Chapter 25 - Reap and Sow

There was so much she wanted to say—how could you do this, why, do you feel anything for me at all—but words fled as Mr. Night crouched and touched her drying tears. His fingertips were warm despite his winter-hued appearance.

She was thrown violently back into the past. A dark bedroom, a mysterious smile.

All will be well.

You promise?

I know it.

“The girl has made a Pact with the same demon you seek,” Fane said. “He will return to her side, you see? I have found him.”

“Yet she is the one who called me here.” Mr. Night’s eyes slid sideways. “Not you.”

The bishop flexed his jaw. Behind him, his men had retreated beyond the threshold, round-eyed. “What matter her intentions? Perhaps she called upon you to beg for her sorry life.”

“I think not.” Mr. Night stared at Eda’s red cheek. “Release her.”

The two men holding her arms did so. Eda rubbed her neck where the mantle had been ripped away. The words rose up her throat like a blistering wind: “How could you betray us?”

The mausoleum echoed with her rancor. All seemed surprised by the accusation save the accused himself.

Mr. Night was unmoved. “I have not.”

“The Blades took Ben and Lawrie, almost took me. You didn’t even try to stop them!”

“I have never interfered before.”

“You gave me away in the cellar!”

“You revealed yourself.”

She clenched her fists upon her thighs, wishing to strike him. “We’ve spent years protecting the mirror, bringing you marks. We were supposed to have your protection in return.”

“You are protected…from me.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I shall lift no hand against you while you remain in my service. Florian Fane is not permitted to kill you or your brothers, either.”

“He set your fiends on Lawrie.”

Mr. Night’s mouth tightened. “Did he?”

“That was an accident,” Fane hurried to explain. “A mere flesh wound was all that came of it.”

“He’s sick,” Eda snapped. “He might lose his leg!”

“Pray to your false god that Lawrence Shaw recovers, Bishop. If he dies, our agreement is forfeit.”

Fane paled. Mr. Night ignored him in favor of sliding a finger beneath Eda’s chin. With those silver eyes and that snowy waterfall of ice-melt hair, it was easy to think him and Kit totally dissimilar. But now that she knew to look, there were things that marked them as half siblings: The bows of their mouths, the fine brows, the sharp jaws. The true color of their eyes.

“Eda.” His expression softened, the picture of solemnity. “You misunderstand. Have I not always been honest with you? Have we not always shared our truest selves? I am what I am—you have always known it. My nature demands I feed my endless ambition. Florian Fane has caused your troubles, not I.” He cocked his head. “I had no fear for you. You are not like the rest: craven, unthinking, made reckless by greed. If anyone could rise against impossible odds, it was you, sweet thing. And look! Here you are. So close to having beaten the bishop at his own game.”

A vein in Fane’s forehead twitched.

Eda stopped breathing when Mr. Night leaned close, pressing his nose to her hair. “Even if it meant employing the aid of my kin to do it.” His grip on her chin hardened. “I can smell him all over you.”

She stayed very still. “Kit—Kit’rath agreed to help get Ben and Lawrie free. The Pact between us is done.” She did not speak of the mirror.

“Is that so? My brother pretends to admire humanity for more than their years, but he took yours happily enough, didn’t he?” He brushed his lips against her ear. “Did he smile for you? Make you laugh? He always was rather charming.”

Eda swallowed.

“Kit’rath may be done with your Pact, but not with you. Will he come, I wonder? Will he face me for your sake?” He stood, smiling. “I doubt it.”

Don’t come, Eda silently begged. Ignored the ache inside that hoped Kit would. “Mr. Night, I summoned you here because I want to pay off our debt—”

Commotion in the doorway. One of Fane’s men ducked inside. “The Blades are on the move, Father. A contingent entering the gardens.”

“What? How many?”

“At least a dozen.”

The bishop swung his glare upon her, twin splotches of red upon his cheeks. “You little bitch.” He moved toward her, but Mr. Night’s outstretched hand stopped him. “She—she has brought them here! If they find me with the Gateway, I’ll be done for, and you shall never get the years I promised—”

“Troublesome, indeed.” The demon crossed his arms behind his back. “How will you turn this in your favor?”

Fane wavered. “There’s no time to move the Gateway.”

