Chapter 34 - Reap and Sow

The world was a blur.

Blades rushed onto the dais. Grand Marshal Tiernan and High Governor Wolfram spoke with Tenelle in low tones. Eda felt Ben’s hand on her elbow, steadying her, but it was far away and muffled as a waking dream.

The only thing clear was Mr. Night’s head, lying some feet away from his body. His mouth hung open in a half snarl, eyes dull and pale as morning mist. Already he was crumbling to dust, as though he were made of sand.

Dead. He’s dead, and we’re free. Lawrie might yet live.

Across the dais, what was left of Florian Fane was quickly covered by an abandoned coat—out of respect for the late bishop or to spare them all the grisly sight he made, Eda wasn’t sure.

The Shaws would not die tonight. Not by the bishop’s hand, nor the demon’s that had been their master. Eda had imagined this moment at length, expecting to feel an odd amalgamation of melancholy and jubilant relief. Instead, she only wanted to lie down and sleep for a hundred years.

Her neck prickled. She turned.

Kit stood favoring his right side, hand pressed to his stomach wound. He was bruised and bloody. His jerkin was torn open, hair askew. Tenelle was not much better. She used her sword as a walking aid as she talked to him, her arm cradled in a makeshift sling. Kit nodded, listening, but his eyes repeatedly drifted toward Eda. The other Blades gave him a wide berth. He’d wisely adopted his mortal form, and no one made to attack him. Instead, they crowded around the ashen pile of Mr. Night’s remains, as though he might reform and leap up again at any moment.

“Look sharp,” Ben said.

Wolfram and Tiernan approached. Eda straightened.

“Eda and Benjamin Shaw.” Wolfram looked for all the world as though this were a simple business introduction. “Meet Grand Marshal Tiernan. Myself and Commander Tenelle have relayed the necessary facts of your involvement to him.”

He leveled her with a deliberate look. Eda understood. Really, Governor. As if I’d discuss your demonic Pact with the man.

“I’m led to understand you two were used as scapegoats by Bishop Florian,” Tiernan said. “That this Gateway was never yours, and you claim no power over the fiends. Is that correct?”

Ben’s fingers twitched around her arm. “That’s right, Marshal,” he said.

“You are guilty, however, of escaping the Order’s custody. We have you and that demon over there to blame, Miss Shaw.”

Eda had no idea what his calm demeanor meant when paired with such a sour look. Shouldn’t they already be bound and dragged away? “I—yes, sir. My brothers were innocent. I felt I had to—”

“Your feelings are of no consequence to matters of law.” He pursed his lips. “Nevertheless. The High Governor has made it quite clear that the destruction of this Gateway and of those responsible for the terror on our streets would not have been possible without you. He insists that all charges against you and your kin be dropped. I’m inclined to disagree.”

Eda waited, breathless. Wolfram held his hands behind his back.

Tiernan exhaled. “Alas, it seems I am outnumbered. Word of you and your brother’s so-called heroism here today is catching, and I do not wish to rile the city further. These have been some hard weeks for us all. Your family will walk freely in Blackbridge. But,” he pressed as she and Ben exchanged stunned glances, “that demon has killed many good Blades. It must be gone by sundown, or I will see it meet a far worse end. And if I hear of any further associations with the demonic on your account, Shaws, then you shall be held to severe and swift judgment. Do I make myself clear?”

They hurried to agree.

He left to bark orders at the Blades. Mr. Night’s crumbling body was to be taken to Fell Keep, where it would be burned, along with what remained of the dead fiends and the ruined Gateway. The Patriarch had already been ushered there for his own safety, with the clerics rounded up to join him.

Wolfram observed the buzz of activity with a raised brow. “I’d say you both got off lightly.”

“Thanks to you.” Eda’s gaze darted toward the dark figure lurking in the corner. “I can’t believe you persuaded them not to kill Kit.”

“That’s Tenelle’s doing. She convinced Tiernan that Kit’rath poses no threat, but I believe his rather spectacular display of fratricide did the heavy lifting. Everyone is still in shock. Tiernan’s tolerance will soon expire, and Kit’rath must leave Blackbridge first.”

Eda lowered her voice. “What of your…agreement?”

“I am to give him money, home, and provision in Blackbridge, so long as I keep the seat of High Governor, but there is no stipulation that he make use of it. So long as Kit’rath does not want my purse, I’m technically free of my obligations.” This pleased Wolfram—his shoulders hung low with quiet relief. “I shall not miss our acquaintanceship. You, however…well. Your strength of character is unquestionable, Miss Shaw. If you ever wish to work in the courts or high office, write to me. This city needs more folk like yourself steering it.”

