Page 133 of Reap & Sow

“One must leave the other, no matter what we choose. To spare me is to condemn me to a worse fate. You said it yourself: With nothing to live for, I’m dead already.”

Eda buried her face in his neck and sobbed. She could no more stop the tears than hold back a flood. “V-va kesh din,” she cried.

Words whispered in the dark, their meaning only now obvious.

He cupped Eda’s face. Made her look at him. The adoration caught inside his smile was holier than anything she’d seen in mortal works. “As I love you.”

Kit wrapped her fingers around the grip of the broken sword. Then he was kissing her, deep as an ocean and scorching as a pyre. In it, she heard everything he did not say. I love you, each desperate press proclaimed. I love you, I love you, I love you.

They paused. Lips grazed. He slowly pulled away. “All is well, darling. I shall die richer than my brother could ever dream because someone will remember me with love.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “That’s something you cannot bargain for.”

Hands around hers, he angled the jagged point of the sword toward his heart. His shirt was already torn open—the blade was unencumbered as it dug into bare flesh. Blood welled around the tip. At the sight, Eda made a wounded noise. She shook her head, tried to pull away.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, as though it were her in need of comfort. “It’s all right. I’ll help you.”

“Kit.”

“I know.”

“Kit!”

His hands were vises around hers. His eyes shone nearly golden-bright as he drank her in: the last thing he would ever see. She felt him tense, prepare to draw the sword inward—

“That’s quite enough of that,” a sharp voice said.

They froze.

Eda stared at the dark silhouette coming toward them, gilded by the dying sun. Then she saw.

“Robin?”

The old woman stopped and braced her hands on her knees, panting. “Glad to see you have some faculties left intact. Put down the sword, girl.”

Eda tried. Kit didn’t let her.

“That isn’t for you to decide, Robin.”

“No, indeed,” she wheezed. “But for the many years we have known one another, and for the good the girl has done, I owe you another solution.” She straightened. “The imp found me. I moored as far into the city as I dared. Wasn’t sure I’d make it in time.”

Eda looked between them. Her mind felt sluggish, struck dumb by the onslaught of shock after shock. “How…how did you get in? The Blades are guarding the entrance.”

“The same way the mantle hid you in plain sight,” Robin said. “You think I never use enchantments to my own benefit?” She gathered her simple gold pendant and wiggled it at them. Eda had never seen her without it—now she understood why. It’s concealing her? Like the mantle? But I can see her just fine.

“Is Lawrie all right?”

“He sleeps much, but he is stable. It’s up to him now.”

Kit relaxed enough to let Eda slip free. He held the sword in a deathly grip. “What are you talking about? What solution?”

Robin came closer, until she could reach out and brush the blood-streaked hair from Eda’s face. “He is right, Eda Shaw. You must slay the one who holds your years, or else you will never get them back.” Her dark eyes were solemn. “But Kit’rath is young and untested in the ways of the old magicks. He does not know the ancient lore of Pacts, for all he and his kin flaunt the use of them. I do. And there is a loophole.”

Eda clutched her chest. “Speak plain, Robin, I beg you.”

“A demon cannot return to its original owner that which has been taken. But there are no limitations against transferring years to another demon.”

Outside, boots clattered and orders cracked like whips. Stragglers bustled nosily beyond the templehouse gates. Eda’s own pulse was louder, thumping in her ears. “I don’t understand.”

Kit lowered the sword. A black mark upon his breast smoked and bled sluggishly, but he paid it no heed. “You mean…”