Page 51 of Reap & Sow

“I know.” A breeze rolled over the rooftop. She shivered inside the mantle. “When I was a babe, my father tracked it down. Used it to make a Pact. My mother died birthing me, and he wanted her back. Desperately.” She paused, anticipating some dark joke or otherwise inappropriate interruption, but Kit was silent. “He got what he wanted, but our mother was…She wasn’t our mother anymore. I don’t remember, but Ben and Lawrie do. She was this empty, haunted thing. Didn’t talk. Didn’t eat. A walking corpse. The boys were little, but even they knew it wasn’t Emmeline. They wouldn’t go near her. Our father was forced to keep her in the cellar because she scared them so much. One day he forgot to lock the door. Ben found her standing over my crib.”

Kit’s wound had stopped bleeding. It looked as clean as it might get without further treatment. Eda continued to wipe it—an excuse not to meet his eyes. This was not a tale she’d shared with anyone before. “Emmeline wasn’t doing anything. Just looking. But she was holding a knife. Ben called out to her. He remembered how sad she looked. And then she—well. He says he can’t actually remember her doing it. Maybe he was too young, blocked it out. But when Oswin came home, he found Emmeline dead on the floor by my crib. She’d used the knife on herself.” Eda flexed her hands, trying to coax some warmth back into them. “Turns out you can die twice.”

She finally leaned back and met Kit’s gaze. It felt dangerous, even a little gratifying, to be the sole focus of his regard. “After, Oswin still had a Pact to fulfill. He’d promised to bring the demon a thousand years, at least fifty by every autumn harvest. But he died of the pox when I was seven, and we took on his debt. I’m telling you this because—”

“Because the demon you’re indebted to is Baelion,” he supplied in level tones.

Eda flinched. “You knew?”

“I’d considered it.”

“I didn’t know he was your…Not until Tripp mentioned the deal with Florian Fane. I only ever knew him as Mr. Night.”

Kit blinked. “What stupid fucking name is that?”

“We were children. He usually came at night. It just stuck.”

“Surprised he didn’t gut you for lack of originality alone.”

Still making jokes. That has to be a good sign. “You’re not angry?”

“Of course I’m angry. You and your dim-witted family have brought me right back into the thick of my brother’s business, which is precisely where I don’t want to be. But,” he continued, before she could defend herself, “I chose to make a Pact without knowing all the details. That was my own brand of idiocy.”

“Why did you?”

“Honestly? I suppose I was bored. Then here comes this mad, pretty little thing breaking into my home and demanding a Pact, willing to trade so much…” He shrugged. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Eda tried not to focus on his calling her pretty. “Tripp told you to take back the seat that was yours by right. Does that mean Baelion is a usurper? Are you one of the archdukes?”

“Why should you care to know?”

“Maybe I’m just bored,” she parroted. Untrue, of course. Eda was curious to the point of pain. But it was worth saying, just to elicit that fetching twitch of his mouth. She met his scrutiny with her own and wondered if that loneliness, tempting her to share so much, existed within him too.

She was rewarded with a cautious explanation: “Baelion and I share a mother,” Kit said. “She was archduke. With no daughters to inherit the title, it fell to one of us. Baelion was born long before I, but age has little to do with succession in Infernus. Only the strongest are given preference.” Eda wondered at that. Mr. Night looked as youthful as Kit, but then, he’d never been short of human years to extend his own. “Baelion was sired of a low-ranking consort. My father was beloved by our mother, and a favorite of the courts. When I began displaying magical prowess young, everyone whispered that I was the obvious choice for successor.”

“Baelion can’t shape-shift? Walk on ceilings?”

“No. Few can. My brother is adept in matters of shadow magic and little else. A useful ability, but considered trite by most. Shadow cannot maim nor kill. Baelion came to rely on his physical prowess to prove his strength. He is formidable in a fight.”

“But…he brought my mother back.”

“He didn’t. He would’ve enlisted the help of another demon to revive her. One with power over reanimation—another rare talent. It’s common for demons to trade favors or wealth in order to fulfill Pacts.”

Her surprise rendered her mute. Their mother’s doomed resurrection had made Mr. Night seem so frighteningly powerful, not to mention the myriad twisted ways he’d given dealies exactly what they’d bargained for. She thought of stones turned into golden coins, of enchanted rings and blinded men.

Yet none of it had been his doing.

“Magic is power,” Kit continued. “It made me popular. Even my mother was conspicuous in her favoritism. Baelion could not abide it.”

Eda grimaced at that. She remembered when Mr. Night first confronted the bishop, that simmering fury contorting his fair features. He’d always been so unflappable, but the Shaws had never actually crossed him. She could easily imagine the terrible wrath reserved for those who did. My people have ever been gifted in magicks, Kit told her before, but our mastery was once far greater. Over the centuries, we became…lesser. It seemed Mr. Night was no exception. Little wonder he resented a brother so uncommonly gifted.

“It’s usual for siblings to kill one another,” Kit said, as though discussing the weather. “Only one can control the family seat. Baelion knew this. Would have gladly slain me in the cradle were it not for our mother. Where other parents might have supported the infighting in order to assure the strongest successor, she was determined that we both live. Unable to kill me outright, Baelion found…other ways to satisfy his jealousy.”

The words came fast and fluid now, as though he’d waited an age to set them free. “He and his little friends made a game of tormenting me, sought to cow me so badly that I’d never dare stand against him when the time came. I grew up in fear. Told him over and over that I wouldn’t challenge him for the dukedom, that I had no interest in ruling. But my assurances weren’t enough. I had the favor of my mother’s court, and that made me a thorn in his side. He wouldn’t rest until I was plucked out.”

The wind blew back his dark hair. “When our mother died, I knew what would happen. The mourning bells were still ringing when his sycophants came for me.” He laughed without humor. “Baelion wanted me brought before him so he might slaughter me publicly—make a spectacle of it. That was his mistake. He should have sent them to guard the Ansellis mirror first.”

“The Gateway,” Eda breathed in realization. “You fled through our Gateway.”