She tried not to be visibly flustered by the offer. “Thank you, High Governor.”

“And what if I said the girl would do better with the Blades?” Tenelle appeared at Wolfram’s side, eyeing Eda’s bruised throat. “Strength of character means little among the skulduggery and slander of political circles.”

“A most complimentary picture you do paint of me, Martine,” Wolfram said.

“I wasn’t referring to you specifically, Governor.”

“Of course.” He shot her a dry look, then dipped into a parting bow. “People have mostly dispersed, but the streets will be aflame with gossip. I have a public address to plan before the broadsides get away with themselves. If you’ll excuse me.”

“I’d be no good as a Blade, Commander,” Eda said once he’d gone, “even if I did have the strength to lift one of those swords properly. It’s Ben who’d be a true asset. I couldn’t have done this without his help.”

“Hm.” Tenelle eyed Ben shrewdly, who straightened. “Maybe so. Come to Fell Keep once you are healed, young man, and ask after me. We’ll see how you fare.”

Ben’s tentative smile was joyous. All his scrapes and bruises paled in comparison. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Horses,” Eda added. “Ben likes working with horses, don’t you? He’d do well in the mounted regiment.” She felt the heat of Ben’s quelling glare. Noted Tenelle’s incredulous smirk. “Just a suggestion.”

“We will see.” Tenelle looked them up and down. “You’re both fit to fall over. The templehouse will be cordoned off for now. Come. The healers will see you right within the keep.” Sure enough, Eda spied the last of the Blades carting away the remains of the Gateway, disappearing through the chantry doors. The dais was empty but for the dark river of blood drying upon the stone.

Ben followed Tenelle. Eda did not.

“I…” She glanced at Kit’s dark silhouette. “I need a moment.”

Tenelle’s lips thinned. “Make sure he’s gone by sundown.”

Ben merely spared Eda a weighted look before he followed the commander through the chantry doors. Just like that, she was alone.

Almost.

“You came back.” Eda stood at the foot of the dais steps. “Why?”

Late afternoon sunlight had broken through the clouds. It spilled past the templehouse doors in a swath of honey, warming her back. The city outside buzzed with the dull hum of speculation, too far beyond the outer gates to be properly seen, where the Blades kept curious eyes at bay. In here, all was quiet.

Kit stepped into the light. “You know why.”

Her chest ached with memory of Mr. Night’s scorn—You’re in love with her. “Then why did you leave?”

“For the same reason.”

“Don’t talk in riddles. Do you expect me to throw myself at your feet? I won’t. You left me. Coming back doesn’t undo that.”

“I know.” He drifted closer. His eyes were bright as torches, but the look on his face was painfully human in its torment. “I left because I was scared to face Baelion; it’s true. But it scared me worse when you begged me to face him, because I realized that I would do it. For you.” He studied her hair, her lips, the curve of her cheek. “So I ran. You were right, mir’han. I’m a coward.”

Eda tried to take it back, but he cut her off.

“I returned because I realized the only thing worse than facing Baelion was facing a world without you in it.” He slipped into her space as though he wasn’t sure she’d let him. His gaze fixed upon her own. “I thought I knew what it was, to love a thing. Your poets and playwrights have much to say on the matter. But I see now that I’ve never loved anything. Not truly.” His brow furrowed. “Not as I love you.”

Eda’s heart squeezed, thumped, sang against the cage of her ribs. It should not surprise her to hear him say it. She’d seen it in the tenderness of his smiles, the yawning longing of his eyes. Felt it in the passion of his touch and the vehemence of his kiss. But it was something else entirely, to hear it said aloud.

“You love me,” she repeated in a daze.

And suddenly Kit’s fingers were sliding into her hair, thumbs tracing the cut in her hairline. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Scorn me, if you must. Curse my name; send me away. I will go. I will do anything you ask. But yes, Eda Shaw, Breaker of Gateways, Hero of Humans. If what I feel is not love, then I shall never know the meaning of the word. I am…I am wretched with the wanting of you.” His eyes, Eda realized with shock, were wet. His voice broke. “Just thought you should know.”

She kissed him.

It was profound, the way they surged together. The world narrowed down to the places where they touched. Their breaths came fast and labored. He pulled her bodily against him, shuddered as she twined her arms about his neck. His scent surrounded her—wine and lightning storms. They layered kisses upon kisses into the waiting heat of the other, pliant and needy. Eda had never put much stock in prayer, but she wondered if this was what the Faithful found in worship. A beautiful sense of belonging, a burning devotion.

