Page 78 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

Silas sighed. ‘You’d make your way a damned bit faster if I were not holding you back. Perhaps you should –’

Pitch jerked to a halt. ‘Go, and leave you here like a fucking bear caught in a trap, ready for the hunter to come along? I’m not averse to hitting an injured man, Silas. Keep that up and I shall consider you warned.’

Silas’s snort was cut short by the evident pain it caused. His eyelids were heavy, and a grimace contorted his lips. ‘I’ve tried calling for the bandalore, but it won’t…or can’t, hear me. And in this state, I am –’

‘Dare say useless or a hindrance and may the gods help you, Mercer.’ Pitch hissed. ‘Never tell me to abandon you.’ He was perhaps tugging too hard at the ankou, who was feeling increasingly like a sack of bricks. ‘You will heal.’

Spoken as a command, and filled with gritty determination.

Silas nodded, though his head seemed too heavy for him to move with ease. ‘I will. But the injury is deep. I need time that we do not have. The lieutenant needs you.’

‘Fuck the lieutenant.’

Silas’s inhale was wet and ragged. ‘Well, I’d say the horse has bolted on that one.’

The unexpected sordid humour put a hole in Pitch’s expanding temper. But he refused to be distracted. ‘I’m not leaving you. You will heal.’ He said it again. Maybe the gods would hear this fucking time.

‘Well, that settles that, then.’ Suddenly, and very much unexpectedly, Silas pressed a kiss to Pitch’s temple.

The daemon ducked his head, doing his best to look mightily annoyed, which he was not in the slightest. ‘Hardly time for that, Mercer. And gods, man, you can lean on me more. I’m sturdier than I look, and you know it full well.’

Silas obliged, leaning into Pitch, his hip brushing very close to where the halo’s mark stirred and prickled and caused strife. But Pitch was not about to tell him, for he’d want to change position immediately, and with the state Silas looked to be in, he’d likely pass out.

‘I don’t think I like Sanctuaries much,’ Silas said, his wheezing returned. ‘All the ones I’ve known have worked me far too hard.’

‘Can’t say I’m overly fond of them myself. I much prefer theatre boxes, I think.’

This time Silas’s sigh-mingled-with-groan came from a lighter place. ‘Bloody hell, that feels like another lifetime away, does it not?’

Pitch’s lips twitched. ‘Not according to my arse, no.’

Silas squeezed his arm against Pitch’s neck. ‘Don’t. I really don’t want to laugh.’

‘I wasn’t joking.’

Something odd, like a whimper and a sneeze conjoined, jumped from the ankou. ‘Should I assume, then, we shall not engage again in –’

‘Make such an assumption at your peril, Mr Mercer.’

Pitch soaked up the satisfied little harrumph the ankou made, and for a while they continued in silence, each to their own thoughts.

‘Do you know,’ Silas said after a while, ‘I believe I’ve seen this hallway before.’

Pitch sighed.

‘No, no, I’m serious,’ Silas said. ‘I thought it when we first arrived but was more concerned with not passing out. I’m certain that The Atlas threw me into just such a hallway when I first tried to visit Mr Ahari.’ Pitch felt the ankou’s tension at his back. ‘Would this Palatyne, if they are the architect here, have been in The Atlas?’

‘Highly likely. It’s open to all naturals.’

‘Even those who would work with our enemies?’

‘The Children of Melusine are loyal only to gems and coins. Why do you think Old Bess is always dripping in overstated jewellery? The Order keeps him in the fashion to which he’s accustomed. If the Morrigan have the right coin, Palatyne would likely build them whatever they want.’

The same as the Child who had built Seraphiel’s Sanctuary…or prison. Pitch had never been able to decide which. Whoever they were could likely retire from building for eternity having had the angel as a client.

Silas brought them to a stop, planting his hand to the wall, noticeably breathless. ‘Old Bess doesn’t seem so –’

‘Mercenary? Well, he’s always been an odd fish, and he has a soft spot for the Lady, the gods know why. I don’t recall this hall in The Atlas.’