Page 63 of Reap & Sow

“No. It’s wonderful. I’m glad you brought me.”

She’d not meant to say something so earnest.

Kit’s eyes were liquid fire. He shuffled closer until their shoulders brushed. His scent! How she loved it—wine, rain, lightning. “I could show you far more than this,” he whispered in her ear. “There are grander playhouses than the Maiden’s Lyre. Productions a hundred times more extravagant. Comedies, romances, adventures, tragedies—”

“No tragedies.”

“No tragedies,” he corrected. “Concerts too. Symphonies to rattle the bones. And poetry. Poetry that could make the hardest heart weep for the beauty of it.” His body was close enough to warm her side. “Do you like poetry?”

He sounded like he truly cared to know. She curled her fingers in her lap. Suddenly, Eda wasn’t sure what any of the actors said. “I…don’t know any.”

“Perhaps you are more muse than poet.”

“A muse?”

“One who inspires the words.”

Eda chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Yes,” he said at once, “it does.”

She turned. Their faces were inches apart. Eda had never seen his eyes so dark—the molten irises nearly swallowed whole by black pupils. Such a look would have frightened her not so long ago. It should certainly frighten her now.

The fact that it didn’t was most unnerving of all.

Below, the music swelled as the actors changed scenes. The audience clapped. Kit’s gaze fell upon her lips. His own parted, as though he meant to say something that simply would not come.

A lash of heat set her trembling inside her own skin. To think that such a creature might find her attractive was absurd as it was thrilling. He’d enjoyed the attentions of other mortal lovers, Eda was sure. No doubt they were all great beauties—willowy and tall and fine-boned. Noble, like him. Eda was not those things.

Was it a trick? A clever humiliation? Perhaps he liked the idea of bedding her, only to lord it over her later. One more thing he might boast she’d willingly given him. What could she be, after all, but a temporary diversion?

Eda forced herself to breathe and look away. Remember where you are. Who he is. “I shall never be a muse nor a poet, Lord Ansellis. I don’t expect to live long enough for either.”

She felt the way he tensed, heard his breath stop short. He drew back a fraction. Good, she told herself. If she could not forget her circumstances, neither could he.

Someone screamed.

Eda jerked to attention. She scanned the stage, wondering what she’d missed to cause a character to cry out so terribly, but the actors were frozen in place. She and Kit looked at each other, bewildered. The crowd murmured in confusion.

Another scream. Many, in fact, rising like a wave. It came from without the amphitheater—muffled through the walls. Some of the audience stood and looked about in fright.

A man stumbled onto the stage, nearly falling in his haste. “Lock the doors!” he cried. “It’s a demon! A demon!”

Then all was chaos.

Seventeen

Eda’s blood chilled.

The audience surged to their feet. They cried out, trampling over one another in every direction. Harsh daylight spilled in as the doors flew open. People were trying to escape off the street, and a ruckus broke out as those inside pushed them back.

Kit stood, expression grim.

Eda let him pull her up. “Is it another fiend?”

“Yes.” She didn’t know how he was so certain. “We can’t stay trapped up here.”

He pulled her close and stepped over the edge. Eda’s belly swooped. Kit grabbed the lip of the galley roof and swung them deftly inside among the box seats. A woman shrieked in alarm, falling out of her seat, but everyone else had already fled. Eda scrambled to check that the plans in her cloak were still there.