Chapter 15 - Reap and Sow

When Eda stirred the next morning, she awoke to a pair of beady black eyes looming over her.

“Oh my—ow!” Her head thwacked against the hull as she jerked in alarm. Tripp hissed and retreated onto the dining table.

“Easy. You’ll scare Old Bastard.” Robin stood in the kitchenette, frying bread in lard. The cat in question had retreated to his shelf overhead. He glared down at Tripp, tail lashing violently.

“The imp was staring like he meant to eat me in my sleep!”

“Tripp would never foul his tongue with horrid human meat. Nasty gristle and chewy bits, it is.”

“How exactly would you know that?”

Sharp teeth flashed in a grin.

“Enough.” Robin shooed Tripp off the table as though he were a fly, earning a growl. Nothing about the demonic seemed to unnerve her. “Where’s your wayward lord this morning? Haven’t seen him since I cleaned up his leg.”

“My patron keeps to his own affairs, crone.”

“Ah. So you don’t know either.”

“Tripp is Lord Kit’s most trusted vassal! Always kept in his confidence.”

“I thought he dismissed you from his service?” Eda posed, enjoying the way he seethed.

“Tripp has watched over m’lord since he was a youngling in the cradle and will die at his side! When he takes back his family seat, Tripp will be there too.”

Eda considered him. There was a fierceness in his expression that she could only interpret as genuine affection. Strange to see it upon such a monstrous little face. “You’d die for him?”

“Tripp is Kit’rath Ansellis’s familiar.”

As if that explained everything. “You care about him.”

Tripp opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Puffed out his chest. “A mere mortal would not understand.”

That’s almost sweet.

Robin asked, “What about you, lamb? After yesterday, it seems to me you need this bishop taken care of. Unless you want to spend the rest of your days running from the Faith…”

“That’s the least of my problems. Once I get Ben and Lawrie out, we need to get Severin Lich his damned Gateway. If we fail, we’ll have to leave Wesland. Go to Forisia, maybe. Or the Isles.”

“Penniless criminals hunted by clerics and crime lords alike don’t tend to live very long.”

“I’m not going to live long anyway,” Eda snapped. The words hung bitterly in the ensuing silence. “Sorry. I just—I can’t think about what comes after. If I can even rescue them, my brothers and I still need to find Mr. Night his last ten years. After that…I don’t know. At least we’ll be free.”

“Perhaps. But for how long?”

Eda misliked this particular tone of voice—soft and pitying. She misliked even more that she had no good answer. Any future beyond getting her brothers back was indistinct as smoke. To think that her last precious years might be spent scurrying from the Faithhood’s clutches or Severin Lich, like a fox down a hole…Robin was right. It would only be a matter of time before they were caught, or killed, or starved to death as beggars on some foreign street. Was that to be Ben and Lawrie’s lot after everything she’d done to save them?

Florian Fane’s visage swam behind her eyes. Her fingers curled into her trousers. I want him to regret ever shadowing our door. More than that, she wanted Ben and Lawrie to live. Even if Eda wouldn’t be there to see. Even if she wouldn’t get a life of her own.

The bishop, exposed. Would it be enough to clear their names and win back their freedom?

A breeze rushed into the cabin. Kit appeared at the door and leaned against the jamb. “Ready for another ride, darling?”

“Can’t you turn into a mule? Something not so tall and…fast?”

“Learning to adopt any form takes years of study and practice. I know only five. You think I’d waste the effort on a damned mule?”

Eda counted on her fingers. “Cat. Mouse. Horse. Bird. What’s the fifth, then?” She hesitated to count Kit’s human visage, so alike his real one. If Mr. Night was capable of the same, it could not be an illusion exclusive to shape-shifters.

“Cease being nosy.”

“You still haven’t told me who this ‘friend in a high place’ is.” Then, because she felt snide: “Didn’t think you had any friends.”

“It’s a strong word, I’ll grant you. He and I have a Pact.”

