Page 53 of Reap & Sow

Kit’s tone turned icy. “You like opining on matters you know nothing of.” He tugged down his trouser leg.

And you’re afraid. She considered his profile, backlit by the evening sky. Past the gray skin and swooping horns and wicked fanged mouth, there was fear. Kit feared Mr. Night. She supposed that made two of them. I wouldn’t be free for long, even if Baelion was killed. My life is forfeit no matter how this ends.

Cold dread unfurled, as it did every time she let herself consider her Pact. What was she doing, talking with this demon as though any of it mattered? She’d bartered fifty years of her life away, and he’d happily taken them. He wasn’t a friend nor a confidant. She couldn’t afford to forget it.

Eda stood. “You’re right. I know little about you, nor you about me. Once we get my brothers back and find the mirror, we’ll go our separate ways.”

He stood as well. “What of the bishop? You’ll leave the people here to his tender mercies?”

“Just as you leave your people to Baelion’s, I suppose.”

Kit’s jaw flexed.

Go on, she thought heatedly, tell me I’m selfish.

But Kit wisely said nothing. Eda was glad of it. What few cares she had were reserved for her family. She’d paid a steep enough price for that already. The fate of Blackbridge wasn’t her problem.

Unbidden, she thought of blood on cobblestones. The cries of a little girl, cut short. She bit her tongue to stem a surge of nausea.

Desperate for a change of topic, Eda blurted, “What was that word you said? When the Blades broke into your apartment?”

“What?”

“It sounded like some sort of expletive. Vepak-something. Vanash. Vek—”

His bark of laughter was so sudden it made her jump. “You mean vhesak?”

“That one. What does it mean?”

“The most appropriate translation would be ‘oh fuck,’ I suppose.”

“And how do you say ‘fuck you’?”

He seemed enthralled by this line of questioning. “Vhesak’din. Why?”

“I’ve a feeling I’ll make use of it during our acquaintance.”

Kit smirked. “Duly noted. To the Oriana, then. I need to bully Robin into looking at this leg.” He considered the blood-soaked kerchief discarded on the ground. His expression softened. “My thanks. For…that.”

Cheeks burning for some reason, Eda just nodded. “We can’t waste any more time. We’re no closer to understanding how to get my brothers out.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, darling. We now know that those warning fires work just as intended. We know that the bishop has laid blame for the fiends upon your shoulders. And we know that the Blades recognize you, which means you’ll be needing that mantle.”

Eda glowered. “Are these supposed to be good developments?”

“Understanding a thing is the surest way to pulling it apart. All we lack now is knowledge of what lies beyond that portcullis. Once we have it, we can plan a way to get in and out.”

“You’ve some handy plans of the keep’s interior hanging around, I suppose.”

“Not I,” Kit drawled, “but I do have a friend in a very high place.”

Fifteen

When Eda stirred the next morning, she awoke to a pair of beady black eyes looming over her.

“Oh my—ow!” Her head thwacked against the hull as she jerked in alarm. Tripp hissed and retreated onto the dining table.

“Easy. You’ll scare Old Bastard.” Robin stood in the kitchenette, frying bread in lard. The cat in question had retreated to his shelf overhead. He glared down at Tripp, tail lashing violently.