“So it would seem.”

Fane would be caught red-handed. It seemed inevitable. But when his gaze returned to Eda something cunning passed over him, made him vulpine in the darkness. He hesitated before spinning his golden ring about his finger.

The air shuddered. There came a snuffling, scratching nose from within Saint Leoric’s casket. Moments later a clawed, gnarled hand reached over the edge.

Eda’s heart sank as a fiend pulled itself from the sarcophagus, black eyes roving; the effigy lid toppled over. Its vertebrae undulated beneath the skin like some writhing worm as it slunk onto the floor. Another fiend emerged. A third.

Mr. Night merely raised an eyebrow at the monstrous creatures crawling around him. “I see. You mean to frame her, then?”

Eda pressed her back to the wall in terror. “Frame me for what?”

Fane grimaced. “For this.”

With a mere sweep of his hand, the fiends’ hungry gazes turned upon Fane’s men, all of them wisely retreating out the door. Then the monsters charged.

Eda covered her head as they stormed past. She felt the breeze off their passing, the rumble on the stone and the waft of rotten meat. The fiends piled through the door like hounds on a hunt, snarling and slathering in excitement. The men screamed. Eda tried to shut it out—the snick of blades and the wet sounds of torn flesh. The crack of splintered bone. Something cloying and metallic filled the air.

He’s killing his own men.

Mr. Night stood still as marble. The slaughter played out upon his face in a dance of writhing shadow and moonlight as he watched, fascinated.

The screams soon died. Snarls turned to guttural pants and grotesque, wet chewing noises. Through it came sounds of jangling chainmail. Blades.

Mr. Night’s lip curled. “If my mirror is destroyed, Florian Fane, you will find me another. I shall not go without passage from this wretched world.”

Fane glowered at the feasting monsters beyond the doorway. He nodded.

Mr. Night threw a narrow look at Eda. “Do not fear, sweet thing. When autumn harvest comes, we will settle your debt.”

She could only gape at him as he stepped into the shadows at the back of the mausoleum, disappearing within. Gone for now, but where? He’d abandoned the mirror, yet he could not leave this world without it.

Why? Why stay on this side?

Fane was a grim sentinel in the doorway. Beyond, lit torches flickered like approaching fireflies. He drew out a fine dagger—the same ivory hilt she recognized from his ritual in the Great Templehouse. Eda stiffened, but he only drew the blade across his own cheek, hissing. Blood welled.

You mean to frame the girl, Mr. Night said.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried. “You cannot truly believe in the Lordfather and commit such evil!”

“But I do believe. I heard His voice as a boy. Father Sturnmoss used to beat me, tell me it was my own conceit, but I heard Him. He loved me, even when no one else did.” Fane stared at his blood on the blade. He threw it away. “This country overflows with sinners. He chose me to guide them, and so I must. The end will justify the means.”

Eda lunged for the knife. Fane was quicker; he kicked her aside with a snarl and grabbed her hair. Pain lanced through her scalp. Eda hissed like an alley cat and fisted his collar, hauling him toward her until he unbalanced and fell to one knee. In this animal terror, she turned into some wild, unthinking thing—and bit down on his ear.

Fane roared. Blood welled in Eda’s mouth. He threw her away from him. She spat his blood onto the floor as he stumbled upright, gasping.

“Bitch.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Eda only fully understood Fane’s plan when he abruptly left. She rolled to her knees and watched as he ran past the fiends, past the bodies strewn across the gravel path. When he tripped, it was hard to say if he’d meant to do so.

He fell at Martine Tenelle’s feet.

“C-Commander!” He gripped the hem of her doublet. “Commander, she’s here! The Shaw girl! She has a Gateway—she slaughtered my men!” He pointed back at the mausoleum with a trembling hand. “Look!”

As one, the three fiends raised their bloody maws. They stared at the wall of Blades guarding Tenelle’s back, clawed excitedly at the gravel. As though the glut of flesh they’d already devoured meant nothing.

They leaped, snarling, to meet silver swords.

The fight was brief but bloody. Fearsome as the fiends were, there were simply too many Blades, and they were overrun. Martine Tenelle herself drove her sword between the shoulder blades of the third fiend with a cry, teeth bared. The thing thrashed and clawed at her, but she merely twisted the steel until it stopped moving.

