Page 18 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘She needed some herbs Harvington Hall couldn’t provide. She rode out on Hastings in the early hours, but Matilda says she’s on her return now.’

The Valkyrie must have been desperate to risk riding out, though between her own magick and the horse she rode, Sybilla could hide herself well.

‘She needs to see to Edward the moment she returns.’ Pitch hesitated. He had considered saying absolutely nothing about the angel’s directions. But the only one who would truly suffer with that was the lieutenant. ‘We must ride out today.’

‘Today?’ Charlie was alarmed. ‘Edward can’t be moved–’

‘We go today.’ Pitch tucked in his shirt, where his encounter with the angel had made him into a slovenly mess. But even such a small effort left him drained.

Old Bess frowned. ‘Surely you cannot ride out before the Lady’s horses arrive?’

‘They will find us when they deign to grace us with their presence. We cannot wait.’ With Edward unfit to travel, Sybilla had told Pitch and Silas that Sanu and Lalassu were aiding in the Order’s search for the Morrigan. And for the kitsune, Ernest Weatherby, who had been sighted just outside of Cambridge, attempting to weasel his way onto a coach he had no payment for. Whether he was seeking to rejoin Dr Severs or fleeing for his life was yet to be determined. ‘Bess, do you know where Silas is?’

It was Old Bess’s Sanctuary, after all. He probably knew where all the mice in the house were.

‘Well, not exactly. Somewhere in the garden, I think.’ The half-blood fae was not so good a card player as he thought. He had a tell when he was lying: the tiniest twitch in his left eye.

‘Why are you lying to me?’

All manner of wild thoughts gripped him. One shouted loudest of all. The ankou had left him, he’d had a gutful of all this, packed his bags and gone.

‘Now, now.’ Old Bess tutted. ‘Don’t be worrying yourself so. I know he is in the gardens, but I think perhaps he needs some time on his own.’

Silas hadn’t left. Pitch’s pulse beat out the declaration, chasing some of his weariness away.

‘Well, that is too bad, for we need to begin preparations for our departure, and he can’t be out talking to pine cones while we do all the work.’ He moved to the doorway. Bess stood aside to let him pass. ‘See to it that those corsets you promised are delivered at once. I shall not ride off to my certain doom unbound, it just wouldn’t do.’ He glanced at Charlie, who was occupied with resettling Edward. The lieutenant seemed peaceful enough after his latest trials, lying very still, his lips slightly parted. Pitch turned back to Old Bess, keeping his voice low. ‘The coat…I know there’s hardly been time, but is there any chance–’

‘I put Lim and Xian onto it as soon as you asked a few days ago. They’re in Mustow Green and an absolute wonder, Lim especially, with a piece of cloth. They’ve made good progress I’m told. The coat will be ready for him before you set off, I’m certain.’ Bess was tired too. Pitch saw it now that he was close. His beard needed trimming, his brows a decent pluck. ‘It’s a very thoughtful gesture, Tobias.’

Concern and something softer, more like affection, mingled with the lines at the corners of his eyes. Old Bess reached for Pitch, likely going to say something appallingly sentimental.

‘Get Sybilla back here quickly, Bess.’

Pitch was out the door and down the corridor before the mistress of Harvington Hall could say another word.

CHAPTER SIX

OUTSIDE, THErain was absolutely pelting down. As Pitch stepped out onto the verandah, his skin was shot through with goosebumps from the freezing air. It was bloody wonderful after the heat of those flames. He was shivering. A fire daemon was shaking like the leaves on the trees as the rain pummelled them.

Pitch moved to the edge of the modest verandah and stuck his hands out into the icy rain, teeth chattering. He did not recall ever being so cold in his life, and was caught between a deep, snaking concern and utter exhilaration.

‘Fire man funny.’

The giggle came from up in the branches of a mature birch tree that leaned in close to the house.

‘Tilly?’ Pitch peered through the haze of rain. ‘What the fuc…blazes are you doing up there?’

The dryad changeling could not have gotten more drenched if she’d been sitting in a washing tub. Tilly’s snow-white hair was flat against her skull, stuck to her cheeks. Her nightdress was a sky-blue wrapping about her small body, her feet bare, her lips bright red despite the cold.

‘Look me, look me,’ she demanded and got to her feet, bouncing on the branch, sending new showers downwards.

‘I don’t want to look at you.’

‘My tree. I’m dancing.’

‘Is that what you call it?’ Pitch ignored the child’s dubious ballerina skills upon the thin branch. Nancy would have a heart attack to see it. Tilly was at least ten feet off the ground. She wobbled and giggled and threw her arms about like she would be happy to tumble off at any moment. The dryad was in her element of course, one with the trees.

Which gave Pitch an idea. ‘Do you know where Silas is, in the garden?’