Page 5 of The Death Wish

‘Does anyone have any coin?’ Pitch had halted his stomp across the way, and began to backtrack. ‘I’d rather not pay the man with bodily favours, I shouldn’t think you’d like that much, would you, Sickle?’

Silas would muster every lost soul from miles around to terrify the cobbler, if he so much as laid a finger on the daemon. Outwardly though, he faked a yawn and flicked a hand. ‘You are your own man, Mr Astaroth. I stake no exclusive claim to you.’ But good god he’d like to. ‘You are a free man with freedom of choice.’ That much at least was no lie.

Pitch burst into a gale of laughter, one tinged with surprise as much as mirth. ‘Truly? So what you’re saying is you are done with me.’ His pout should be outlawed.

‘Of course I’m not saying that.’

‘Could ya blame him if he was though, Astaroth?’ Tyvain’s chesty laughter rang out. ‘You’re a handful.’

‘Rather more than a handful, I assure you.’

‘No one wants ta hear it, ya great plod,’ Tyvain retorted.

As they debated where to take accommodations, with Isaac insistent that there was but one suitable public house, the Golden Rule, with a stout to sell your mother for, Silas’s thoughts drifted.

He was tired, gravely so. Drained to the very core. Which was concerning, and irritating. Now was not the time to be anything but Pitch’s greatest protector. They were so near to the end.

‘Silas?’ Pitch’s voice, close now, startled Silas. ‘Is everything all right? Do you sense something untoward?’

Silas hadn’t realised that his horse had stopped moving, or that he had dug his fingers into its mane, clutching at the strands. He looked down at Pitch, the prince’s eyes the most astonishing shade of green with the winter afternoon light.

‘Everything is fine,’ he said, a little weakly.

‘No teratisms about?’

‘No, no. Nothing like that.’ There was nothing upon the air to disturb his senses, certainly no Blight-ridden souls. The scythes were silent upon his finger. He ran the pad of his thumb over the metal. ‘This is a quiet place. I think…I think we are safe here.’

‘We are.’ Pitch nodded, watching Isaac drive the carriage on. ‘Everything is…quieter here. Is it not?’

‘Very much so.’

Jane meandered along the riverside, the stirring of air amongst the pussy-willow billowing out behind her like an invisible gown. She was smiling, her hand lifted to where tiny sparrows fluttered about her, as though in some tittering conversation with the air elemental. Jane laughed, and Silas realised that was exactly what was happening.

Pitch stretched to lay his hand upon Silas’s thigh. ‘But you’re still frowning a little. You’re not truly worried about the cobbler now, are you?’ The light seemed to brighten when Pitch smiled in that way, lop-sided, entirely charming.

Silas laughed, rather self-consciously. ‘No, no. Besides, I meant what I said, I have no claim on you.’

Pitch’s hand slid higher up Silas’s thigh, fingertips delving at the crease of his hip. ‘I think we both know that is not the case.’ The blood roared in Silas’s ears, and he knew his blush ferocious. ‘Shall we carry on then? The shoes can wait, if I’m honest. I don’t know about you but I’m desperate to get out of the horrid clothes that lie beneath this cloak.’ He brushed his hand down the length of Silas’s leg. ‘Are you with me, Sickle?’

‘I am.’ Come what may.

‘Good. Whatever time is to be had here, I dare say it will be short. Best we make the most of it.’

Silas’s desirous haze quickly cleared. ‘I wish it were not so.’

‘As do I.’ Pitch leaned his full weight against Silas’s lower leg. He smiled again but it was more strained. ‘But all things have an end, do they not? And unless the Hag has been regaling you with details of our future, neither of us know what that end shall look like.’

He stepped away, tilting his head down so that his hair covered his face, and whatever expression it held.

Silas hurried to dismount, his legs unsteady with the sudden grounding. ‘Tyvain has told me nothing, and I would share it with you if she had.’

‘Would you though?’ Pitch studied him hard. ‘If what she had to say was not pleasant, would you tell me?’

‘Pitch, what is this about?’

He was aware of being watched, glances from passing villagers as he stood close to Pitch.

‘I’m simply curious, that’s all. We deliver the simurgh to the Sanctuary, then what?’ As he spoke his hand lifted to his belly, where his fingers moved against the bright colour of his cloak. ‘This godsforsaken task has been all-consuming, and seemed, quite frankly, impossible…until now. We have survived this far. I just wonder…’ He darted his tongue over his lips. ‘I wonder if, perhaps, that silly idea of yours about the cottage in a deep dark woods might need some further considerations?’