Page 92 of Reap & Sow

Without sufficient years of her own to offer, and with autumn harvest looming, Eda hoped that Mr. Night would agree to meet the Shaws again in the days to come. To accept his final due. Tonight was her only chance to ask. Once the Blades came, the mirror would be lost to her forever.

Kit’s expression darkened. “You still haven’t explained how you mean to get him those final years.”

“Ben is prepared to give ten of his own. I hope we’ll figure something else out beforehand, but if not…”

He stepped into her space, eyes glowing. “Then your fool brother should be here instead. Your dealings with Baelion could be over tonight.”

“Ben isn’t here,” she said, “but I am. Mr. Night clearly doesn’t mean to help us fulfill our Pact, but he can’t hinder us, either. If I wish to make arrangements to pay him his final sum, he will honor it.”

“You cannot trust his word.”

“I trust his greed. All demons are covetous, didn’t you say? I know him well enough to know he’d rather take ten years than not. He gains nothing by denying me.”

To this, Kit did not argue.

“Go. You needn’t be here when I call on him.” His ruby ring was cold where she clutched his hand. It would conceal his presence from Mr. Night, and part of her wished he’d use it—insist on staying nearby. Would he? If she asked?

But Kit only squared his shoulders and nodded, tight-lipped. He pulled away from her. Numbly, Eda watched him go. Our Pact is done. He doesn’t have to come back.

Three steps, and then he paused. His shoulders fell. Suddenly he whirled about and stormed back toward her, face lined with a tortured sort of surrender.

The kiss was fierce. Greedy. Eda could do nothing but rise to meet the onslaught. It was not at all like the soft, aching touches of before. Those had been pleas, sweet and exhilarating kisses meant to convince her of something. Now Kit’s mouth on hers felt like a desperate act. It demanded. Claws ran through her hair. He swayed into her with each kiss, as though he meant to somehow get closer than skin allowed. Eda fisted her hands in his tunic so that she didn’t soar away. Gone was the breeze and the skittering leaves and the watchful moonlight. For a moment, nothing existed beyond the places where they touched.

She retreated with a gasp for air. He followed in a heavy-lidded daze, catching her lip again. Kit had transformed without her notice—and perhaps his. Ashen skin, sweeping horns. Eyes fierce and bright as magma. The sight made her want to drag him to the ground right then and there, but common sense won out.

Eda cupped his face. “What was that?” she breathed bemusedly.

He stared as though he’d never seen her before. “Nothing,” he whispered. “Everything.” With visible effort, Kit pulled away from her, clearly trying to wrest back some measure of self-control. “I’ll return, mir’han.”

He was gone in a whirl of feathers before she could ask what mir’han meant.

Standing alone with the mausoleum at her back like a dark, gaping maw, Eda steeled herself.

It took her a moment to adjust to the darkness within. Tiny clerestory windows lined the arched ceiling. They let in meager light, sufficient only to bring the room’s basic features into relief. There wasn’t much to see. A paved floor, plastered walls. Old Weslic inscriptions running about the crumbling cornice, incomprehensible in the darkness.

There was nothing here at all, save for a large stone casket raised proudly in the center of the room. Lying recumbent atop it, Saint Leoric’s effigy had been engraved from the lid’s pale stone. Eda crept closer, noting his distinctive forked beard and rippling burial shroud. One hand lay flat atop his breast, the other turned outward placatingly.

So busy studying the faded pink and blue pigments, she almost didn’t notice that he lay slightly askew. A narrow wedge-like gap between the sarcophagus lid and its innards, just big enough for fingers to curl around.

Eda sucked in a breath, for there were gouges in the stone like scratch marks. She thought of the fiends and their sharp claws. So this is where he keeps you.

She traced the marks, rough and cold. Planting her feet, Eda tried to quell her skittish heart. Then she pushed.

The lid moved, but it was slow and difficult. She grunted with the effort. Should have bullied Kit into doing this bit. She paused twice to reset, but soon enough she could slide it no farther without tipping the effigy onto the floor. Breathing heavily, Eda drew back to look.

Where the bones of a patron saint should have rested undisturbed, a black fathomless mirror yawned beneath her like a void. Recognition jarred her. Eda gripped the edges of the sarcophagus as though she might fall straight in. Translucent moonlight struggled to reveal the hissing serpents and thorny flowers she knew lined the mirror’s frame, but she spotted the fanged horse at once. It had always been one of the more unnerving reliefs. Now it reminded her of Kit.

Eda’s stomach roiled, knots upon knots. It was here. She’d found it.

But will he come?

Gingerly, she reached down and touched smooth obsidian. It was warm as ever, as though left beneath a midday sun.

“Mr. Night, I summon you.” After a brief hesitation: “Please.”

She feared the mirror would not recognize her. That their time apart and Florian’s interference had made strangers of them. But the surface rippled beneath her fingers at once, tar-like and familiar.

Eda sighed in relief, then stiffened.