Page 82 of The Death Wish

Intolerably nebulous as always, the fae. But Pitch had no chance to snap at her, much as he desired too, for Lucifer had found energy enough to protest at Charlie’s handling.

‘Set me down, blast you.’

He gave the lad small choice in the matter. Charlie grimaced as he tried to avoid being struck in the face by the preposterously unsteady king, who had to lean on him heavily once he was set on his feet.

‘Is he here?’ Lucifer demanded, looking dreadful with his stains of blackened blood.

‘In a manner of speaking, your majesty.’ The Child inclined their head and stepped aside, moving out of the glare that hid her, revealing attire that was unmistakably from a bygone century: a lacy ruff circled her neck, and sheer white fabric covered her shoulders and chest, meeting heavy burnt orange material with pearl bead-work and slashed sleeves which hinted at satin beneath. Her hair was braided and looped beneath her ears, with a pearl hairpin atop her head that shone with topaz stones. And yes, it was most definitely white stockings andorange and gold hose dressing her lower half. ‘Though not as he would desire.’

‘Don’t befuddle us with your cryptic fae-speech, blast you.’ Lucifer managed most of it without coughing. He paused to spit, more distasteful black dollops. The bruising at his jaw was a grotesque mottling of rusty brown and mould green. ‘What is your name, Child of Melusine? Who vexes me so?’

‘I am Jacquetta.’

Silas breathed in, and Pitch glanced at him. ‘Do you know her?’

‘I knowofher. You are the lost Child,’ he said, with the wrinkled forehead of someone in serious thought. ‘Your sister Palatyne thought you dead, buried in a cornerstone by the angel, to reinforce this Sanctuary.’ He glanced at Pitch. ‘I was informed at the church after we escaped, but had given it little mind. Palatyne had told Old Bess it was the reason for her siding with the Erlking.’ He looked back to the woman, his gaze hard as marble, his commanding tone never more impressive. ‘That alliance nearly cost Pitch his life.’

The Child, Jacquetta, showed the first sign of anything but smooth indifference. Her hand lifting to the ruff at her neck. ‘I am neither buried, nor dead. And it insults me, that she imagined me so fool-hardy. I serve a righteous angel, but I imagine Palatyne served only her own avarice. The UnSeelie Court glitters brightly. She would be easily swayed, and it has nothing to do with concerns for me. Forgive her, your grace. My sister’s head is easily turned by material things.’ She spoke all of this to Edward, who had gone back to his terrible stillness in Pitch’s arms.

‘That half-fae matters not. The prince lives.’ Lucifer grunted, his vestige-less hand curled into a fist, and pressed to his chest. Scarlet, bravely or stupidly, flew in close to fuss about him likethe tiniest of nurse-maids. ‘I ask you again. Now speak plainly. Is Seraphiel here?’

All the mightiness of the king could not hide the frailty behind his words. The uncommon desperation that embroidered the question.

‘The purebred holds the answer to that,’ Jacquetta remained enigmatic. ‘And the prince holds the purebred. Will you step forward, Prince of Daemonkind?’

There was only one answer, of course; they could not stand on the doorstep forever. And truly, what choice did he have? But the weight of this answer felt tremendous.

‘By the Celestials, Vassago. Why do you wait? Move.’ Lucifer shoved Charlie aside, and the lad nearly took a tumble down the steps. Scarlet was their rescuer, whipping in behind the lad to catch him.

Silas stood tall and imposing, unafraid of Lucifer. ‘Do not touch Charlie again. And Pitch will move when he is ready. Give him a moment.’

‘You don’t have a moment, your highness,’ Jacquetta replied. ‘Or rather, the prophet does not.’

‘His name is Edward.’ Charlie spoke up, Scarlet nodding emphatically as they took a seat on the lad’s head.

‘His name shall be on a tombstone before long,’ Jacquetta declared.

‘That is a lie!’ Silas’s words boomed like Big Ben’s toll. ‘He is not dying.’

‘You do not know what he is, Lord Death. There have been no prophets of a Seraph before him.’ Jacquetta’s brown eyes sparkled as she stared down at Edward. ‘His Grace is truly a wonder.’

The lieutenant moved, and his eyes fluttered open. The calming grey of the man himself.

‘Edward?’ Pitch said.

‘It is you who is a wonder, Tobias.’ A harsh, painful whisper. ‘And he knows it. He has always known it. It is why you were chosen.’

A wonder? Edward was truly delirious then. Pitch’s thoughts filled with Lalassu, with the horse’s scream as the angel struck. An angel who might yet find his way here, and destroy everyone in this Sanctuary. Everyone who was here because of Pitch.

‘Take me to him.’ Lucifer made a shoddy job of the last step, tripping on its lip, grabbing at the doorframe. ‘Now, Jacquetta. Which way to your master?’

‘I will show you a way, but it will not be the right way, without the prophet. Or the prince.’

‘Pitch, do not let them rattle you.’ Silas was right there. He regarded Pitch in the only way he seemed to know how; as though he were delicate and precious as a masterpiece. ‘I will be at your side, come what may. I promise you.’

Pitch stiffened. That was the whole damned, fucking problem. Silas was a man of his word. Edward exhaled. A frightening sound of release. He went limp again, boneless in Pitch’s arms, returned to his bare existence once more.

If the Child said nothing else of worth, it was that Edward’s time was short.