Eda aborted her sip of tea. “Wait. Are you talking about Abelard Wolfram? High Governor Abelard Wolfram?” She’d almost forgotten that little fact entirely. Severin Lich’s suspicions of Wolfram being a dealie had led her to Kit in the first place.

“Unless there’s another one hanging about I’ve not heard of. Abelard is the only Pact I’ve made since coming here, save yours.”

“He pays for your apartment,” she mused. And general extravagant lifestyle, no doubt. “Did you really help him become High Governor? How?”

“Skulking, sleuthing, blackmail. Planted evidence to keep his rivals under heel. In one particular case, hanging a man by his ankles from a third-story window.”

“Sounds like common mercenary work.” She’d wondered if demons went about fulfilling Pacts in mundane ways. Now, knowing the limits of their magic, the concept failed to surprise her—though most dealies surely had no clue. A demon would never admit such lack.

“I’ll thank you not to compare me to some knuckle-dragging hired muscle, you little heathen. Have you ever successfully squeezed yourself between the hinges of a security-deposit box? No, you haven’t, because you cannot turn into a mouse, and even then it was a tight bloody squeeze. Are you ready to leave or not?”

Eda took a hurried sip of tea and stood, ignoring Tripp’s glare and Robin’s amused smirk. “Ready.”

Kit made a face at her ugly mantle and ill-fitting trousers. “We’ll get you something better to wear before we meet with him. Can’t have you looking like a vagrant criminal.”

“I am a vagrant criminal.”

“The governor will tolerate our impromptu visit better if he doesn’t think you a mad bog witch. My good looks can only distract from so much.”

“Certainly not your insufferable personality.”

He held out his hand.

Eda took it, wondering how so rude a person might also wield such lordly manners. Wondered why, when his skin brushed hers, it sent a little thrill all down her arm.

* * *

Their journey into Blackbridge was mercifully uneventful, until Kit led her down a narrow alley off the merchant quarter in Bellmoor Heath. Besides Cannington, it was the wealthiest borough in the city. The shops here boasted tall frontages and carved beams, glass windows and plasterwork figurines. They made Shaws’ Antiques look decidedly shabby.

“What are we doing here?”

“Shopping. Like I said.”

“You’re just going to prance into a store?”

“I do not prance.” He glanced over his shoulder. “My tail isn’t showing, is it?”

“No…”

“Then stop fussing. You cannot go, Evil Mistress of the Fiends, but I’m unlikely to be recognized.”

Eda was still spluttering when he smoothly slipped around her, sliding on his tinted eyeglasses. “But—do you have any money?”

“I have a tab.”

“A what?”

He sauntered across the street. The city seemed quieter than usual. Muted. Life didn’t stop even for monsters on the prowl, not when there was work to be done, but now the air hung heavy with trepidation. Eda wondered if Lich’s people were still tracking her. She assumed so. The mantle might hide her, but Kit was conspicuous enough for those who knew to look for him. And if Kit is in Lich’s sights, then so am I.

Eda clung to the shadows of the alley and waited. She half expected some sort of ruckus to break out. Screams, couches thrown through windows, that sort of thing. But after a nail-biting fifteen minutes, Kit reappeared through the tailor’s front door carrying a large paper bundle. He almost stepped into the path of two ladies, offering a flashy bow of apology. The women flushed and sent him admiring looks as they passed. One whispered something in her friend’s ear. They giggled.

Eda couldn’t rightly blame them. Kit sported a new doublet and jerkin, black brocade with subtle gold trim: the epitome of understated wealth. The capped glasses concealing his eyes lent him an air of rebellious mystery. If he’d been handsome before, he was downright ruinous now. So much for this little excursion being purely for my benefit.

He shoved the parcel at her.

Eda unwrapped it.

Kit had chosen a fitted moss-green waistcoat to accompany a cream shirt, embroidered with swooping florals along the hem. There was a pair of buttery-soft riding leathers, too, the color of autumn bark. At the bottom lay a wool cloak. Darker and thicker than the one she’d owned before, it boasted an ivory button shaped like a water lily at the throat. Eda stared at it. Of all the flowers.

