Page 42 of Reap & Sow

Saints, how she missed being touched.

Kit propped himself on an elbow. She could feel his scrutiny even through the black glasses, intrigued by her silence. It put her ill at ease. She’d hardly seen him over the past few days. He did not eat with them, and when he did appear, it was for little more than a cursory update on Robin’s progress. Eda had no idea where he went when he wasn’t on the Oriana.

“You could do something to help, is all I’m saying,” she mumbled.

“I’ve been motivating Robin to work faster.”

“How?”

“Told her to finish her little magic project within the week, or else I’d drown Old Bastard in the river.”

“You’re joking.”

His mouth twitched. “Aathnur.”

Eda was immediately diverted. “That language. You’ve spoken it before. The speech of demons?”

“Infernal is the tongue of my world, yes.”

“But you know Weslic. I never thought—I mean…do all demons know human language? What about Forisian? Rakeshi? Galdinian? It seems so obvious, but I never considered it! How many languages must you know to make Pacts all across the world?”

Amused by her poorly veiled awe, he sat up and slid the glasses onto his head. His eyes danced. “As many as it takes. Mortal tongues are taught among all wellborn houses. Weslic is so widespread in this world that it’s been the favored language of the courts across Infernus for generations. Even our familiars and servants are expected to speak it. It’s considered…unfashionable to use Infernal among good company.”

As it’s considered unfashionable to wear anything less than the finest Forisian wool here, she thought wryly of his black trousers. Wesland loved to borrow—or steal—from other cultures to signify its own wealth and status. If denizens of the Otherworld had journeyed here for millennia, was it so surprising that they’d do the same?

Crack!

Tripp popped into existence right by her feet.

“Ah!”

“Ugh, listen to it yowl! It hurts Tripp’s ears!” The imp clutched his head dramatically.

“Children, please,” Kit drawled, “no fighting before luncheon.”

“Tell him to stop materializing beneath my skirts, then.”

“Tripp does not come to look at nasty human underthings! I have news for His Lordship.”

Kit sighed. “Go on.”

“I found him, sire—the human cleric. Florian Fane, the name is.”

Unease like cold water filled Eda’s belly.

“And?”

“Tripp cannot get too close. The bishop is always in these human holy places or surrounded by the warriors with silver swords. But today he made a public address. City’s in uproar, it is.”

“What? Why?”

Kit did not reprimand Eda for interrupting. Tripp was so happy in his usefulness that he actually answered her directly: “There have been attacks. Five or six in every quarter of the city. Seven humans dead.”

He drew a crumpled broadside from inside his robe. It must’ve been printed only hours before. Eda went to take it, but he passed it to Kit.

The demon’s eyes flew across the page.

“What is it?”