Page 22 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle
‘Yes.’ Silas had the sinking feeling he’d said something he should not, for it seemed very odd for Pitch not to have mentioned such a detail to the Lady.
She tapped her heel against the hay thick floor, turning to look out beyond the carriage house doors. ‘I was not aware, no. Whenever I met the Seraphim he was in a guise of his creation, he was not hitching a ride, as it were.’ She sighed, and relaxed her grip on the weaving. ‘Tobias deigned not to tell me such details. He’s angry at me still, for many things…for treating him like a prisoner mostly, while I waited for word from Lucifer. And for having Sybilla tie his tongue. I suppose his dislike is not unwarranted. If he wishes to keep his secrets, then so be it. At the end of the day, this is his quest, not mine.’
She turned to look at him. Silas had the unsettling sense of a great chasm lurking in the depths of her pupils. He was not afraid of her, per se, but very much aware he saw only a glimpse of all the Lady Satine truly was in the woman before him.
‘I share this trial with him.’ He shoved damp palms against his trouser legs, rubbing at the lacquer that refused to budge. ‘I don’t care how many days I have left, so long as there are enough for him.’
She bent to pick up her discarded straw crown and studied it a moment before she spoke. ‘You are loyal to the prince, and you clearly care for him a great deal.’ Silas would not deny it. ‘That is not a terrible thing. But be careful it does not distract you from the task ahead. Guide him, Silas. See the prince to where hemustgo.’
Wherever that was remained to be seen. Silas was much more certain of where he should be rightnow.
‘I will guide him, Satine. Not because you say so, or because Lucifer thrusts an order upon us to heed a trinket’s will. I do it because I promised Pitch he would not face this alone.’ Silas gestured to the dome of gleaming silver dots around them. ‘I would ask you to take down your shroud. I am going to the soirée, it is where I should be. I’ve no wish to openly defy you—’
‘But you will, if I hinder you.’ The Lady settled her circlet of straw upon her head, where the makeshift crown sat crooked amongst her curls. ‘It seems you’re not so far removed from your past reanimations after all.’ Her smile was relaxed, the tension of earlier gone. ‘Your strength of will was always considerable and your blunt determination infuriating. Both have survived well, whatever else may be gone. I think your combination of death’s servant and smitten purebred is precisely what’s needed here.’
‘Smitten? I am hardly—’
‘Hush your pointless denial. Just know it was never my place nor intention to dictate Vassago’s journey, or yours. Lord Enoch put his mark upon me for a higher purpose, when the Mother of Djinn gave me up to Arcadia and its angels. I have a job enough to do without holding your hands all the while, but I see now that there is no need for coddling, anyway. The prince has a much better hand to hold in yours. Your bond is quite unexpected, I must say. And allows me to dare imagine that perhaps, this is not a fool’s errand after all.’
She raised her hand, clicked her fingers, and the droplets sprayed outwards, falling away from Silas and the Lady, so neither were touched by a drop. The quicksilver veil vanished before it touched the ground.
Silas was free to go.
He made his way at once towards the open doors. ‘I shall need your elixir.’
‘See Jane for that, and your clothes. But, Silas, I cannot shrink you down. Your aura shall be hidden, but what of the rest of you?’
He waved off the question, eager to be on his way. ‘I have something in mind for altering my appearance. And besides, I don’t intend to go into the household. I just wish to be there when Pitch is done and I can see him safely home. Will you tell Isaac I am coming?’
‘I will.’
Silas gave her a nod, his mind on how quickly he could dress and leave. ‘Then we are done here. Thank you, Satine. For all you have shared with me today.’
‘Good luck to you, Mr Mercer.’
‘And to you, Lady of the Lake.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
PITCH HEADEDupstairs, taking the steps two at a time as Daphne’s tincture kicked in, giving him a jolt of pleasing vigour. His grin was plastered to his face, and his cheeks were already aching a little. It was potent stuff, and mixed with the champagne, fuck. He’d need to dance the entire night away before he could even begin to consider sleeping.
He gathered his skirts about him, enjoying the feel of taffeta in his hands. As ludicrous as all the layers were, he could get used to wearing them. Pitch’s stretched grin widened. He pictured himself announcing to Silas that he would be wearing ballgowns from now on. The ankou would go pink as a baby in a hot tub, he was sure. He’d see that delightful heavy-lidded look the ankou always wore after Pitch had his tongue down his throat and hand on his cock. He giggled in the still corridor and brushed his hand against the stirring hardness between his legs.
Maybe he should just forget all about the bloody lieutenant and go back to the Village right now. Hide back under those covers and take Silas with him this time.
Someone stepped from a room further up the corridor, and Pitch was drawn out of his musings. Mrs Charters appeared lost in her own thoughts, cooling herself with a black lace fan. She wore her favoured off-the-shoulder-style gown embellished with far more bows and trim than was becoming and a shade of pink that bordered on too bright to be sensible. Mrs Charters was a handsome woman. Pitch had always thought she would seem far more at home in the military services than Edward ever had been. There was a natural sternness to her, a weight to her presence that was added to by a heavy-set face and robust build.
‘Mrs Charters,’ he called, swaying a little too much. ‘How wonderful to see you.’
She stopped short, head snapping up to take him in. There was some distance still between them, but Pitch was fairly certain there was no joy on her face at seeing him. He shouldn’t be surprised he supposed. In the end, Miss Cargill had been a vast disappointment, for she had fled and left Edward unmarried.
‘Oh…Miss Cargill, you made it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet you. I’ve been waylaid, I’m afraid.’ Mrs Charters glanced over her shoulder. Despite the drifting music, he could hear her sigh from where he stood. ‘Gracious, it has been a long while. What brings you to London?’
In the past, Mrs Charters could not have invited Pitch, in Miss Cargill’s guise, into the house fast enough nor plied him with enough tea and biscuits to keep him there while she extolled all the virtues of her son to the woman she thought might have designs on becoming his wife. It had been so trite and amusing at the time to play with her. Edward had been stiff and awkward to begin with but had eventually found amusement in the charade too, enjoying the spoils when he unlaced Tobias later in the evening. But the frivolity faded as quickly as the lieutenant’s health and Pitch’s enjoyment.
‘I am here for the month to celebrate Christmas with some dear friends.’ Was he speaking too loudly? Hard to tell with the way his pulse beat in his ears. He fought to tie down an errant smile. The tincture was rather too rousing. ‘I recalled your excellent Tuesday soirées and hoped they might still be on.’
Mrs Charters moved at a slow pace, fussing too much over a section of her pink skirt. She was in no hurry to draw close. ‘Have you travelled with your husband?’