These clothes were better than anything she’d ever worn. They were lovely, in fact. Practical and pretty and suiting her complexion. Had he thought the same? It seemed unlikely that he’d choose her most favorable colors entirely by accident. “These are…nice.”

“What were you expecting, a jester’s outfit?” He slipped the glasses down his nose. “Something low-cut and outrageously lacking in substance?”

“I’d wear it well regardless.”

Her confidence was entirely contrived. She wasn’t sure Kit knew that, for his pupils bloomed large at once. “No argument there, darling.”

The rumble in his voice sent her heart stuttering. Eda scrambled to rebalance the equilibrium. “Keep your perversions to yourself.”

“If you keep bossing me around, that shall become impossible.”

Her flush must’ve been apparent from a hundred paces; she spun away. Pull it together. Entertaining the flirtations of the demon who’d taken fifty years off her life was a truly tragic state of affairs.

Eda ducked behind an abandoned horse cart at the end of the alleyway to change. Kit stood guard. She was fully prepared to throw a shoe at him, but he did not peek.

Everything fit perfectly. Like a new skin, celebrating the lines of her body rather than hiding them away, and her chest swelled with the rightness of it. She felt…confident. Eda ran her hands over the waistcoat; the idea that he knew her measurements by eye was not flattering, she told herself. If he’d paid such close attention, it was because he was an awful lecher. She considered calling him such to his face when she emerged, old clothes abandoned.

His expression stopped her.

It was a brief thing, flitting away in an instant. But Eda saw. The slackening of his mouth. A warmth softening his eyes. Kit cleared his throat and slid his glasses back in place. “Shall we?”

They journeyed farther into Bellmoor Heath. Kit led her to the recessed gatehouse of a stately courtyard, guarded by high walls. Beyond, an ornate fountain gurgled among neatly maintained plants and flower beds, overlooked by a building that enclosed the garden on three sides. It was all dark stone and proud casements, three stories high. Timber-framed, with brick between rather than willow and plasterwork. Exactly what she’d expected of a High Governor’s abode.

“What now?”

Her only answer was a slow blink of feline eyes before Kit slipped through the gate. Eda hovered uncertainly, glancing about. She wore the mantle over her new cloak, her hood pulled up as far as it would go, but it was still unnerving to be left alone on the street.

Kit disappeared into pruned rosebushes beneath an open window. A second later, a little black mouse scurried over the sill.

She waited. Flexed her fingers over and over, as though she could shake the trepidation out. It was luncheon, wasn’t it? Eda imagined Kit transforming in an explosion of black smoke at the governor’s dining table, his wife and children falling out of their chairs in fright.

No such chaos came. Instead, the front door opened. A doorman hurried across the courtyard. Eda prepared to bolt, but the young man only unlocked the gate. He glanced about in confusion. His eyes faltered as they passed over her, then slid right off. “Miss…?”

She cleared her throat. “Hello—”

“Saints be good! Where did…” He flushed. Wide eyes scanned her in astonishment. “Er, that is—come on in, miss. The master is waiting to receive you.”

She thanked him, conscious of the way he gave her a wide berth as he led her through the front doors. Eda fumbled to unhook the chicken foot, letting the mantle fall free of her shoulders. Kit had been quite insistent on that. She held it bundled to her chest as the footman guided her into a lavish tiled foyer, then up a curving double staircase.

They stopped at a door beneath two rearing unicorns upon the lintel, carved from handsome cherry wood. The footman bade her enter. Inside, all was lushly furnished in warm, inviting hues. She hardly noticed.

Abelard Wolfram was glaring straight at her.

“This is her?”

It took Eda a moment to realize he was speaking to Kit. The demon languished against a window to the left. Milky daylight illuminated his hair and shoulders. Dust motes danced. Were it not for those molten eyes of his, he might have been a saint from a templehouse fresco. “Abelard, meet Eda Shaw.”

The High Governor stood at his desk with crossed arms. He stared hard at Eda, then Kit, then back again.

