Page 102 of The Death Wish

‘You mean if Lord Enoch had given you access to the Primordial Flame?’ Lucifer raised his head, watching the simurgh that moved its wings like a drunkard, as knocked about by the experience as Pitch.

‘Yes, yes, of course. Without it, any Cultivation was doomed to fail. I had done so enough times to know there was only one path to take.’

‘And you were forbidden to take it.’

Seraphiel turned on the king, his temper like a weighty cloak. ‘The Lord would not listen to me. To me! His truest servant, the Celestials’ greatest angel.’

‘Modest, too,’ Pitch mumbled…or dribbled…or did not speak aloud at all. His head spun, delirious from the onslaught.

‘Without the Primordial Flame,’ Seraphiel continued, ‘no Cultivation could be enough. I told him.’

He stripped off the chain-mail gloves, casting them aside.

‘Andwiththat flame, any Cultivation you made was extraordinarily dangerous.’ Lucifer was measured, far calmer than Pitch had known. ‘You are the Celestial’s supreme angel, Seraphiel. None would deny that. Your Cultivations are mighty. But the Primordial Flame is an immense power, one fit only for the gods. Azazel almost got hold of it. The results…well, they don’t bear thinking about.’

‘But the Exarch did not obtain it, did he? You were there.’

Pitch wondered, as the heat and sharp random pains quieted, if Seraphiel yet knew of Lucifer’s summoning of Wrath; of the part his uncertainty had played in allowing the simurgh so close to Azazel to begin with.

If the king was smart, he’d say nothing at all to an angel already teetering.

‘But I will not be there in Blood Lake.’ Lucifer was astute. ‘Nor you. And now the simurgh is damaged. Perhaps this is not –’

‘Don’t say another word, Lucifer.’ Seraphiel’s command was the cracking of mountain ice. ‘Don’t you dare. You have defied the Lord of Arcadia with all you’ve done, you’ve struck at the Seraph Michael, you are mortally wounded, and yet you stand here and tell me you have lost faith? Do you see what creature’s form I had this Cultivation take? Do you see it?’ His voice strayed back into those tight rises of hysteria. ‘The simurgh was a favourite of yours, is it not? From those purebred tales of which you are so enraptured? Do you see it, Lucifer?’

‘I do.’ The fatigue in his voice was like stone. ‘I see it. And it is remarkable.’

The simurgh’s cry moved up its long throat, a low cackle against the weighty atmosphere. Pitch blinked, trying to think clearly. Lucifer mortally wounded? A preposterous notion for a King of Daemonkind. Seraphiel’s madness made him exaggerate, clearly.

‘I do not turn on you.’ Lucifer took Seraphiel’s hand, and it seemed the angel might snatch himself away, but the king had gumption yet. ‘Look at me, Raph. Never have I, or will I, lose faith. I am here with you, am I not? At the end. And I shall not move from your side until this is done. But you must be honest with me. Can the simurgh’s damage be undone?’

Pitch watched them, the blood pounding in his ears, the room strangely distant, bathed in the charming hues of the simurgh.

Seraphiel pulled his hand free, rubbing at it as if the daemon’s touch burned. ‘I can do a modicum amount, but complete repair would require drawing on the magick of the Sanctuary.’

‘Then why not do that?’ Lucifer asked. ‘If it will see us through.’

The angel resumed his pacing, his red heels clacking whilst he pulled the lengths of his hair over his shoulder, fingering them restlessly.

‘Because if the Sanctuary weakens, Michael will see what lies at its heart.’

Pitch lay there, like a sole audience member to a play. His jaw hurt too much to add to the dialogue, but if able, he’d have shouted at the angel to get to the fucking point.

‘And what is that?’ Lucifer showed none of the impatience he was renowned for.

‘My Seal upon Blood Lake,’ Seraphiel sighed.

‘It is here?’

‘Did I not just say that?’ the angel hissed. ‘Yes, yes, yes! I used my portion of Samyaza’s bones to seal him away. Is it not sublime irony?’

Seraphiel paced faster. And Pitch counted his footsteps, trying to drag himself more forcefully into the world. He needed to clear his fuzzy mind.

All in Arcadia knew the lore.

The Watcher King’s corpse: torn into three parts, given to each of the Seraphim who destroyed him, the angelic bones immeasurably powerful in Cultivation.

Many a drink had been raised to the awesome power of the Seraphim. Blood Lake itself was no secret: the burial ground created by the Flood on the Day of Ruination was a monument to the power of Arcadia. A rare few knew it far more than simply Lord Enoch’s warning to all traitors to beware.