Page 114 of Reap & Sow

“Then we’re on our own.”

She curled her fingers in her trousers, afraid she might blow apart like a dandelion puff in the wind. She couldn’t think about Kit, but it was hard when she’d relied on him so much. Without his powers and the Mantle of Concealment, Eda was as helpless as she’d been at the start of all this.

No. Not helpless. Not alone.

Eda studied Ben’s stubbled face. He had raised her. Had been the one to help her dress, comb her hair, cut her meat—and all that while their father still lived. Later, when she’d woken one morning to find her first blood staining her nightdress, she went to Ben in shame. Her tears of embarrassment had flowed as he found fresh clothes, without a word of complaint. He gave her the last of the sweetbread that day.

Many times, Eda had felt that Lawrie loved her better. Lawrie who played with her, who indulged her mischief, who was free with his hugs and sympathetic words. Lawrie told her he loved her as often as he teased her about her hair: a true brother. But Ben had been brother and mother and father all because he’d had no choice. His siblings had needed him. His love was like the earth beneath their feet—solid, unyielding. Easily trodden on and taken for granted.

Eda snared his hand and squeezed, a lump in her throat. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezed back.

A floorboard creaked.

Eda jumped. Ben was reaching for his sword before they realized it was Tripp, lurking in the open doorway.

“How long have you been eavesdropping?” she spluttered. Then the strangeness of his presence caught up with her. “Wait. Why didn’t you leave with…”

Tripp scuttled closer. It was an unnerving sight. Ben looked about one wrong move away from stomping the imp into the carpet.

He stopped by Eda’s knee and flexed his bony little fingers, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Something shrewd lurked in those black eyes. “My lord is the greatest of demons, but even one such as he might…falter. You spoke true, Eda Shaw. He should not hide from his brother. He should stand and fight.”

“So that he might reclaim his family seat, you mean.”

“So that he might finally be happy.” Tripp glowered. “Lord Kit has not been happy his whole life, methinks, with Lord Baelion’s shadow looming over him. Until you.”

Her chest ached. Painfully aware of Ben’s silent observation, Eda cleared her throat. “You protested vehemently enough when you visited us, earlier. Do you reserve your ire for all the humans he’s been close with?”

Ben choked.

Tripp seemed surprised. “There have not been so many. Tripp did not protest, for they were passing fancies of hours or less. But you…I do not like the way m’lord forgets himself around you.”

“You were protecting him?” From me.

“Tripp will always protect his patron! But now I see. Eda Shaw makes him happy—undeserving though you are. And Lord Kit will never be happy again if you perish, even if he will not admit so. Tripp cannot let that be.”

“He left, Tripp. I’m not sure he cares as much as you think.”

“Then you are stupid as well as ugly,” the imp sneered, “but what else can be expected of mortals? This is why Tripp will help you. You may now express your gratitude.”

Eda’s mouth fell open. She and Ben shared a perplexed glance. “You…you’ll help us to destroy Lich’s mirror?”

“That is what I have said, is it not? Blessed Suns, your puny mind is slower than I—eck!”

Eda scooped him into her arms, hugging him fiercely. His skin was coarse and leathery against her cheek, but she did not mind. This ornery creature loved Kit, and for all his faults, he had a selfless heart. She’d never felt closer to him.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the curve of his wing.

Tripp relaxed just a fraction. Then he smacked her viciously on the head.

“Ow!”

“Release my person at once, mortal, or else I must burn this tunic to ash! At once, I say!”

The Botanic Gardens were darker and wilder than Eda recalled—full of shadows that threatened to swallow her whole. The sun was all but set. Ruddy dusk light spilled through the boughs and painted the ground, much like the blood that had soaked into the gravel two nights prior.

At least she had Ben at her side, hand on the hilt of his sword. Tripp scurried ahead. Without the mantle, Eda felt doubly exposed. Much as she’d bemoaned living as a shadow her whole life, the mantle had been undeniably thrilling in its usefulness. She missed it sorely.