Page 74 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

He saw Hastings’ plan now. The reason behind her seemingly appalling mistake in cutting him.

Not a mistake at all.

The will-o’-the-wisp dulled their glow and settled in front of them, hands splayed, bracing itself like a rugby player, as though daring the Hunt to try to get close.

A rough wind played at the edge of the forest, though it failed to reach them where they stood. With the surging of the air came a chance to view the Wild Hunt, the snow sweeping back like a curtain, revealing players on the stage.

The riders were half a mile away at least, despite the thunderous sound of hooves. Pitch tightened his fingers around Silas’s hand.

The Hunt raced along, surrounded at their horses’ feet by a blue-grey mist, a contrast against the endless white. Their number seemed considerable, with many riders of differing sizes, but the jumble of horsemen was chaotic and shifting, and the distance too great to be certain. Whatwascertain, though, was that Matilda had understated their leader.

The Herlequin.

The elemental had called him a brute, but it was hardly enough to cover it.

Even from this distance, with their view obscured, the cloaked rider dominated the landscape. He was massive in comparison to those who rode behind, all their cloaks flying in a messy show of heraldry. The Herlequin’s horse would likely stand a head taller than any of the Lady’s mares, a necessity for the load it endured.

‘Have you ever seen a fae like that, Pitch?’

‘Never. I’ve not fought a bruiser in the ring like that either. He’s at least two of you and a bit more added together.’

What the blazes were they feeding them in the UnSeelie Court?

Silas ran his thumb around the concealed wound on Pitch’s wrist. The odd covering resembled a snowflake, melted in place against his skin. One shade whiter than his own hue. No hint of crimson. ‘She wounded you intentionally,’ he said softly. ‘She has saved us.’

The Wild Hunt was racing in entirely the wrong direction, intent on the blood-stained horse.

‘It would seem so.’

The cacophony lessened, the trembling dirt settling as Sybilla’s steed drew the blue mist away, leading them northeast. The Herlequin could still be made out for quite some time, a hulking shape peaking above his hunters like some breathing mountain.

Finally though, they vanished. The squall of the snowstorm engulfing them. The roll of thunder travelled in their wake.

Pitch exhaled. But neither he nor Silas made to move. Silas lifted Pitch’s hand to his chest, and they drank in the silence.

The will-o’-the-wisp settled itself on Pitch’s shoulder, but he was too boneless with relief to shoo it away.

The relief was fragile though. His mind crowded with new and obvious concerns. First and foremost, what the blazes did they do now?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PITCH WASnot the first to pull away. And Silas only did so in order to peer down at Pitch’s ankle.

‘How is it? Did it hurt you when we landed?’

‘No. But look at the state of you.’ Pitch tutted, lifting a scrap of Silas’s greatcoat, which had been shredded to within an inch of its life, like curtains at his back. ‘Your coat is ruined.’

‘Oh shit, no.’ But it was not the greatcoat he was bothered about. He shrugged that off with no regard and proceeded to spin about, trying to peer over his shoulder. ‘Is the Inverness all right? Please tell me it’s not torn, too.’

‘Good gods, Mr Mercer, are you going to cry if I say it is?’

‘Are you going to berateme if I say yes?’ He scowled. ‘Foolish question. You’d relish the opportunity to taunt me.’

Pitch blinked, surprisingly insulted. ‘It is your lucky day. I think myself too tired to ridicule you. The coat is intact.’ Astonishingly unscathed. Pitch watched while Silas checked each button. ‘But it is just a coat, Silas. My concern lies with the body beneath it. That was quite the blow you took to land us.’

‘I assure you, no harm done. And it is far from just a coat. It is a gift from you. One I do not think I have thanked you properly for.’

‘No need to fuss. I hardly sewed the bloody thing.’