Page 127 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

Numbing her pain. I told you. I am good for more than hitting you with a whip, Lord Death.

‘You are a healer?’

I am many things. As it is with fae of my ilk. But I’ve not healed her, the angel must do that herself. I’ve simply enabled a way through the pain. Now, cover her over. We will move her beneath shelter.He pointed over Silas’s shoulder, beyond where Lalassu still reared at the sky, towards the ramshackle cottage that barely held upright.I can do something towards concealing us, but I think it unnecessary.

‘Unnecessary?’

Iblis and the Morrigan have what they want. There is no reason to return.

Silas faltered, the breath knocked from him. Not least of all because it was true. As Silas reeled, Sybilla touched his cheek.

‘They want him alive, ankou.’ She slurred a little. ‘I saw him, I spoke to him. He is defiant, and brave, and knows he is not alone.’ She pouted, a look that did not suit her. ‘He had a will-o’-the-wisp in his hair.’

Surprise overcame fear for a moment. ‘He had what?’

‘Tiny thing.’ Sybilla showed the measurement with thumb and forefinger an inch apart, a smear of blood at the base of her nail where taut skin had ripped. She seemed intoxicated. ‘Like a little rainbow.’

Will Scarlet was with him? Silas could barely imagine it was true, but the notion lifted him no end. Why, he could not say, for the creature could not protect the prince any better than a gnome could jump a cloud. But Pitch was truly not alone.

Silas wrapped Sybilla, gently as he could, in the Dullahan’s coat. More of the ashen remains of her clothing spilled away, and she was trembling when he lifted her, but she sighed anew as he settled her in his arms. Byleist led the way back towards the cottage. His shirt was every bit as flashy as the coat, a rich gold, satin, billowing at the arms but fitted around the creature’s all-too slender torso. Byleist moved with a grace Silas had not noticed before, a defined set to his shoulders.

Perhaps he’d bother to learn more of this strange creature someday, but for now all that concerned him was that the headless horseman’s fealty continued. And was true.

The Dullahan stopped outside the cottage, taking up position to the side like a guard at the door of their master. Silas continued inside, negotiating the bowed doorway with an awkward stoop, frightened of hurting the Valkyrie any more.

Luck was with them, in some tiny measure, for the interior was not so tired as the exterior. There was a bed with a mattress of stuffed hay and a blanket the colour of gingerbread folded neatly at its end. The floor was swept, which seemed futile considering the gaps in the timbers that must let in every breeze that stirred. There was no such breeze about today. In fact, the stillness was unsettling, as though the world held its breath along with Silas.

He laid Sybilla down, gently as he could. The angel did her best to hide it, but the settling into the mattress brought on an agony the Dullahan’s medicinal magick failed to overcome.

‘I’ll have him tend to you again.’ Silas rose and moved to step away.

Sybilla grabbed his sleeve, forcing him to kneel back beside the bed again. ‘He knows we will not abandon him, Silas. And I will be at your side when we ride to find the prince, but I beg you, do not be foolish and leave before it is time.’

‘Before it is time? Sybilla, I am already long past overdue. I cannot promise that–’

A familiar steeliness forged its way into Sybilla’s wounded gaze. ‘That you won’t rush in and do something utterly foolish? Keep your head, Silas. Steady your heart, or it will see you ended here.’ Her surge of energy faded as quickly as it had arrived. The angel winced her way through a yawn. ‘Gods, I must sleep, but you need to know this, Silas. The halo that struck me did not belong to Iblis. I saw his at work, and it was not enough, not nearly enough, to bring me down.’

Silas stared at her, his restlessness dimming. His focus narrowing. ‘Then whose?’

‘Tobias spoke of Azazel–’

Silas swore.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘It is not him. He would have to infiltrate White Mountain to gain entry to this world himself. He is scrying through Iblis.’ Sybilla gave up trying to lift her head and lay flat against the mattress, her gaze never leaving his face. ‘If the Exarch had struck me, not even you could have brought me back, my friend. But whoever Azazel has at his behest is immensely powerful.’ She wrinkled her nose as though tasting a mouthful of cloves. ‘I fear Arcadia has another traitor in the ranks, Silas.’

Sybilla’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in rapid gasps, the effort of the short conversation had left her drained. But damn it, she could not just finish there.

‘Sybilla…what else can you tell–’

‘There is much to tell.’ Her eyes stayed closed, the bones seeming to leave her body as she slumped into the mattress. ‘But I cannot manage it now…let me rest. Then we shall speak.’ Another yawn split her mouth wide. The angel shifted herself beneath the Dullahan’s coat, nestling in deeper. ‘You have much to share too, I’m sure. But you promised me…you won’t leave yet…’

‘A promise I shall keep.’ Even though it was like a nail through his heart to say it, to keep away from where he longed to be. Silas rose to his feet, and was halfway to the door when the angel spoke again, mumbling on the precipice of sleep.

‘He’ll have nothing to fight for if you are gone, Silas Mercer. Save yourself if you wish to save him.’

Silas leaned against the doorway, neither here nor there. All at once he was so utterly exhausted he could barely see straight. He pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes. And when he opened them again, the Dullahan was there.

You should know that I lied to you.