Page 70 of Reap & Sow

She wished that Kit could speak to her in this form. Are you truly as confident as you seem? she might have asked. Do you really think we’ll get them out? Where will you go once our Pact is done? What will you do with the fifty years I gave you? Will you miss me at all?

But Eda could only stare at his inky mane and velvet ears as they set a brisk trot along the river. He was all somber professionalism since his first appearance that morning, hardly meeting her eyes. Something had shifted out of joint after she’d left him there by the bonfire. Or perhaps the opposite—a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.

In Blackbridge, few people lingered on the streets. The day was damp and chilled, mist clinging to the margins of the canals. Fear brewed like coming rain. But Eda caught whispers as she and Kit cut their way into the city’s heart: breathless, hopeful mutterings. It seemed word of the evening’s sermon had spread.

They journeyed to the high walls of the Botanic Gardens. Built at each cardinal point, a patina-covered statue of a notable saint stood guard. Kit transformed at the feet of Saint Aurelia, directly facing both the Great Templehouse and Fell Keep. He scooped Eda up without word and leaped impossibly high onto the saint’s rounded shoulders. Eda’s stomach flipped—fault of the jump, she told herself, and not his arms around her.

The statue was set inside an alcove that protected it from the worst of Wesland’s irritable weather. The wall’s overgrown ivy hung wild enough to shield them from view. Through the green tangle, they could see when the commonfolk arrived. Eda clung to Aurelia’s flowing hair as Kit crouched upon her other shoulder.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” he said. If Bishop Florian had sowed fear and promise of salvation effectively, a great crowd would soon gather.

Eda worried her lip. “How will Fane collect all those years?”

“That, I don’t know. He’ll need their blood. It’s not unheard of for a contract to be signed by many rather than one. So long as the bishop can disguise the true purpose of the document…” He shrugged.

“Bloodletting isn’t common in templehouses, I hear.”

“But alchemy is. Perhaps he’ll play off the blood offerings as part of his protection spell.” Derision was plain on his tongue. Kit could scorn the deception all he liked; it didn’t mean it would not work. Bishop Florian had a demon on his side, after all.

Eda glowered at the towering points of the templehouse, pitch against the gray-washed clouds. But so do I.

A small pop split the air.

“You aren’t needed yet, Tripp.”

Tripp bowed to his patron, perched neatly on Saint Aurelia’s open palm. “Tripp knows, m’lord, but I wish to be ready!”

“You remember what you have to do?” Eda asked.

“Of course I does!”

“And you’re not scared, going amongst the Blades?”

He puffed out his little chest. “Tripp would die for His Lordship! You question my valor?”

Eda restrained laughter. Saints help her, but his nature was coarse and ornery enough to be nearly charming. “Never, good sir. For all your questionable traits, your bravery isn’t one of them.”

Tripp stared as though trying to make sense of the backhanded compliment. “Hn.” He scratched his hooked nose. Were his skin not so leathery, he might have even blushed. “You have some wits. For a mortal.”

Eda smiled. She looked at Kit. His eyes snapped away as though he’d been watching her, and her smile waned.

He was being exceedingly reserved. No saucy jests, no good-natured teasing. And shouldn’t she be glad of it? That silly dance in the firelight had been a mistake. Now that Kit was finally respecting the boundaries that should have always existed between them, was she truly unhappy about it?

Seems I really am a hypocrite.

They waited until the sun sank low beneath the clouds, casting lavender light across the cobblestones. The shadows grew darker, longer. The people of Blackbridge began to arrive. They clustered about the gates of the templehouse like a skittish herd of deer, eyes everywhere, children held close. Their fear was eclipsed only by the prospect of salvation.

Blades were there too. They stood vigilant at the great silver-wrought doors, in the street, along the walls. She wondered if Bishop Fane was already inside.

“Now or never,” Kit said.

The next time Fell Keep’s eastern gatehouse swung open, Eda was ready.

She shuffled in behind a group of tradesmen delivering horse feed and hay, waiting until their cart was checked. Head down and eyes averted, she slipped past. The mantle scratched at her throat. She clung to it with shaking hands as she waited for someone to stop her, but no one did. Eda’s eyes were everywhere, flitting more than once toward the warning fires. They crackled on, orange and undisturbed.

This was the easy part. Here in the bailey, there were all manner of workers milling about—stablehands, smiths, couriers, deliverymen. They wore no uniform. Eda wouldn’t stand out even forgoing the mantle. Within the keep itself would be a different matter. Stay calm, stick to the plan, she reminded herself. They’d spent much of the morning going over their plan of action, yet so much might still go wrong.

Eda would get herself and Kit inside. Once there, it was mostly up to him and Tripp. She needed his power to get to Ben and Lawrie, and trusted him to do so. But getting out meant trusting in the plans Wolfram had given her. The original records show forgotten passages that don’t officially exist, he’d told them, and he’d been right. Eda did not want to pit Kit against a fortress full of Blades, but if the passage they’d found was not really there…