Page 124 of Reap & Sow

Tenelle pressed the tools into his hands. “Come, Bishop. Protect Blackbridge one final time. Save us from this fiendish plight once and for all.” She turned to the crowd. “With a few strikes, the monsters can be banished from our city forever!”

Someone cried out, “Do it, Bishop!”

Then another: “Destroy it!”

Caught up in the promise of an end to their terror, the people’s ire became excitement. They were eager to have their hero prove himself once more. The congregation rose to their feet, pointing, cheering. The walls sang. Eda and Ben stood, too, so they might still see.

But Fane stared at the Breakers in his hands, stricken.

Tenelle cocked her head. “Why do you hesitate? You promised us salvation—here it is. You are innocent, are you not?”

Fane’s mouth flapped. The noise slowly ebbed. Row by row, the crowd fell quiet, their enthusiasm wasted on the living statue before them. A tremor of dark satisfaction rolled through Eda’s bones.

Yes. Show them who you really are.

“Why does he dally?” Tenelle turned in a circle toward the Patriarch, the clerics, the sea of people watching in the nave. “Why does he hesitate? With a simple swing of this hammer, Bishop Fane might prove his innocence and save us all, yet he refuses! Why would that be?” She was nearly shouting. “I know why. The bishop has tricked us all. He is the source of your suffering, and he cannot even deny it!”

Fane’s expression suddenly twisted. His hands fisted by his sides. Sweat gleamed on his brow. “I do deny it,” he said. Stiff as an automaton, he approached the mirror. “And I am happy to prove you wrong.”

Marshal Tiernan palmed his sword. A few of the clerics stood, alarmed. Eda watched the tight line of Fane’s shoulders as he faced the Gateway. Is he really going to…?

Crack.

The crowd gasped. Tenelle met Eda’s eyes across the crowd, grim-faced.

Crack.

Watching the slow destruction of the Gateway that had been theirs, the strangest sense of melancholy came over her. This mirror was a permanent fixture in the Shaws’ home their entire lives, as familiar as Eda’s own reflection. For all the fear and awe it inspired, she suddenly felt as if she were witnessing the death of her old self. What fate awaited her once it was gone?

This was the best outcome, Eda told herself—luring Mr. Night into the open. Expose the bishop; destroy the demon. Free the city from them both.

But if Mr. Night did not come, all was lost.

Tiernan was shouting at Tenelle. Wolfram was telling him to stop. The Patriarch clung to his aide against the wall, eye flitting between the chaos. Some at the rear of the congregation were fleeing outside. Others cheered as spiderweb cracks emerged across the mirror’s face. The Blades barked at people to sit, but few listened.

Crack.

“You see!” Fane cried, turning wild eyes on Tenelle. “You cannot accuse me! I am this city’s protector!”

Crack.

“I am chosen by the Lordfather himself!”

Crack.

“I am—”

Fane paused midstrike, for in each corner of the nave, orange warning fires turned blue.

The audience screamed. Eda grabbed Ben’s clammy hand.

From the shadows of the chantry, a stream of writhing black smoke snaked its way across the dais. The clerics scrambled to get away. Marshal Tiernan froze where he stood. Only Fane seemed to understand what was happening, as Eda did. He retreated as black smoke gathered by his feet.

The swirling darkness rose and took on the figure of a man, white-haired and silver-eyed. He snatched Florian’s wrist.

Mr. Night regarded the glinting hammer coolly. “Florian. Don’t you know not to touch things that don’t belong to you?”

Thirty-two