“You’re a fool,” she gasped, finally pulling away.

His hands tightened on her waist. He’d transformed, she realized—his horn brushed the crown of her head. “Obviously. What sort of cretin declares his love amidst blood and entrails? I promise I’m usually more suave than this.”

Eda laughed. Kit grinned with both fangs, eyes crinkling at the corners. He caught her bottom lip once more, kissing her with a devastating ardor that had her melting into him like wax before a flame. But just as Eda’s happiness threatened to lift her clear off the ground, he pulled back. His smile turned small and sad, if no less wistful.

Unease rose. “What is it?”

“I told you once that demons are greedy. It’s true. I would keep you forever if I could. If you would let me.” His voice wavered, raw. “But you don’t have forever.”

It was like ice water down her back. “That—it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. I’m the one who asked you to make the Pact, and I’d do it again. If I only have a few years left, then…then they’ll be very good years. So long as you’re there.”

His expression only crumpled further. “I’ve no wish to live in any world where you are not. You think I will ever be happy again, after knowing what it is to be yours? Knowing it was I that sent you to an early grave?”

“Kit—”

“Do not ask me to watch you die.”

“I don’t understand.”

He drew away and plucked up a discarded silver sword, careful to touch only the cloth-bound grip. It had been forgotten between the pews—the same one Mr. Night splintered in his fury. The blade was broken in half at a perilously sharp angle.

“There’s only one way to get your years back.”

He pressed the sword into her hands.

Understanding struck her like a thunderclap. Like a frigid wind, chilling her to the bone. Eda gripped the hilt with numb fingers and watched, horrified, as Kit knelt at her feet. He looked up at her with infinite tenderness. A supplicant before his deity.

She wanted to slap him.

“No.”

“Eda.”

“I said no!” She threw the sword down. “How could you—how could you even suggest—” She was shaking. Her breaths came quick and shallow. “You’re asking me to kill you?”

“Yes.”

Eda raged in the face of his calm, his quiet surety. “And you thought I would actually do it?”

“You must.”

“No.”

“You must, Eda.” He gripped her hand. “I die willingly.”

“Stop it!” She tore away from him. “I did not go through all of this, all of this…pain and suffering just to lose you in the end. How dare you? How dare you even ask it of me!”

He surged to his feet and shook her, just hard enough to render her silent. “You do not have a choice, you beautiful stubborn creature! Do you understand? If I don’t die, then you will.” He wiped something from her cheek. She was crying again. Perhaps she’d one day fill an ocean with her grief. “You will die, Eda. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough. You’ll leave your brothers to mourn you, for me to mourn you. Do not tell me you wish for that. Do not tell me you would give up so easily. You’ve still the whole world to discover, remember?”

Why now, when she needed it most, did his self-serving nature fail to materialize? You will never know what it is to be mortal until you can face the inevitability of your own death, she told him in the hunter’s house. How she wished to take back the words.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me again.” Her voice warbled like a dying bird. Be a coward, she begged him with her eyes. Be selfish and fearful if it means you won’t make me do this.

“One must leave the other, no matter what we choose. To spare me is to condemn me to a worse fate. You said it yourself: With nothing to live for, I’m dead already.”

Eda buried her face in his neck and sobbed. She could no more stop the tears than hold back a flood. “V-va kesh din,” she cried.

Words whispered in the dark, their meaning only now obvious.

He cupped Eda’s face. Made her look at him. The adoration caught inside his smile was holier than anything she’d seen in mortal works. “As I love you.”

Kit wrapped her fingers around the grip of the broken sword. Then he was kissing her, deep as an ocean and scorching as a pyre. In it, she heard everything he did not say. I love you, each desperate press proclaimed. I love you, I love you, I love you.

They paused. Lips grazed. He slowly pulled away. “All is well, darling. I shall die richer than my brother could ever dream because someone will remember me with love.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “That’s something you cannot bargain for.”

Hands around hers, he angled the jagged point of the sword toward his heart. His shirt was already torn open—the blade was unencumbered as it dug into bare flesh. Blood welled around the tip. At the sight, Eda made a wounded noise. She shook her head, tried to pull away.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, as though it were her in need of comfort. “It’s all right. I’ll help you.”

“Kit.”

“I know.”

“Kit!”

