Page 126 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘Sybilla, please, stay still.’ Though it was the very last thing Silas himself wished to be. Still. He felt the press of each moment, the drag of time as it widened the distance between him and Pitch.

The angel groaned, an awful grimace on her face. ‘They have him, Silas. I could not stop it.’

‘Hush, please, Sybilla.’

To watch her try to stir, when the pain of it was so evident, made Silas’s stomach clench. There was a soft sound, like damp paper being torn, as the Valkyrie fought to sit up. Both he and the angel cried out. Sybilla’s hand went to her back, while pieces of her front crumbled away. For a horrific moment Silas feared it was her skin, her roasted flesh that was flaking away in dark pieces.

‘Oh Christ, stop, I beg you.’ Silas touched his hands to her shoulder, and more of the stiff ash fell.

Her clothing, scorched through but intact while she had lain still. With the angel’s movement, the illusion of solidity fell away, turning to dust and leaving her bare, naked, save for the cruel rippling of burns all over her breasts and chest. Whatever…whoever, had done this had left no inch of the Valkyrie unscathed.

And Silas had returned Sybilla into misery. Retrieving her from death, but not saving her from injury.

‘I’m sorry…god, I’m so sorry.’ He hovered, useless, abhorred by the part he played in this. She would heal, would she not? He almost retched at a sudden thought. What if he’d cursed her to live like this?

The Valkyrie rolled onto her side, breaking apart the ashen remnants of her trousers. Thick leather, her favoured costume, but no adversary to the heat that had consumed her. Silas’s hands flew to his shirt. Tattered as it was, and likely not to offer much in the way of cover, it was all he could think of to cover the angel, who was now entirely naked before him.

She whimpered into the soil, one hand clasping at a piece of the broken crystal, her skin stretched nauseatingly tight over her fingers, shrunken by a fire that had killed her.

‘I just need time…don’t leave without me.’ Her rasp was all the more disturbing now, for it spoke of a throat that had not escaped the flames.

‘I won’t. I won’t leave you. I promise.’

He had promised the very same thing to Pitch.

Silas’s hand shook. He could not make his fingers work well enough to slide his buttons free. He felt too large again, but not in a useful, astonishing way. Now he was the oaf once more. Clumsy, lost. The strange calm that had clung to him was sliding away, much like the clouds above. More and more sunshine was fighting its way through. As though there was reason to be bright and shiny.

The ring at Silas’s finger hugged his skin, tighter than he recalled. Fuck, he wanted to kill Crane all over again for the distraction he’d caused. Never mind what Silas wished to do to the Herlequin.

Keeping him from Pitch.

Sybilla had not failed the prince. She’d died for him.

It was Silas who had fallen short.

‘Bloody hell.’ He gave up with the buttons, and ripped at his shirt, popping the top one free.

Keep your clothes on, my lord. Use this, but give me a moment to numb her pain before you place it on her.

The Dullahan stood at his side. He’d removed his elaborate coat and did not wait when Silas hesitated to accept it. He dropped it between them, sending whorls of bleak ash lifting. Byleist knelt near Sybilla’s head. When the Valkyrie spied him, she jerked away.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she wheezed.

Byleist’s shoulders turned as he looked with unseen eyes to Silas.She hears me. Few do.

‘Get away from me.’ Sybilla was a cornered cat, hissing and spitting because it could do nothing else.

‘Sybilla, it’s all right,’ Silas said quickly. ‘He is with us.’

Dear god, let that be the truth it seemed.

The angel’s narrowed eyes squeezed shut, her moan laboured and deep.

Byleist moved quickly, placing his remaining hand upon the Valkyrie’s head, the other, the stump hidden in a draping cuff, rested on her shoulder. Sybilla wailed, a weary bellow of protest, and Silas was one heartbeat from punching the Dullahan away when the angel’s cry evaporated.

She sighed, a long exhale that must have expelled every hint of air from her lungs. Her eyelids danced, fighting against closing entirely.

‘What have you done?’ Silas demanded. But not half as vehemently as he would have had he not noticed how the tension drained from the angel and her lips tilted. Of all things, she was smiling.