Tenelle did not pause for breath. She withdrew the blade, shining with black ichor, and pointed it at Eda. “Come out with your hands raised.”

Two Blades trained their crossbows upon the mausoleum door.

There was nothing to do but comply. Eda stepped outside. She caught sight of the full scale of the fiends’ carnage: crushed cartilage, loose brain matter, the half-eaten string of intestine lying like some bloodied snake across the gravel. One of the bodies twitched. A high, wheezing noise of agony—the man’s face had caved in, and he looked more like a pile of offal than a person. But he was still alive.

Eda’s gorge rose. “I did not do this.”

Tenelle ignored her. With a single, clean thrust, she drove her sword down a second time into the butchered man’s heart. He fell still.

“I did not do this,” Eda repeated. “This was Bishop Fane’s doing. All of it has been his doing. His Gateway, his creatures—”

“Saints be good,” Fane cried, making a show of holding on to a nearby Blade as though he might swoon at any moment. “The girl has a serpent’s tongue. My own men lie butchered, and she dares accuse me?” He pointed at his bleeding cheek. “She tried to cut me down herself!”

“And what of you, Bishop Florian? Why is it you and your fellow Faithful were here in the dead of night…” Tenelle nudged one of the fallen priest’s swords. “Armed?”

“I spotted her,” Fane said without hesitation. “These good clerics insisted they accompany me to confront the witch, and I bade them bring protections. What good it did them.” Remarkable, how his voice wavered. As though their deaths truly upset him.

Tenelle was silent.

“Commander,” Eda hissed in the lull, “please, listen to me. You know it was me who sent warning to Wolfram tonight. I was the one who brought you here.”

Tenelle came close. The woman really was very tall, a presence commanding as her title, towering as her station. She held her sword like a staff in the gravel between them. “The High Governor informed me of your intent to prove your innocence,” she said in low tones so that only Eda could hear. “Alas, it was not Wolfram who bid me come here this evening. Your message never reached me.”

Eda’s thoughts scattered like leaves. “What? But then…who did?”

“Severin Lich.” Her mouth thinned. “A play at endearing himself to the Order, no doubt. He has the ear of many powerful figures in this city. This latest act of good citizenship will make bringing him to justice even harder.”

Eda stared.

Lich had warned Tenelle about the Blades. But he’d also warned Fane. He sent them both here. The only person he hadn’t kept in his confidence…

Me, she realized numbly. He wanted them to arrest me. Eda had tried to pit Lich and Tenelle against each other, and Lich saw right through her. He’d used her ploy against her, and here was her punishment—caught red-handed at the scene. But that still didn’t answer why he was willing to let the Blades discover the mirror. Lich wanted it for himself. Didn’t he know they’d destroy it? Eda’s capture and Fane’s good favor could not be worth so much.

Her lungs felt tight and small. Where is Kit?

“Search the mausoleum,” Tenelle called.

Her men piled into the dark chamber. “It’s here,” one cried. “A Gateway!”

Tenelle began tying Eda’s wrists.

“Commander—”

“You may have made a demon’s Pact, but you claim this greater evil is the bishop’s doing, as does Wolfram. I am inclined to believe it.” Eda’s heart soared, but Tenelle continued, “The problem, Miss Shaw, is that you did not send word to Wolfram tonight as promised. Lich warned me first. Now I find the bishop and his men all but slaughtered, with only yourself unharmed.” She finished the bindings, tugging on the rope painfully. “I am left with little choice but to apprehend you in lieu of a more obvious culprit.” She circled back around.

Eda took an unsteady breath. “I’d ask that you trust me.”

“I do not.”

“I suppose asking for faith would be too on the nose.”

A snort.

“Then trust your own intuition, Commander.”

“Intuition is not enough to convict a man.”

“The bishop is setting me up,” Eda hissed. I have to make her see. “Once he heard you were coming, he knew he’d be caught, so he commanded the fiends to attack his own men.”

“I no longer doubt his ability.” Tenelle’s dark eyes flickered toward the man in question. “But I cannot prove it, and evidently, neither can you. You are a wanted woman and guilty of consorting with demons. That is irrefutable.”

If Tenelle meant to throw her in a cell, so be it, but saints fucking damn it, Florian Fane should be joining her!

