Page 25 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine.’ Pitch ran his finger over the waist of Silas’s trousers, homing in on the button. ‘And I hardly care about a little mud.’

Silas bit at the inside of his mouth, chasing away the image of Pitch’s mouth upon him. He knew the daemon, and Pitch very muchdidcare about a little mud in normal circumstances. It took a large measure of self-control to gently stop Pitch’s hand where slender fingers worked at undoing Silas’s trousers.

‘Could we talk first perhaps?’

The gleam of amusement vanished from Pitch’s gaze. He snatched his hand away. ‘I wish to suck you off and you wish totalk?’ He pushed to his feet. ‘Are you worn out? Was that what that was out there?’ He stabbed a finger at the dirt-streaked windowpanes. ‘You, Matilda, and the kappas fucking in the duckweed? Nothing like a decent orgy to while away the time, I suppose. Good for you, Mercer.’

Silas took his time to answer, lest his rising temper get the better of him. He despised it when Pitch called him Mercer. It was meant to serve as a wall to shut him out, but he was done with having any distance between them.

‘You know very well we were doing no such thing, Pitch.’ He watched the prince stomp over to the hearth, where yesterday Silas had tried and failed to start a fire, the kindling too damp. ‘I’d like to tell you why I was there, if you will listen?’

Pitch leaned against the small cast-stone mantelpiece. He scowled down at the wood but made no move to try to light it. Silas felt a tingling of concern, but it was possible, with the daemon’s sour mood, he left it unlit to ensure Silas kept shivering.

‘I don’t care what you were doing out there,’ the prince retorted.

‘I think you do.’ Silas got to his feet, grimacing at the unpleasantness of wet clothing and a half-aroused member rubbing against them. ‘I believe I made you terribly worried, and I’m sorry for that.’

‘Fucking gods, I’m not going to stand here and listen to you apologise ad infinitum.’ Pitch shoved away from the mantel, turning towards the door.

Silas stopped him before he’d taken two steps, planting himself between the daemon and his escape.

‘Move out of the bloody–’

‘I wanted to be unafraid.’ Silas raised his voice over Pitch’s demand. ‘That’s why I asked to be held down in that pond, because I cannot stand being this afraid. I wake up with my heart in my throat because I’ve dreamt that I am drowning, that the sorcerer holds me under, as they did at the greensward, and they take you from me, Pitch. They hurt you and take you away from me and I can do nothing to stop it because I am afraid of something so utterly piss-weak as water.’ At some point during his rant, Silas had planted his hands on Pitch’s shoulders, where his too-cold flesh was pricked with gooseflesh. The prince kept quiet, staring up at him through twin pools of deep viridian. ‘When I could not bathe with you that night in our room…when the terror overcame me, even as you lay against me…I have never felt so desolate.’

Pitch did not blink, barely seemed to breathe. The quiet stretched out.

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ the prince whispered finally.

‘What?’

‘You’re very old, my dear. You’ve likely felt just as desolate a hundred times over. I’m hardly a special case.’

If Pitch sought to break some of the unbearable tension, he succeeded. Silas relinquished a reluctant smile. ‘Perhaps. I have my doubts though. I think you are quite the special case.’ He flushed with saying it, with being so blatant.

And it seemed to catch even Pitch off guard. He picked at his nails, dirty with the pond. ‘Well, there you are, proving yourself the oaf I have always claimed. You do carry on with such nonsense.’

Silas frowned, irritated by the dismissal. ‘We have been through much. Why do you find it so hard to imagine I might care for you?’

‘You have spent this much time in my company, and you can ask such a question?’ Pitch kept at his nails, hands visibly shaking. ‘Your special case is most certainly very hazardous to your health. I nearly got you killed in that asylum.’

Silas cupped a hand to the back of the prince’s head, but Pitch still kept his eyes downcast. ‘We set foot in the Fulbourn together, you did not coerce me. And horrid as that place was, I do not regret all of what it meant to be trapped there, because I emerged from it stronger than I entered. The Morrigan sought to weaken me. Instead, they made me better able to protect you.’ He touched a light finger to the daemon’s lips, stopping what he presumed would be a protest. ‘I know, I know, you are more than capable of handling yourself. You are magnificent, I’ve said it once, now again.’ He traced the curve of those lips, down to the corners where there was hint of Pitch’s wet warmth. ‘But humour me with this. Let me believe that you need my help just a little.’ The daemon’s gaze was still lowered, and Silas could not see beneath dark lashes. ‘Matilda told me I am as much a part of the water as it is of my past. That the water itself is not my enemy. I find great comfort in that.’

Pitch relaxed and leaned into Silas. They melded together in that way they seemed to have mastered. ‘Did you recall any more of your lives,…your deaths?’ He set his forehead against Silas’s chest as he spoke.

It was a good thing the daemon was not looking at him, for Silas feared betraying any hint of the Nephilim secret he guarded. He still could not bring himself to speak of it. ‘I believe I may understand more of the connection with Charlie’s family.’

‘Oh wonderful.’ Pitch sighed. ‘What marvel did you learn about the vagabond?’

Silas kissed the top of his head. Not so pleasant as usual, on account of the grit. ‘I believe I may have saved him…his ancestor I mean. They were to be sacrificed first, a mere child, for goodness’ sake.’ He shuddered. ‘I think I may have offered myself up in their place. Somehow that has bound our fates to this day.’

‘They owe you their life.’ Pitch thumped his fist gently against Silas’s chest. ‘My knight. You have been valiant and noble and too bloody good from the very first breath you took.’

‘I doubt that very much.’

‘I do not.’ Pitch pressed in harder against Silas. A fresh wave of shivering moved through him.

‘We really need to get you warm.’ Silas frowned. ‘I set everything for a fire yesterday, but the wood was still damp… Do you think you could light us a fire?’