Page 115 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘Is it done, Dullahan?’ Silas nudged his boot against the horseman’s leg, where the fallen rider was worryingly still.

A faint hitch of the shoulders and an airy reply came.I am Byleist, my lord Death. And it is done.

Silas cared not for the title bestowed on him, nor for the horseman’s true name. So long as this was not a terrible mistake, it did not matter. ‘Then if you do not wish to lose another limb, Byleist, get on your feet and ready your horse. Take me to the prince.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE RAVENSswept in, stealing his view of the Valkyrie. Pitch lowered his head. The pressure at the back of his eyes was considerable, and his skull felt fit to burst with all the blood in his body forced there by his hanging and swinging about. Iblis shifted behind the other angels, spreading his wings wide, the thin translucent membrane like the skin of a drum, appearing far too delicate to endure even the slightest touch. But Pitch knew better. Angel wings were tougher than basilisk hide and capable of withstanding many a strike from a vestige before that daemonic weaponry could cause any ruin. Pitch closed his aching eyes. What he would not give to have his vestige to hand. At least then he would be remotely capable of defending himself, instead of dangling like a carcass.

His eyes flew open, escaping that unfortunate image. It was far too close to the truth.

Iblis’s wings flashed subtle gold and braced at the air, sending him further behind Zaquiel and Harut. Pitch scanned his upside-down world, hoping for another glimpse of Sybilla and the sirin through the moving curtain of black created by the ravens. Was he delusional with all the blood in his head? Had he truly seen the Valkyrie at all, or was he so desperate for rescue that he was seeing things?

Pitch made the mistake of looking down, precisely when a thinning of the fog allowed a glimpse of their height. ‘Fuck…fuck…don’t do that,’ he mumbled against his gag, eyes lifting and fixing on anything but the ground below.

They were so high that the landscape looked to be in miniature. Wonderful, now he was very likely going to be sick inside his own mouth. He wriggled against the churning of his belly, and Harut, irritated, glanced a wing against Pitch’s face. The desperately thin edge sliced his skin this time, cutting off a decent lock of hair. At least the attack occurred opposite to where the will-o’-the-wisp still played at being Pitch’s personal cheer squad. Scarlet patted him madly as Harut returned to steady flying.

‘Iblis!’ Sybilla’s roar pushed through the feathered barrier of the ravens, who were less like individual birds and more a thick, clogging smoke that had a life of its own. ‘You traitorous bastard. Do you think you can outrun me?’

Pitch’s laughter hiccoughed behind his imprisoned lips. He could not see her, but by the gods the Valkyrie was here. And mightily pissed off by the sounds of it.

‘I do not need to outrun you when I have what you covet at my mercy. Shall we see what happens when a sickly Dominion prince falls from such a height? You and I both know he is not at his best. I dare say it won’t be pleasant.’

Iblis spoke with decent enough conviction, but Pitch had a vantage point Sybilla did not. The Watcher angel flew close to the barrier of ravens, looking this way and that. Searching. He didn’t know where Sybilla was or where her attack may birth from. And Pitch had a front-row, upside-down seat to witness how nervous that made him.

Iblis banked and swept in towards the others, flying over the top of Harut and Zaquiel, making it impossible for Pitch to glimpse him no matter how much he twisted.

‘Fly on,’ Iblis shouted. ‘Stop for nothing, get the prince to the Morrigan. If you are there before me, tell Nemain what has been said. Our lord must learn if what lies inside him can be vanquished or must be destroyed.’

Pitch’s paltry flame stuttered. Vanquished? Now there was a thought he’d never considered: taming the wildness and making him Azazel’s servant…instead of Seraphiel’s. What a perfectly horrendous notion.

‘You’ll face Sybilla alone?’ Zaquiel did not sound happy with it.

‘Do you doubt my strength?’ Iblis sniped.

‘She is Valkyrie, here by decree of White Mountain, and with a halo not worn hollow by time,’ Zaquiel returned. ‘We are just–’

‘We are Watchers. Azazel’s most loyal. Did you not hear the words of the daemon? Samyaza’s halo awaits, and with it a power undeniable. The Severance War shall finally be at an end, and we the victors. An army of Valkyrie could not subdue me now.’

Pitch listened, and the heat from his flame barely warmed a fingertip. Power undeniable. Azazel would subjugate this world.

Silas’s world.

And Charlie and Edward’s.

Tilly’s.

Pitch winced to imagine the insufferable child fighting to grow in a world where Azazel ruled with the might of the Watcher King at his disposal. A world where Nephilim would roam. Where more monsters, created by angels, would plague her every waking hour.

And unlike Pitch, who was such a creature, those made by the Exarch could do far worse than push her off a window seat when she bothered them. The skriker could not protect her from those creatures, though the slobbering ball of mange would try.

All of it bothered Pitch. So very fucking much. And he had never been one for bothering. There was a reason his legion was known for its deserters. Prince Vassago had not been made for selflessness.

Pitch sagged. He was truly broken if he imagined himself fond of this vapid world, with its sweet shops and senseless parties…and handsome, bearded man who insisted on declaring affection.

Scarlet scampered down his neck, burrowing under his shirt, which must have been quite the feat considering the sweat and blood that soaked him. The will-o’-the-wisp had finally gone mad with fear, its tiny hands and feet tickling at his underarms.

‘Get out of there.’ Good gods, the idiotic creature would drown in his sweat if it did not asphyxiate on the fumes.