“You mean to do nothing? These attacks won’t stop so long as Fane goes unchallenged.”

Tenelle mouth twisted. “The Clerics’ Conclave is being held at the Great Templehouse three days hence. The Patriarch will be naming a new Head Cleric, who stands to inherit the Patriarchy when he passes. I’ve heard that in response to the great works Bishop Florian has sown here in Blackbridge; he is the clear favorite.” She grabbed Eda by the scruff of her shirt and hauled her toward the rest of her men, where Fane watched them with searching eyes. “If you’ve some clever idea on how to condemn such a man, I would hear it.”

Icy dread leached through Eda like branches of a frost-kissed tree. Of course. Of course this was Fane’s true ambition—to be made Head Cleric. He’d implied as much, had spoken of the Conclave when he first arrived in Blackbridge. Kit had warned her too. Powerful men get where they are by looking out for themselves.

All this horror, all this death…for what? In the Shaws’ cellar, Fane had spoken of wanting only to guide the Faithless, of seeking the greater good. But he harbored baser aspirations. If he’d deluded himself into believing a zealous fantasy in which he was the Lordfather’s righteous warrior, it was only to excuse his own mortal greed. What irony, that a man who exulted mercy and honor could possess so little of either.

If the other clerics voted him in, Fane’s path to power would be assured. A mere three days away.

Autumn harvest.

Kit, where are you? She was just beginning to feel lightheaded with the idea that something terrible had happened to him, or, just as painful, He’s left me, when a moon-pale flash stirred in the dark.

Mr. Night. He stood at some distance in the shadow of a leaning tree, motionless but for his hair fluttering in the breeze. No one else noticed him. He spared Eda a small, nearly affectionate smile as she was hauled along like an unruly dog.

Bastard.

She suddenly understood. Mr. Night was waiting to see if Kit really would come for her. But Kit was not foolish enough to reveal himself. Eda looked for signs of him, but spotting a shape-shifter in the darkness was futile. If he was here, he was keeping his distance. Would he simply watch if they decided to kill her?

Her chest ached, hollow as a conch on the shore.

As she glared at Mr. Night’s brazen taunt, so calm in the face of losing his coveted Gateway, her thoughts faltered and stuck like a wheel in mud. Mr. Night told Fane that if the mirror was destroyed, he expected him to find another. He wasn’t worried…because there was another Gateway in Blackbridge.

Lich has one.

That was why Lich called Tenelle here. He never cared about owning the mirror—he only wanted to make sure no one else got it. If the Blades destroyed it, his would be the only Gateway in Blackbridge. Maybe all of Wesland. And Fane would be forced to use Lich’s instead. The bishop would have to pay Lich whatever he wanted to keep using it.

Eda’s mind spun wildly. “Commander,” she said from the corner of her mouth, “I need to speak to you. Privately.”

“There is nothing left to say.”

“Please. If you care at all about stopping these attacks, give me a moment before you throw me in some dark cell. Just one.”

Tenelle glanced sideways at her. They stopped before Fane. “Bishop Florian,” the commander said, “you’ve been through quite the ordeal. But you will shore up your remaining strength and allow my men to escort you to Fell Keep. All those involved in this debacle must be questioned.”

Fane inclined his head. “Of course. What of the Gateway?”

“It will be taken into our custody.” Tenelle watched his face, but the bishop’s fledgling frown disappeared like passing clouds.

“I am glad. Such profane artifacts as these threaten to bring ruin upon us all. I cannot thank you enough for your service, Commander. You saved my life.”

Eda could see no reason to hold her tongue. “You’re a spineless monster, and sooner or later everyone will see it.”

“An ominous foretelling, is it?” Fane’s eyes narrowed. “How like a witch.”

“Enough. Guildford, William: Escort the bishop to the keep. The rest of you, secure the Gateway. The girl says she needs to piss. I will take her.”

Eda looked at Tenelle sharply.

“Someone should accompany you, Commander. More of those creatures may yet come to her aid.”

“I shan’t go far, Guildford. I’d rather not have Miss Shaw stinking like a chamber pot when we bring her in.” Her tone invited no argument, and none was given. Tenelle sheathed her sword. She took a torch in one hand and Eda’s shirt in the other, hauling her down the tree-covered side path. Eda was nearly breathless with relief. She listened to me.