He was unassuming in looks. Eda had seen Wolfram before at a distance, for he frequently oversaw public events, but up close he was nothing like she’d imagined. Middling of height with graying hair, the governor was handsome—if not a little worn. Lines about his mouth and eyes suggested a lack of sleep, but his blue gaze was sharp as he assessed her. Cunning.

“It’s an honor, sir,” Eda managed. She clutched the mantle like a shield. She was a wanted woman, and if anyone had the power to send her directly to the hangman’s noose, it was him. I have to trust Kit. He wouldn’t bring me here if he thought I’d be in danger.

Wolfram ignored her. He poured himself a glass of amber drink from a decanter. “Bad enough that you come to my home when I expressly asked you not to, Kit’rath. Now you bring an accused murderer along.” His voice was level in that diplomatic way of all politicians. Something harder lurked beneath. “My children play just outside.”

Kit glanced out the window. “Your two youngest, no? Hyacinth and Faron.”

Wolfram’s grip tightened on his glass. “You bid me allow the girl entrance. I have done so. Now you will do me the courtesy of explaining what this is all about.” He noted Kit’s beautiful jerkin. “You’ve helped yourself to enough of my resources of late.”

That explained the tailor’s tab.

“Careful, High Governor. Your position might grant you authority over most, but not I. Or have you forgotten who it was that secured you this grand house?” Kit’s smile was unkind. “Everything you have, you have because of me.”

Wolfram stiffened.

Eda looked between them. Wolfram and Kit had made a Pact, but she’d barely believed it until now. The High Governor was the figurehead of the city, elected representative and chief overseer of all those within. He was supposed to be above reproach. Fitting, she supposed, that Blackbridge’s leader would be corrupt. What of the High Governors in the other great cities—Alderport, Dawnmouth, Netherton? Had they come by their seats honestly, or had they, too, struck a nefarious deal to win gentry votes?

“I could hardly forget.” Wolfram’s eyes flicked toward Eda. “I have paid and continue to pay my debt.”

“Don’t worry about her. Eda Shaw is privy to our dealings.”

Wolfram’s head snapped around. “You cannot discuss the terms of our agreement with anyone!”

“I did not…directly. Miss Shaw came to me with prior knowledge. I merely failed to correct her.”

Wolfram regarded her with fresh wariness. “You’ve made another Pact.”

Eda disliked how they spoke about her as though she had no mouth of her own. She tried to keep the scorn from her voice as she said, “I’m sorry for the impertinence, sir. I am not here to—to blackmail you or threaten you in any way. I simply need your help.”

“Oh? How is it, then, that you found Kit’rath in the first place? What knowledge did you have of our connection, and how did you come to gain it?”

Eda faltered. Now likely wasn’t an opportune time to mention her working alongside Severin Lich. “That is…complicated.”

He sneered. “I imagine it is.”

“Let us stay on topic. You know only the lies told about Eda Shaw. Rest assured, she’s not the villain you seek.” Kit slunk about the margins of the room, trailing fingertips over paintings and bronze candelabras.

“She has made a Pact with you,” Wolfram said. “I’d wager that tells me enough of her character to warrant suspicion.”

“So the pot called the kettle…”

“I don’t claim to be exempt. But the point stands. If not the girl, then who must answer for setting nightmarish beasts upon this city?”

Eda looked to Kit. He spared her a raised eyebrow. Guess that’s my cue. “It isn’t my doing, Governor. The man responsible is called Florian Fane.”

Abelard’s eyes widened. “You accuse a cleric of the Faith?”

She took a breath and explained as concisely as she could. About her father’s Pact and her indentured servitude. The night the bishop came, her desperate bargain with Kit. All she did not mention was Lich and his desire for the mirror. She finished by saying, “Now I need to get them back, sir. My brothers.”

“More pertinently,” Kit drawled, “I need to get them back. In order to fulfill this Pact, the Shaw boys must be freed from Fell Keep.”

“For pity’s sake. I have no power over the Faithhood, nor the Blades. You know this.”

