Page 41 of The Death Wish

‘No. I simply know what it is to carry guilt. Come.’

They left the kitchen at a slow shuffle, talking softly between themselves. Pitch waited quietly, amongst the bustle of the warm room, where pots bubbled and kitchen staff worked in a magickal daze, chopping and stirring, sweeping and washing, without regard for the two men who stood nearby.

‘Everything all right, Sickle?’

‘I’m not sure I can forgive him fully for keeping me from you.’

‘Go easy, my dear. I doubt very much he shall ever forgive himself. But not everyone can defy a lord of Arcadia so readily as you.’ He bobbed onto his tip-toes, landing a very unexpected kiss to the tip of Silas’s nose.

Barely had Silas leaned towards him, searching for more, than Pitch was skipping out of reach with an impish grin.

‘The rest of me is for dessert.’ He extended his hand. ‘Come along now, Mr Mercer, you cannot escape. If I must endure this half-baked Christmas cheer then you shall be by my side. No arguments.’

Silas had none to give.

CHAPTER TWELVE

AFTER Acouple of hours spent indulging, drinking and stuffing themselves silly with all the delightful offerings, everyone was submerged in that pleasant restfulness that comes with big meals. Silas had only managed to eat one serve of the kedgeree, as it turned out that the others were not so averse to the dish after all. Isaac, in particular, had to be held back from picking up the terrine and licking it clean.

They slouched in their chairs, happily tipsy, the conversation fading to quieter chats between neighbours, rather than verbose arguments involving the whole table. Pitch had absolutely revelled in the discourse over which style of ballgown would best suit him. Silas won the conversation by declaring it was whichever one lay upon their bedroom floor. His cheeks had burned at the audacity, but to hell with propriety, he’d decided. Even Mr Ahari, still withdrawn amongst those he’d betrayed, had been overcome with deep belly laughs.

Pitch had turned his chair, and placed his legs over Silas’s lap, despite Tyvain’s admonishment.

‘Bloody ruffian. At least kick ya boots off.’

Pitch had ignored her.

Silas rubbed his hand over the prince’s trouser leg, tracing the contours of his knees; teasing at moving higher, only to retreat. Eliciting a wry smile from Pitch. Silas was about tosuggest it was time to retire to their rooms, when Tyvain made a choked sound, and Charlie gasped softly.

The lad stared at the soothsayer with a brightness in their gaze Silas had not noted before. ‘Tyvain, is there something wrong?’

‘Well it ain’t right, but you know that already, don’t ya lad?’ Tyvain pushed up her sleeve, scratching ferociously at her bare arm. Her skin was blotched with red welts. ‘I see it in your face. Ya feel it too.’

‘I wish I didn’t, but yes.’ Charlie nodded, and looked to Silas. ‘It is time for us to go.’

Silas inhaled, trying to still the upheaval in his belly. ‘I see.’

Jane sucked in a breath. ‘Ty, is that what the marks tell you?’

The soothsayer screwed up her nose. ‘Nah. These are from the Brussel sprouts.’

‘No one’s allergic to Brussel sprouts,’ Isaac snorted. ‘You daft woman.’

But Tyvain was intent on Silas and Pitch. She tapped at the side of her head. ‘Wish I could tell this damned voice to feck off, but we all know that won’t do much but stave off what’s gotta ‘appen anyway. They are wantin’ us…to let ya go. It’s time you left now, boys.’ She swallowed, and glanced at Charlie. ‘The party is over.’

Jane bowed her head, taking hold of Charlie’s hand.

‘Yes, it is,’ the lad said, giving Silas an apologetic look.

Silas smiled, to soothe his friend’s obvious distress. ‘It’s alright, Charlie. Edward has been alone too long as it is. And it is not as if we weren’t expecting the need to carry on. Ambleside is lovely, but not our final destination.’

He wished he knew more of that place. Really all they understood of Blood Lake was that it was where they needed to go; as to what it looked like, what they should expect, he knew no more than the housemaids who had served their meal.

Pitch’s low belch was delicate, hidden behind a raised hand. ‘Could have at least let us digest our meals. Don’t blame me Silas, if this meal comes up to say hello again, once we are trotting about.’

‘There’ll be a bit of time to catch your breath as we head up the Struggle,’ Charlie said, clutching Jane’s hand. ‘We won’t be making the horses go at a trot up there.’

‘The Struggle?’ Silas said. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’