Page 67 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘You have no idea how reliable that bracelet is.’ Silas straightened, hoping to intimidate the lad into seeing sense, but the glint in Charlie’s eye only brightened. ‘What if it fails you when you need it most?’

‘Then I die having done a few decent, worthwhile things. Starting now, repaying you for all the times you’ve saved me so far, by ensuring you weren’t squashed flat by a coach.’

Silas nearly swore aloud. This ancient connection between them had gone quite far enough. He’d not allow its strange influence to push the lad into foolish things.

‘You are not in my debt, Charlie.’ Silas hoped whatever god or fate or fortune had unified them at the loch that day heard him now. ‘And I wasn’t about tobesquashed. Do you know why?’ His temper pushed him on before Charlie had a hope of answering. ‘Because I am not bloody human, I’m not even truly alive. And I’ve died enough times to know I will keep you from that experience for as long as it’s in my power to do so.’ Oh, he was shouting now. Quite losing the plot. ‘I have no idea how many people I have lost, but I know it’s too great a number. And I am in no way ready to lose you, so stop doing stupid bloody things. Do you understand me?’ He snapped his mouth closed, or at least assumed he did. There was not much feeling upon his face anymore.

Charlie stared at him. Blinked. And hurled himself headlong at Silas, who had no choice but to open his arms and accept the incoming cannonball. ‘I didn’t understand half of what you just said, but I love you too, Silas.’

‘What? No, that’s not…well…yes, I am very fond of you.’ Silas sighed, enveloping the lad in his arms. Mostly to return the hug, partly to try and shield him from the terrible weather.

‘Merciful gods, do you think when next you are trying to woo one another with your enormous talents, you don’t almost break my neck in the process?’ The daemon’s words were as frigid as the air.

‘Oh god, Tobias is awake, and I’m hugging you,’ Charlie mumbled against Silas’s coat. ‘I’ll never hear the end of this.’

Pitch was indeed awake. He’d opened the cabin door, scowling at the rain and Silas in turn.

‘Leave them be, Tobias.’ Sybilla was already outside, standing by Hastings whose mane was slipping from where it had been wrapped about the back wheel of the carriage. The dapple grey had played a part too, it seemed. Perhaps Silas had been a little hasty in deciding Charlie’s act so foolhardy.

‘The horses are spent,’ Sybilla said. ‘And it will take some doing to pull the carriage from this mud. Charlie, help me unhitch them from the harnesses. I’ll have Hastings pull the carriage clear.’

‘Right, then.’ The lad pulled from their embrace and headed to the horses at once.

‘Shall I help you?’ Silas offered.

‘No.’ Sybilla shook her head. ‘Give yourself a moment, Silas. Perhaps you can grab Charlie’s greatcoat before he’s soaked through?’ She patted his shoulder. ‘Probably best you’re not there if he decides to carry one of the horses up the incline.’

With a wink at Silas’s scowl Sybilla moved to join the lad in unharnessing the bays. Feeling a mite foolish, but unrepentant, he turned to Pitch who had closed the door and now leaned against the sill of the open window.

‘Did you truly hurt your neck with that sudden stop?’

‘No,’ Pitch said. ‘But that is not to say you have permission to go carrying carriages about on your back again.’

Silas smiled, taking in the sleep-rumpled vision who gazed back at him. ‘How are you feeling? Your ankle?’

‘Fine. Never better.’ The bruise above Pitch’s eye had turned the yellowish-grey shades of an older bruise, the cut was a thin line of black. ‘So when might I expect my invitation to the wedding, Mr Mercer? Clearly that is the next step for the two of you.’

It was a ploy to distract him from more serious questions, but Silas would play along. Even though his teeth chattered and the wind sought to fill the hollow where the carriage had come to a halt.

‘Oh, we intend to elope. A quick affair at Gretna Green, the Blight and Morrigan be damned. Would you pass me Charlie’s greatcoat please?’

‘Elope? How terribly romantic.’ Pitch passed the coat through the open window, his face damp from the elements.

‘A pity it’s not in a church though. I dare say you’d have looked wonderful in a bridesmaid’s gown.’

‘You know I would have.’ Pitch pulled back, sliding the window up slowly, an indecent smile on his face. If he was hiding any discomfort, he was doing it very well.

Silas bent against the sleet, and waited while Charlie and Sybilla walked the horses free of the rigging, hooves sucking at the wet mud, tired animals straining. As Silas held up the coat so Charlie could slip into it, the first snowflakes fell.

Delicate lace among the hard cut of the sleet, the flutters of soft white danced around them like dulled will-o’-the-wisps.

‘What the–’ Sybilla began.

Matilda came down with the bright white snow, her long black hair like vertical streams surrounding her thinly clad body. She landed right atop the carriage roof, causing Pitch to throw open the door with a shout, only to curse a moment later as water flowing from her gown poured over the edge of the roof, nearly drenching him. He slammed the door closed.

‘Sybilla, I fear they know what direction you travel in now.’ Matilda seemed starved for breath.

‘The Wild Hunt? How can that be?’ Sybilla handed the second bay to Charlie, and moved to peer up at the elemental who crouched on her haunches atop the carriage. There were thin trails of black coming with the water that flowed from Matilda, as though a dye in her hair ran free. ‘What has happened?’