Page 45 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6
‘Silas.’ Pitch pulled up his hood, gripped all at once by bleakness. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Yes, of course.’ For someone who could not read a letter, Silas read his daemon superbly. ‘Forneus, stay with them for now, until Bess and Matilda are certain there is no threat. Join us as soon as you are able.’
Forneus didn’t bark or growl, but Silas must have been satisfied he’d been understood, for the carriage rocked as the ankou hefted his weight up the step.
The driver’s seat was barely suitable for two average-sized passengers, let alone one of Silas’s large scale, which meant they were pressed up against one another from the outset. The ankou gathered up the reins, clucking to the horses, speaking to them in that deep, rumbling way that was his. And the bays responded as well as anyone who’d been encouraged by Silas’s dulcet tone. The harness jingled, the wheels turned, and they were at last on their way. Hastings was tied to the back of the carriage, saddled and riderless, but her tethering was for show only. The mare would go wherever Sybilla was.
Pitch edged back his hood as they passed the end of the house, daring one last glance up at the window. Old Bess still stood there, and he thought they would pass right by without the man doing anything but stare. But at the very last moment, Bess shifted, raised his hand, and blew a kiss.
To Silas, certainly. Sybilla and Charlie, no doubt.
Silas flicked the reins, drawing a greater speed from the horses, and Pitch was turning to look away when Bess pressed a hand to the window and mouthed a few words.
Words that moved through the air of the Sanctuary to find Pitch and whisper,I’m sorry. I was cruel. Go well. Give them the hell they deserve.
Pitch twisted in his seat, keeping his eyes on the half-fae. He watched until the curve of the road took them from where he could see Old Bess, who did not move from where he stood at the window. No more whispers came as they drove on, down a straightening road flanked on either side by a hedgerow and row of leafless elms.
‘Pitch?’ Silas’s hand pressed over his blanket-covered knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘Is everything all right?’
Pitch resettled in his seat, Tilly’s earring catching at his hair as he moved. ‘I’m fine.’ He freed a strand from the gold leaf clasp that dangled the amber-encased flower. He must take it off soon. There was no need for the charade now that the changeling was gone.
Silas rubbed at his leg. ‘We shall see them again, I’m certain of it.’
Pitch wrinkled his nose. ‘As well as a carriage driver and man of the dead, you are a soothsayer now too? Tyvain will be pissed off beyond measure.’
Silas laughed, a soft exhale of air. He pulled away, and Pitch fought the urge to draw him back. The ankou needed to focus on handling the horses, not warming the hand of a daemon who should be able to do so himself.
Silas clucked his tongue, giving the reins another flick to move them on faster. The horses broke into a trot, and the ankou kept them running straight down the middle of the drive. His movements were subtle, coming easily, and he did not seem bothered by the fact that they could barely see the path ahead as Matilda’s work layered the grounds in a thick mist.
‘At least she has stopped the bloody rain,’ Pitch muttered.
‘I think Matilda intends to stay with us awhile.’
‘What a formidable army we are. The Morrigan will think twice before they attack this carriage of warriors.’ If his sarcasm were porridge, the spoon wouldn’t be able to dig through the thickness.
‘An army would stand out like a hammered thumb.’ Silas’s porridge, on the other hand, was decidedly watery. ‘I think there is something to be said for keeping low to the ground and quiet.’
‘Oh, you were a major general in a past life, then?’
Silas fought down a smile. ‘I can’t discount the possibility…’ He turned suddenly, brow raised as though startled by his thoughts. ‘But you were, most certainly…how remiss of me. You led a legion–’
‘And did so appallingly badly. I tended to destroy first, find out if anyone followed after. Don’t ask my advice.’ He rubbed his hands together and could see he’d brought those lines of concern again to the edges of Silas’s eyes. ‘But yes, there is something to be said for being unobtrusive, I suppose. Not so wonderful if you are discovered, though.’
‘Lalassu and Sanu will find us before long.’ Silas sent his gaze forward, jaw tight, a tilt to his bearded chin. He was so bloody handsome when he was determined. ‘Forneus too. The Lady knows that we are on our way –’
‘Towards certain doom, yes, yes. She’s been such a wonderful help so far. Oh wait…no she hasn’t. We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her in a while. Perhaps she’s gone off to Spain, sunning herself and enjoying a sangria while learning to play the castanets.’
That had Silas throwing his head back with laughter. Pitch scowled at the start it gave him, but there were few lovelier sounds.
‘You are ridiculous.’ Silas moved the reins into his left hand and lay his right on Pitch’s thigh. His smile faded. ‘But she has much to occupy her, I’m told.’
Pitch bobbed against Silas as the rollicking movement gained momentum. The ankou filled him in on what Sybilla had said about the Blight and the Wild Hunt. Talk of the fae brought to mind the Dullahan, which did not make for pleasant memories. Pitch resettled his blanket on his lap and lay a small portion over the ankou’s as well. Grateful when Silas did not make a song and dance about the gesture.
They reached the end of the long drive, and Silas turned the horses left onto a narrower cart track. ‘That is due north,’ he said. ‘But there’s no other option for now. We’ll turn westerly as soon as the road allows.’
‘You’re a compass too. My, my, what talents you have.’
Silas gave him an indulgent smile. ‘No, sadly not. But Matilda knows her way about. She’s spent much time watering the countryside and will guide us. There is a crossroads about eight miles ahead where we can adjust our course.’