Once the Blades were out of sight, Eda was dragged off the gravel entirely. Through the flower beds and farther still, into a line of silvery birch trees. “We’ve passed more than one place for a private piss,” she remarked.

Tenelle spun Eda toward her. “You have your moment. Speak fast.”

She wet her lips. “Florian Fane is the one responsible for these fiends, Commander. He’s using his sacred rite as a front for gathering years. I know the Blades are the Faithhood’s armed right hand, but will you let that stop you turning the sword inward? Monsters can also hide in holy robes.”

“So you and the High Governor claim.”

“It’s your sworn duty, is it not? To protect the people of this city?”

Tenelle’s eyes flashed. “It is and I shall. I know a threat when I smell one, and the bishop stinks, but to accuse him at this juncture is fruitless. If you have nothing useful to suggest—”

“You’re right. His guilt must be proven beyond all doubt. We can do it if you’ll only let me help.”

“How?”

“The Clerics’ Conclave you mentioned. We expose him there, before the Patriarch himself.”

Three days.

Tenelle regarded her cooly. “I’m listening.”

Eda’s pulse tripped. “You know that Severin Lich has a Gateway, yes? If you destroy the one you found tonight, his will be the last in all of Blackbridge, maybe Wesland itself. Fane will be forced to use Lich’s mirror instead. In the mausoleum, Mr.—the demon Fane parlays with—said that he expects Fane to find him another. Fane needs a Gateway.” She took a breath, trying to organize her thoughts. “But what if Lich’s mirror were destroyed too?”

Tenelle’s eyes narrowed with hawkish interest. “Florian would face the demon’s wrath.”

“Yes. Eliminate Lich’s mirror first, and we could threaten Fane with the destruction of the other. He might be fearful enough of the demon’s anger to confess to whatever he’s charged with, right there at the Conclave.”

“And if he does not?”

“Then…the demon—Baelion, he’s called—will come to protect what’s his. I’m sure he will. His presence will be much harder for Fane to explain.”

Tenelle leaned back, scanning Eda’s face. “If it were so easy to seize Lich’s mirror, trust that I would have done so years ago. The undercity is difficult to navigate, and his more influential associates keep us from investigating lawfully. We’ve no proof of his Gateway, though it’s all but common knowledge.”

Eda steeled herself. She tried not to ruminate on yet another bargain looping around her throat like a collar. “I know ways through the undercity. And I think I know where Lich keeps his mirror.” She thought of a tapestry swaying in a draft: a unicorn striding through a green forest. “I’ll find it myself. I’ve a demon who will help me.”

“The same demon that slaughtered my men, I suppose?” Her lip curled. “I would see that vile cur destroyed, along with all his fiendish kin.”

She winced. “Your men did attack him first.”

Tenelle’s silence was hard. “And in return for this aid, I assume, you want your freedom.”

“For this, I need my freedom.”

Their stare was weighted, taking measure of the other.

Overhead, something shifted in the boughs of a birch tree. Eda did a double take. A large black crow perched there, eyes glowing like orange pearls in the commander’s torchlight.

Her heart thudded. She made herself look away.

Tenelle said, “Fine. The terms are these: You will meet me here two days from now, the eve before the Clerics’ Conclave. Sundown. I shall bring you what you need to destroy Lich’s Gateway.” She pulled on Eda’s ties. “And at the Conclave, we will set our trap.” The rope fell away. “Do not make me regret it.”

Eda clutched her sore wrists. “You’re letting me go? Right now?”

“I will say that your demon took me by surprise. He stole you away, and I was lucky to escape with my life. An embarrassing admission, but more plausible than you miraculously escaping the keep in two days’ time. Getting you out of there would be far more vexing.”

“…Thank you.”

“I do this for Blackbridge, girl. Uphold your end of things, and I will see the charges against you dropped. Do not, and you will die on the end of my blade. That is a promise.” Tenelle stepped back. “The southern gate should still be open. Carry on this way until you find it, and get clear of this place. Now run.” She spun on her heel and drew her sword.

Tenelle charged back the way they’d come, shouting, “Men, to me! To me!”

Eda ran.