His hands were vises around hers. His eyes shone nearly golden-bright as he drank her in: the last thing he would ever see. She felt him tense, prepare to draw the sword inward—

“That’s quite enough of that,” a sharp voice said.

They froze.

Eda stared at the dark silhouette coming toward them, gilded by the dying sun. Then she saw.

“Robin?”

The old woman stopped and braced her hands on her knees, panting. “Glad to see you have some faculties left intact. Put down the sword, girl.”

Eda tried. Kit didn’t let her.

“That isn’t for you to decide, Robin.”

“No, indeed,” she wheezed. “But for the many years we have known one another, and for the good the girl has done, I owe you another solution.” She straightened. “The imp found me. I moored as far into the city as I dared. Wasn’t sure I’d make it in time.”

Eda looked between them. Her mind felt sluggish, struck dumb by the onslaught of shock after shock. “How…how did you get in? The Blades are guarding the entrance.”

“The same way the mantle hid you in plain sight,” Robin said. “You think I never use enchantments to my own benefit?” She gathered her simple gold pendant and wiggled it at them. Eda had never seen her without it—now she understood why. It’s concealing her? Like the mantle? But I can see her just fine.

“Is Lawrie all right?”

“He sleeps much, but he is stable. It’s up to him now.”

Kit relaxed enough to let Eda slip free. He held the sword in a deathly grip. “What are you talking about? What solution?”

Robin came closer, until she could reach out and brush the blood-streaked hair from Eda’s face. “He is right, Eda Shaw. You must slay the one who holds your years, or else you will never get them back.” Her dark eyes were solemn. “But Kit’rath is young and untested in the ways of the old magicks. He does not know the ancient lore of Pacts, for all he and his kin flaunt the use of them. I do. And there is a loophole.”

Eda clutched her chest. “Speak plain, Robin, I beg you.”

“A demon cannot return to its original owner that which has been taken. But there are no limitations against transferring years to another demon.”

Outside, boots clattered and orders cracked like whips. Stragglers bustled nosily beyond the templehouse gates. Eda’s own pulse was louder, thumping in her ears. “I don’t understand.”

Kit lowered the sword. A black mark upon his breast smoked and bled sluggishly, but he paid it no heed. “You mean…”

“Should you give fifty years to another demon, and Eda killed that same demon by her own hand, she would regain what was lost.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Ha! Of course not. What self-respecting demon wants to give away such longed-for tribute? It is a dead art, and poorly regarded besides. But no less possible.”

“But how?” Eda said. Her blood thrummed with hope, yet she dared not nurture it.

“We’d have to hunt down another demon,” Kit said. “With no Gateways still known to us, we might never find one. And we’d need them to be foolish enough to take the gift of fifty years without suspecting some trick.”

“You don’t need to trick anyone, Kit’rath. And I take offense to being called foolish.”

Robin unclasped her golden necklace. As it fell into her palm, the air shimmered, not unlike a summer haze rising off hot metal. Robin’s olive skin bled gray. A spade-tipped tail unraveled behind her. Short, stumpy horns sprouted between her gray hair. And her eyes turned the loveliest shade of burnished gold.

Eda gripped Kit’s arm, fearing her legs might give out. He was stiff beneath her touch.

They stared.

“You’re…”

“Yes.” Robin traced the point of her ear, almost self-consciously. “Though I haven’t adopted this form in some time.”

Eda’s thoughts took flight like a dancing flock of birds. All the times she’d wondered over Robin’s magical ability, her easy acceptance of the demonic, her obscure knowledge and potent, uncanny presence…

“How?” Kit lurched toward her, scanning her from head to toe. “How could I not have—”

“Don’t be hard on yourself, young one. I told you. My enchantments are very good. I was never greatly blessed with power—not as you noble types tend to be—but in this world, I make for a competent alchemist. This necklace works much the same as your Ring of Shielding. It helps me maintain a human form with little effort. I was most pleased with myself when I finished it.”

Eda asked, “But…why? Why did you leave Infernus? You’ve been hiding here, just like Kit.”

Kit nodded. “I thought I was the only one.”

Robin’s expression turned melancholy. “My story is not one you need hear. All you should know is that I was not hiding, and you are not the first to fall in love with a mortal, Kit’rath Ansellis. My Oriana died many years gone. I knew she would eventually. I just hoped we might grow old together first.”

Oriana. Eda thought of a little blue barge. Of a wistful warning shared upon its stern—one born of experience. Demons and humans have more in common than either might acknowledge, but our differences are legion. To surmount such odds requires…sacrifice.

