Page 48 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6
Silas’s grin tilted as he rubbed at his stomach. The blow had been very halfhearted. ‘You sound very serious indeed,’ he said. ‘I shall cease. At least until we stop to rest the horses. Then it won’t matter if you throw me off. If we aren’t moving, I shan’t be left behind.’
‘Utter fool.’
The prince pushed the hood off his head, freeing himself, the lingering remnants of a smile on his full lips, his eyes pleasingly bright and clear of shadows.
Good god, what Silas would not do to protect this man. Playing the fool was the very least of it.
A sigh almost escaped him when Pitch settled in and slid his hand to rest against the inside of Silas’s thigh.
The thunderous storm off to the southwest made itself known again, and they both turned at the noise. With the road snaking its way up a hill, and the view suitably clear, the flicker of lightning was evident.
One of the bays shifted sideways, pulling at his riggings. Silas put some reassurance into the reins, urging them on as the slope of the hill grew more pronounced. They were soon afforded a decent view over the terrain. Farmland made a patch-quilt of the landscape, with far-reaching expanses of tilled, barren land, the occasional crop of winter wheat evident, and more rarely the deeper hues of woodlands. No farmhouses were evident so far as Silas could see to the east and north, where there were hints of blue sky about, but the west was very different.
A broiling bank of cloud sat on the western horizon. A dark ash-coloured canvas that draped like a curtain hung from the heavens. To look west was to watch night creep in like a giant in a huge cloak. If he’d known the unsettled weather to be Matilda’s doing, Silas would have been suitably impressed. Instead, it only gave him reason to worry.
Hastings whinnied, bringing Silas from beneath the weight of his thoughts. The mare had drawn up alongside the cabin and seemed to be intent on the interior.
A resounding thump came from within, followed by a muffled cry.
‘What’s happening?’ Silas gathered the reins. ‘Did I run us over a pothole?’
‘Halt the carriage,’ Sybilla shouted. ‘Halt it now.’
‘Whoa, whoa there.’ Silas dragged at the reins.
Pitch sat up, twisting about to peer back at the cabin. ‘What is it, Sybilla?’
The horses were no keener on slowing than they had been an hour ago, and this was hardly the right place for halting, being on the slope as they were.
‘It shall be hard to stop here,’ Silas muttered.
Which didn’t really matter in the end, for the carriage door flew open and Sybilla stepped, or rather took a small leap, out of the cabin, skipping the pedestal step altogether, unfurling like a black flag, her coat rather dramatic in its flourish.
‘Stop the bloody carriage, Silas.’ But Pitch wasn’t waiting either. He jumped down from the seat, not such a difficult thing considering how slowly they rolled along, but still.
‘Christ, give me a moment.’ It took another tug or two to halt the horses. ‘Is Charlie all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ the lad called from inside the cabin. ‘I’m not really sure what’s happening…I was dozing. Sybilla are you okay? Did I hear Edward speaking to you?’
‘I hope he told you this fool’s errand is forfeit.’ Pitch made his way around the horses, waving off one of the bays, who tried to nuzzle him, and coming to stand on Silas’s side of the carriage. Sybilla stood a few feet away, pressing at her temples.
‘Why would you not tell me?’ she hissed, her gaze darting between Pitch and the cabin.
‘Tell you what?’ Pitch said.
‘Edward…the…that’s…he’s not just…I was ordered away…by…he was in my head. The Seraphim…how can this be, Tobias?’
Sybilla was, for the very first time since Silas had met her, quite thoroughly rattled.
‘Could you perhaps form a proper sentence?’ Pitch was holding the rein where it ran along the horse’s shoulder. ‘If you are having a fit, we shall have to leave you here.’
Sybilla strode up to him, looming over the slighter, shorter daemon. She leaned in very close, but Silas was near enough to hear.
‘Seraphiel spoke to me.’ Sybilla’s eyes showed more white than Silas recalled. ‘I was trying to bring Edward around, at my wits’ end with it…so I used a stronger casting…’ She swallowed, her fingers still bothering her temples. ‘Then all at once…there was a Seraphim in my head. A Seraphim, Tobias. It may be some time since I’ve been in Arcadia, but one does not easily forget what it is to be addressed by such an angel. And I can assure you, he was not pleased with my nursing skills.’
Silas listened in some astonishment, realising the Valkyrie knew nothing of Seraphiel’s possession of Edward.
‘Well, don’t glare atmebecause he’d not bothered to shout at you before now.’ Pitch puffed up like an indignant cockerel. ‘And I’ve barely been able to speak with you. You were either out on your pony prancing about, or you were by Edward’s side. Which is the very last place I wish to be. Besides, I thought you must have surmised already. You knew divine magick was used at the Fulbourn–’