“I do. But our task will be a more viable should we understand what waits for us at the keep, in and out. You can help in that.”

Wolfram scoffed. “And why would I? Do you know the trouble you’ve caused, Kit’rath, having the Blades discover you as they did on Harecourt Road? Twenty years I’ve paid for that apartment, keeping you in the most private of comforts, and in one afternoon all is unearthed. Tenelle is like a dog with a bone. I’ve destroyed every last paper trail linking me to the building, yet I fear it still isn’t enough. The Blades are—”

“I thought you had them on your payroll,” Kit mused dryly, inspecting his nail beds.

“Some, yes, but Martine Tenelle is not a woman to be bought. She should never have risen to such rank.”

“Because she’s honorable?” Eda posed before she could stop herself. And got where she is without making any illicit bargains, I imagine. No doubt Tenelle was a better person than any of them standing in this room. The woman might have wanted Eda’s head, but she was admirable all the same.

Wolfram’s eyes narrowed. “I’d curb that cocky tongue, young lady. The gallows are being prepared even now for the month’s hangings. Your brothers shall be among them, I hear. The day after autumn harvest.”

Eda blanched. Just over a week away. Fane would not kill her brothers before the harvest—he’d sworn so to Mr. Night—but if the demon did not kill them when the deadline passed, Fane would. It seemed he planned to waste no time.

Kit glanced at her. “Even more reason to resolve these tedious issues quickly, Abelard. I’m not asking.”

“And if I refuse? My coin is still yours. You cannot harm me so long as our Pact stands.”

“No, indeed.” Kit trailed a nail along the desk, scraping. “Your children, however…”

Eda’s stomach dropped.

Wolfram put down his glass. “Do not play with me, Kit’rath.”

“Who’s playing?”

“I have known you some twenty years. Little we’ve conversed in that time, but you are no stranger to me. You know my children’s names. Knew them in the cradle. How dare you—”

“And I can know them in the grave, if I decide to put them there.”

“You are bluffing.”

“Are you willing to find out?”

Wolfram hesitated. In a flash, Kit’s claws were out. The window was thrown open—

“Stop!” Wolfram cried.

Kit paused, crouched like a jungle cat on the sill. The sound of a girl’s playful laughter carried on the breeze.

Eda realized she’d moved to stop him, too, hand outstretched. “Kit,” she hissed.

Molten eyes slid toward her in a gray visage, level and calculating. Fear rushed through her like a tide. What could she do if he really wanted to hurt those children? What could anyone do? He wouldn’t, she told herself. He wouldn’t.

Hated that she wasn’t sure.

“You’ve made your point,” Wolfram said, gripping his desk. “I will help you.”

“How?” Kit did not move.

“I have—I can get plans of the keep. The layout. I can have them brought here within the hour. I’ve a man inside the Order who could retrieve them without a recorded request. The keep is old, and the original records show forgotten passages that don’t officially exist. There’s a reason the Order keeps such documents to themselves.”

“Will that be enough?” Eda dared to ask. Her disdain for the man lessened some, to see him so concerned for his children.

“It is the best I can do for you without implicating myself. I care about this city, Miss Shaw. My city. I cannot keep it safe from the inside of a cell.”

Whether personal greed had first spurred Abelard Wolfram to make a deal with a demon, his dedication to Blackbridge didn’t seem false. Eda’s mind raced ahead of herself. “Tenelle has suspicions of the bishop. If you want to stay above her reproach and help the people, you could do worse than work with her to unearth Florian’s role in all of this. The Gateway…he must still have access to it. It might be enough to prove his treason.”

The room hung quiet. Wolfram huffed. “For a girl who has made some very ill-advised decisions”—his eyes slid to Kit—“you are not entirely witless. I see now why Kit’rath chose you to break his streak of abstinence.”

Eda set her jaw. “I chose him, actually.”

Kit snickered. Some of that unbearable tension bled away, but Eda stood pinned beneath Wolfram’s scrutiny. She wondered if it was the witch he saw now or the woman.

She feared she might be both.