Page 43 of Reap & Sow

“The incidents are described here by multiple witness accounts. Talk of creatures attacking people on the street, at first mistaken for large dogs, but…” He trailed off. “I know what these are. Fiends.”

“Don’t make me ask what you’re talking about again,” Eda bit out.

“Fiends hail from my homeland. The old histories tell us they were once a subspecies of demon—intelligent, thinking creatures. But they were driven underground, where they grew feral and twisted. Just hearsay, mostly.” His hand tightened around the parchment. “If fiends are roaming a human city, it’s because someone gave them passage. They are like dogs in a way. My kin have subjugated and bid them before.”

Eda knew what he was getting at. “Your brother. That’s who you think brought them here.”

“Who else? As to why…” He looked at Tripp. “What has this to do with the bishop?”

“The bishop called for an address at the Great Templehouse gates, m’lord. He claims the fiend attacks to be result of their impiety. Punishment from their Lordfather.” His mouth curled derisively beneath his hooked nose. “During the speech, another creature attacked. The bishop made it turn tail and flee with only a wave of his hand!”

Eda froze. She was cast violently back into that night in the cellar, when she’d hidden in the dark and listened to Fane air his plans.

With your help, I can make the presence of the demonic felt more than ever in this city. They shall flock to the Faithhood for protection—and I will offer it to them.

This was Mr. Night’s doing. This was what he had given the bishop in return for the promise of so many years. The fiend turned and ran not because Florian possessed some mystical holy power, but because he wielded the power of a demon. The people of Blackbridge would see it as a miracle, and would unknowingly sign away precious years of their life to buy his protection.

She felt faint.

Kit stood. “This is Baelion, though I can’t understand the bishop’s part in it.” The lithe, muscular figure that had moments ago seemed so appealing now tensed like a wildcat. He sneered at the broadside before his eye caught on something. He went very still.

Eda stuck her hand out. “Let me see?”

Molten eyes flickered. She might have quailed, considering how easily he could rip her arm clean off, but held firm until he handed it over. “You won’t like it,” he said.

Eda scanned the headline—SEVEN DEAD IN DAEMONIC ATTACKS—and glanced down the page until she caught a smaller but no less horrifying heading. Wanted on suspicion of involvement: Eda Shaw, 20 years. It went on to give a brief, stale description of her height and appearance. Nothing of her brothers’ arrest was mentioned, nor the mirror. It only ended by saying: Shaw should be considered dangerous. If Surrendered alive, a sum of 50 gold marks will be Payd by the Order of the Blade.

Eda stared at the words. They swam across the page, incomprehensible. “He’s blaming the attacks on me,” she breathed in outrage. And then, because there was no eloquent way to say it: “That pasty-faced fucknut!”

Tripp said, “What’s a fucknut, mortal? What is it?”

Kit only watched her. The heat of his gaze drew hers: a moth to open flame. “You know this bishop,” he said coolly.

No point in denying it. “He was the one to arrest my brothers. I managed to get away before he set the Blades on me. Suppose I make for a good scapegoat, what with them finding a Gateway in our shop. A likely culprit for these…fiend things.” Her voice shook.

“Why didn’t you say this before?”

Eda whirled on him, too raw with indignation to be cautious. “It didn’t seem relevant. Not that you ever listen to a word I say anyhow!”

Tripp bristled. “How dare—”

“And you can shut your mouth, you ugly little turd.” Eda took a step toward him with a mind to punt him overboard. Tripp skittered back in alarm. “Insult me one more time, and I’ll rip those stupid wings off and shove them down your throat!”

She wouldn’t, but Tripp didn’t know that. He peered at her from behind his lord’s leg with a wary expression. Curiously, it was the least hostile look he’d ever spared her. Maybe I should threaten bodily harm more often.

“Careful, darling,” Kit warned. “You forget yourself.”

“I’m not an imp you can order about, and you cannot drown me in the river like a cat. So stop trying to intimidate me.”

Kit’s expression shifted from stony to something like amusement. “Trying?” He stepped close, until their clothes brushed. Suddenly, his hand lashed out and grabbed her by the shirt.

Eda’s bravado died at once. She dropped her basket, clawed at his wrist. “L-let go!”

“I cannot harm you in earnest, that’s true. But there are always loopholes.” Eda’s heel wobbled over the edge of the boat. “So don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He shoved her overboard.

Eda glared across the clearing.