Her heart clenched.

“Robin is the name she gave me,” the demoness continued. “Her favorite bird. I abandoned my old self to be with her, to live a mortal life. I would do it again. A single day with her was worth a hundred lifetimes. But perhaps that is something you now understand, Kit’rath.”

Kit gripped Eda’s hand, fingers threading through her own. “You’re offering to take those fifty years. To…” His voice was pained.

Eda wished she could pretend she did not understand again. But she did. “Robin, you can’t.”

“Of course I can.” Robin cupped Eda’s face. Despite the claws, her calluses felt just the same: rough with years of weaving magic into the mundane. “Long have I waited to join my Oriana, but I knew she would not thank me for ending myself in an act of mindless grief. This, however…” Her smile was soft and secretive. “I think she would understand.”

Eda panicked. “We—we don’t have to do anything now, do we? I still have some time. We can figure out another way, find another demon—”

“Kit’rath has already pointed out the foolishness of that endeavor. Do not risk your life for an old woman who has lived hers already. You will do this thing, Eda Shaw, here and now, before I lose my mettle.” Her voice did not shake, but her hold on Eda tightened as though she braced against a furious tide.

Eda’s throat closed like a clam. She threw herself into Robin’s arms. Why? Why must everything good come at such a steep cost?

The demoness hugged her back. “There, there, lamb. I have lived long enough, but your time is just beginning. I daresay no one deserves it more.”

Eda did not remember her mother. She’d never felt another woman’s embrace, never been held by an elder who might guide her, care for her. But here in Robin’s arms, she thought this must be very close. “Thank you for everything,” she breathed into the woman’s shoulder. “Thank you, Robin. Thank you.”

When Eda pulled away, Kit took her place. Robin huffed in shock as the taller demon swept her up in a great bear hug. Her toes barely touched the ground. Their horns knocked together.

“Silly youngling,” she said fondly.

Kit put her back down. His eyes were suspiciously misty. “You’ve been my only friend these twenty years, Robin. I owe you more than I can say.”

“Your only friend, eh? You need to get out more.” They shared a wry smile. “Come. Let it be done.”

Eda watched in morbid fascination as Robin used a claw to slice her palm. She bid Kit do the same. They clasped hands.

Robin said, “I ask for fifty years, given freely to you by the one named Eda Shaw.”

With her instruction, Kit said, “I agree.”

There was no long-winded recitation. No convoluted incantation or mystifying chant. Intention, Kit once said, was the key to forging a Pact. And so it was that blood and intention alone passed Eda’s fifty precious years between the two, where their magic flowed into the other.

Kit shuddered. Robin gasped. Her eyes dilated, huge and black as onyx stones.

“Now,” she whispered. “Do it now.”

Eda took the sword. She stood before Robin, held it to her heart. Her own felt flayed open. Her tears could make a river, an ocean, a great flood. “I don’t know if I can.”

Silently, Kit braced her from behind. He wrapped his fingers around hers.

Robin placed her own atop of his. “Do not be sad, lamb. I am not. I will be with my love again, wherever that might be. Only promise me that you’ll look after Old Bastard, won’t you? And my boat—it’s yours, if you want it.”

“Robin.”

She smiled. “Live well for me.”

Behind her, the sun was finally starting to set. The rain had burned off, leaving shining puddles among the cobbles like dappled light in a forest. With the autumn breeze stirring her hair and buttery light about her shoulders, Robin was suddenly more divine to Eda than any saint.

She pulled, encouraging. Eda squeezed her eyes shut. Kit lent her his strength, and together they pressed Eda’s whole weight into the blade. Tears ran down her face.

The sword slid home.

Robin made a shocked gasp, far gentler than Eda expected. She could not bear to look. A tremor ran through her—a nearly imperceptible sensation of warmth. My years. They’ve come back.

Eda stood like that for what felt like hours. It was surely mere seconds. Kit stood behind her, around her, his hands steady where hers were not. He pressed his cheek to hers, also wet.

Then the weight upon the sword fell away.

Eda blinked through her tears.

At their feet, pale ash piled high. It resembled a figure—crumpled, sunken, as though someone sleeping might be found curled beneath. Tangled in it was Robin’s russet dress. Her earrings. Her bracelets.

Another breeze swept through the templehouse. The dust scattered in all directions, eddying and twirling through the air. They stood and watched. As golden light filled the nave and shone upon the dancing ashes, Eda thought it felt like a fond goodbye.