Page 42 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘I need a minute, no more,’ he said. ‘Then they can bring out the carriage.’

‘Good. Bring them around to the front of the house. We will load from there, and I’ll mark the carriage with some runes that will serve to make us less observable. I’ve tended the lieutenant. He’s as comfortable as I can make him.’ She wiped the back of her wrist over her brow, and Silas thought he heard her sigh. ‘Would you see him into the carriage, Silas? I just need a moment to catch my breath.’

‘I can do that.’ Charlie tossed Silas the rein he’d just clipped to the bridle. ‘Let me handle getting Edward sorted.’

The lad raced off, turning heel so fast that Silas barely had his lips parted to tell him the man was too heavy to move alone.

‘He’ll be fine, Silas.’ Sybilla sat down with a grunt on a hay bale, rubbing at her face.

Silas decided against voicing his disagreement. Frail as Edward might be, he was far more than the slight lad could handle alone. Charlie would realise that soon enough. Just as he’d realise he was not coming on this fraught journey.

While he threaded the reins, Silas watched the angel, who sat with her face pressed into her hands. ‘I would ask if you are all right,’ he said gently, ‘but I know what the truth is. I’m sorry, Sybilla. You must be exhausted.’

‘No more so than anyone else.’ She raised her head. ‘But thank you, Silas.’

‘Is there any chance Sanu and Lalassu will join us soon?’ He half expected the angel would not answer him. She was very intent on the straw for a while before she did so.

‘Not yet, no. It is just Hastings for now.’

‘What is keeping them?’

Sybilla bowed her head, scratching at the back of her neck where the tight curls of her pearl-white hair were thinnest. ‘I don’t know where to start with my answer to that. The world is a wound spring out there, Silas. Never have I seen it so unsettled.’

‘How so?’

‘You won’t like it.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘The Blight. It is so rife, it seems it is not just your dead who feel its touch. The tales I’m told speak of hauntings among the purebreds, of people becoming possessed by daemons.’

Silas stopped his work, the very last buckle undone. ‘Daemons? Is such a thing possible?’

‘Not daemonic possession, no.’ The emphatic shake of Sybilla’s head was somewhat reassuring. ‘They could perhaps manipulate a person intobelievingthemselves possessed, and I suppose the Morrigan may count a daemon among their number, they have all else. But that is not what this was. I was longer last night than intended as I heard tell of a village where there was a man claimed to be possessed. I rode there, and watched from afar. What I saw was not a simple illness of the man’s mind, nor was there any trace of a daemon within the village. I fear hewaspossessed by something bleak, something of your world, Silas. And he is far from the only one.’

‘Possessed by a lost soul?’

‘Is there a chance of that? I do not recall you ever speaking of the dead stealing the bodies of the living.’

Nor did Silas. The notion did not trigger any sense of memory. Only that of trepidation. ‘Even if it had occurred on occasion, surely such grave numbers is far from natural?’

‘Exactly. There is chaos out there, Silas. More to occupy us than we can handle.’

‘An intentional play by the Morrigan?’ Silas asked.

Sybilla nodded. ‘Start so many small fires that we cannot see the blaze, for they without doubt have greater plans afoot. And the UnSeelie Court’s aid is undeniable now, if it were ever in doubt. Marcus brought word of the Wild Hunt plaguing the west. The Herlequin is terrorising the areas around Bristol.’

Silas was not familiar with either the Wild Hunt or the Herlequin. One he could imagine well enough, but the other gave him pause.

‘The Herlequin?’

‘You do not recall? It is the name given to the leader of the fae’s Wild Hunt. We have dealt with them here and there in our times together. Chased them back to court when they overstayed their welcome. A bit of sport really, nothing of serious consequence.’

‘I don’t recall,’ Silas said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. ‘What does this fellow look like?’

Sybilla pushed to her feet, stretching her arms overhead. ‘There is no way to know, not for this particular one at least. The Herlequin is chosen at the Erlking’s pleasure. It has never been the same creature twice. And it was not Lokke who sent the ones we dealt with, but his father, Farbauti. The Order eventually managed to convince that old bastard to stop kidnapping purebreds simply because he wished to decorate his court with those that intrigued him.’

‘That is the purpose of the Wild Hunt? Kidnapping purebreds?’