Page 105 of The Death Wish

‘You made a deal with the bluecaps queen, did you not?’ Lucifer lowered his voice, leaning forward in his chair. ‘In the Forest of Dean? Satine told me she learned of it through the horses. You promised yourself to them, in exchange for allowing the ankou to go free.’

Pitch scowled, rubbing at the back of his neck, loathing talk of the horses. ‘So what if I did?’

‘Then you can renege.’

Pitch shook his head, regretting it for the rattling of his brain. ‘Speak your mind, Lucifer. I do not know what you are talking about.’

‘You should read more in that case as I do. I have some rather magnificent old tomes from the Seelie Court –’

‘I swear, Lucifer, I shall pluck out your eyes if you do not get to the point.’

‘You can renege on your deal with the Bluecap Queen. There is an ancient law of reversal that can be enacted, so long as there is still a boon to be had for the fae. Here, you would give them Silas.’ He paused, perhaps letting the magnitude of what he suggested sink in. ‘The law results from a long-buried agreement between a king of humankind and a love-struck fae prince. Speak with Jacquetta. She will claim she doesn’t know of it. The fae, half-blood or not, dislike reminders that they too can be tricked into deals they don’t desire.’

Pitch stared up at the King of Daemonkind, pulses quickening. ‘Very well. I’ll ask. You speak so generously to me. It is not like you. Is there something I should know of your injuries? I’d hate to suddenly become King of Daemonkind on top of all else.’

‘Who in their right mind would name you as my successor?’ Lucifer turned his chair. ‘Get away, before Seraphiel peels you open for his remedy.’

‘What if there is not one? A remedy, I mean?’

‘I have an idea I shall share with him. A source of some magick. Perhaps it will work.’

Pitch nodded, resettling his shirt, tucking it into his trousers. ‘And what if I am not enough? You have wagered much on this, dear pappa.’

The expected growl did not come.

‘You are stronger now than you ever were upon the Hellfield. The angel was never mad in choosing you. Now go.’

Lucifer pushed at the thin metal wheels, straining in his effort to move himself to where Seraphiel muttered over the simurgh. Pitch stood there a long while, watching the king, before he moved away, leaving the angel and daemon to their urgent deliberations.

CHAPTER THIRTY

SILAS DESPISEDSanctuaries. They were intent on making his life difficult. He was being led astray, he knew: sent up stairs and down, along corridors that kept their ends from him until he was seething with impatience, only to find a doorway that led to yet another fanciful parlour, or empty dining room, bedroom or library. There was a potent number of libraries in the place. As though the Sanctuary sought to taunt him with endless words he could not read.

Every one of those rooms was empty, nary a sign of a fly, let alone Jacquetta or the prince.

‘Pitch?’ he called, yet again.

And yet again, no answer came.

He was foolish for thinking this would be a simple task, to reunite, but Silas had liked to imagine their connection transcended name-calling now. That Pitch would simply know that Silas looked for him.

He huffed at his sentimental folly.

‘Jacquetta, I’ve had quite enough of this. Come out, at once.’

The palace was thick with utter silence.

Silas paused in the middle of a music room, piano gleaming, sheet music waiting for a musician to strike up a chord.

Silence. He ran his thumb over the ring, the double scythe every bit as quiet as the rooms of this enormous dwelling. Themoment he found Pitch, he’d separate the scythes again, and give him the second ring. Then he’d never have to run about senseless again; they’d have the constant connection he craved.

A tiny thrill came over him. He spread his fingers, staring down at the ring.

Pitch had worn Balthazar Crane’s scythe.

‘You know him.’ His voice was loud in the quiet space. The ring hummed against his finger, a tickling vibration. The first hint of its voice in a long while. ‘Find him.’

The humming continued, but nothing more. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He’d not sought to use the scythe as a hunting dog before. And there was the small matter of Pitch being very much alive. These were tools of death.