Page 53 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

Sybilla sighed. ‘Tobias did not deal well with you lying there like a corpse.’

‘He did this?’ Silas rubbed at his bruised ribcage.

‘He lost his head when you first collapsed. And seemed to think he could make your lungs breathe and your heart beat for you.’ Charlie’s cheeks were still damp with his shed tears but he scowled.

‘I had to apply some means to get him off you, which did nothing to alter his foul mood.’ Sybilla looked over at something behind Silas. ‘He’s not happy with you, I’m afraid, even though I assured him it was highly unlikely you were properly dead. I thought I might have to protect you from being brought round by a scalding.’ She paused, giving Silas a meaningful look. ‘But I barely saw trace of his flame.’

Silas swallowed. ‘Well, I’d say that’s fortunate.’

‘Indeed.’

He glanced away to escape the Valkyrie’s scrutiny. So, Pitch had not seen fit to tell Sybilla of this secret either. Not so surprising, this one at least. The prince was mortified by his sudden weaknesses. ‘Where is he?’

Sybilla pointed at a place over his shoulder. ‘Sulking behind that juniper. For the gods’ sake, Tobias. He’s fine, can you not see?’

‘I don’t want to catch what he has,’ the daemon called out, and Silas heard the gouging anger. ‘We can’t all carry on, dropping like sacks of fucking grain.’

Charlie glared over Silas’s shoulder. ‘Ignore him. That is Tobias’s way of saying he was desperately worried for you, Silas. As we all were.’

Silas touched the lad’s hand, a tired smile rising. ‘I’m so sorry to have upset you all.’ Louder, he said, ‘But you won’t catch anything from me, I promise you.’

He twisted around, ignoring the ache at his chest. To his surprise he saw that they were no longer upon the rise of the hill but in the midst of a copse of trees, a small clearing giving them enough room to start a small fire, which danced away merrily beside him, bringing welcome warmth. ‘How long have I been out?’

‘An hour,’ Sybilla replied. ‘You were quite unreachable. What happened, Silas?’

But he needed to deal with other matters before he explained. ‘Pitch?’ Silas searched for a sign of him. ‘Will you please come over?’

‘I won’t. What the blazes was that tomfoolery all about, Mercer?’ The prince stood half-hidden behind the juniper, its evergreen leaves concealing all but his head as he peered over its top.

‘I’m not certain how it happened…’ Silas moved onto his knees with Charlie’s assistance. ‘But I found myself merged with one of the teratisms that we led from the Fulbourn.’

Sybilla raised a brow. ‘Has anything like that happened before?’

‘No. I mean, I’ve had visions when I’ve been submerged, but they were memories. Nothing like this.’

He arched his back, trying to work out the stiffness there. He spied the lieutenant, bundled up in blankets and laid out with his head resting upon cushions on the far side of the fire.

How had an hour passed so quickly? No wonder the prince was barely speaking to him.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ Pitch declared from behind his juniper.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Sybilla returned. ‘I haven’t shielded the whole copse.’

‘Go ahead and try and stop me, Valkyrie. I dare you. For fuck’s sake. Do I have no right to a moment of peace?’

Silas opened his mouth to caution the angel, hearing the acidic note in Pitch’s voice. This was a mood he’d not be swayed from easily. But Sybilla had known the daemon longer than he.

‘Fine. Go and pout elsewhere. Don’t go too far though. We won’t stop long now that all is well.’

Silas lifted his hand as Pitch’s gaze found him. On noting the furious gleam in the prince’s eyes, he abandoned the silly notion of waving.

But anger was better than blind panic, Silas supposed. Though hardly fair. He’d had no control over his turn.

The faint echo of the ravens toyed with him, their anguished sound fouling his mind. He watched as Pitch stomped away from the clearing, uneasy with letting him go but knowing to try to follow would likely see the daemon bolt off like a hunted deer.

Silas returned his attention to Charlie and the lieutenant. The lad pushed up his sleeve as he sat beside Edward.

Ottelie’s rowan-and-holly bracelet was snug around Charlie’s wrist. Silas frowned. He was certain he spied several tendrils of new growth meandering along the pale white of the lad’s arm, the holly leaves more vibrant than he recalled. He’d have preferred Charlie take the bracelet off. For all the gift had done at the Fulbourn, for which he was eternally grateful, and for all it seemed to do still, with Charlie’s sudden astonishing strength, Silas worried at the price of such assistance.