Page 75 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6
‘But you had it sewnforme.’
Pitch took the ankou’s proffered arm, grateful for the excuse to lean. The wildness was so much heavier since it had been made quiet. Silas’s arm slipped around his corseted waist and held him close. So close their thighs and hips met. With the rush of their escape tingling beneath his skin, it was difficult not to let his mind drift and imagine how easy it would be to start something, here in the dirt, desirous of something other than fear to make his heart thump. Perhaps the ankou thought it too, for his eyes were heavy-lidded, and his lips parted as though he were considering a kiss.
But the will-o’-the-wisp put paid to any notion of an irrational rut. The creature darted at him and returned to where it had been buried before, in the deep folds of his coats.
‘No.’ Pitch pulled away from Silas and drew open his greatcoat, slapping at the pockets of the lighter one beneath. ‘No, that is not your blasted nest. Get out, out.’
When the critter showed no sign of itself, he shrugged off the greatcoat entirely.
‘Pitch, it is too cold for undressing.’
Silas received a light slap for his attempt to intervene. A momentary reprieve for the will-o’-the-wisp, who suddenly reappeared between them, nattering in that intolerable way of theirs.
They brandished a very familiar object, one almost as large as they were. The creature hugged the piece of amber as though it were a treasured heated water bottle.
‘How the fuck did you get my earring?’ He did not even recall retrieving it after the hunter had stolen it. ‘Did you go back for it? It’s not really that pretty.’
A snort and something much like a hiccough was his reply. The will-o’-the-wisp was either very excited or very annoyed, but something caused its colours to swirl over the surface of its curious blown-glass-like figure. The blasted thing had given itself eyes, two dots of white crystal, with tinier dots of black at the centre. No eyebrows, no lashes, just these unblinking orbs. It was horrendous, like one of the awful dolls children seemed to adore.
A jab-jab of moss-green fingers followed. More chittering. And darting.
Silas moved to speak, and Pitch held up his hand. ‘If you say it wishes us to follow, I truly shall lose my temper. I can see it well enough.’
The ankou’s lips twisted as he deadened his smile. ‘Can you help us tend his injury?’ He directed his question at the wisp.
There was no chance of interpreting the enthusiastic nodding and slapping of the earring like it were a drum as anything but a yes.
‘Then, what do you say?’ Silas asked of Pitch. ‘Hastings was happy enough to follow the creature’s directions, and I certainly hear nothing untoward here– the bandalore does not stir. Do we assume the White Horse has left us in good company?’
Silas’s light-heartedness could not hide all his concerns. He was deeply worried– Pitch knew the lines upon his face well enough now– and working hard not to show it. The weight of their circumstance pressed upon Pitch’s shoulders. Gods, he was tired.
‘Silas…what do we do?’ He rubbed at the bruised flesh on his forehead. It still pained him to do so. ‘I mean truly, what do we do now? We have no horses…’ He swept a hand down at his leg. ‘I am walking wounded. We don’t know where the fuck we are going. This is an utter disaster.’ He could barely stand to hear himself, how pathetic he sounded.
But Silas’s gaze softened. ‘It is far from ideal, but hardly a disaster. Hastings knows where she left us, which means Sybilla does, and in turn the Lady and the Order. Plus, the Herlequin has been led astray. Let’s get you somewhere you can rest, first and foremost.’ He took a step forward, and Pitch took one back.
If the ankou touched him, he might do something reprehensible, like burst into tears. Pitch had made a fool of himself far too many times this day.
The will-o’-the-wisp came between them. Pitch accepted the interruption gladly. The shining creature fluttered up in front of him, forcing him to squint with its tiny brightness. The wisp cradled the earring in one purple arm and patted Pitch’s cheek with the other. In a voice not so squeaky as it had been before, it told him a tale he couldn’t understand a word of. He could read nothing in their disconcerting crystal eyes as the wisp touched at the earring, and then pointed into the forest, before returning to their unsettling fixation with caressing his cheek.
‘Right, that’s enough then.’ Pitch blew a breath, rushing the creature away.
The will-o’-the-wisp retreated and made a short sound that might have beenDo you understand?
‘I don’t understand a bloody word, but lead on. And let it be known, if it is a trap of any kind, I shall pluck you apart, piece by tiny piece, and those eyes shall be first.’
The creature very definitely scoffed, and if those eyes could have done so, he was sure they would have rolled.
When Silas moved to lift him, Pitch gritted his teeth and said not a word. Cradled in the ankou’s arms once more, he scowled at the forest as they moved into its depths.
And deep it was. They walked on for a long while, near on half an hour Pitch would estimate, and not once did Silas’s hold waver, nor did the ankou shift his shoulders in any discomfort. Pitch studied Silas through his lashes. Those shoulders were broad and magnificent, but the Herlequin’s own would have put them to shame. The Erlking had a giant leading his Wild Hunt. And if his strength matched his size…and he were to find them…Pitch shivered, closing his eyes against the thought of Silas facing up to such a creature. For he would, certainly, if it came to it. The ankou would not hesitate, which frightened Pitch every bit as knowing he could do little to aid him in any fight.
The snowfall had hardly penetrated this deep in the forest, the heavy canopy stopping much of it. There was a surprising number of evergreens here. Very few of the trees were not brimming with foliage in hues of autumn and pale hints of summer. The forest was dense with growth, Silas having to pick his path carefully and turn side on at times to negotiate the way.
They were being watched. But not very stealthily, and the will-o’-the-wisp was clearly darting about in greeting of some members of the hidden audience. He heard the tinkling bell sounds of peri, caught the stirring of a kodami or two, the tree dwellers matching the texture of the bark nearly perfectly. He’d not have noticed them if they did not mind him doing so, but he couldn’t help a niggle of unease. The gnome in the other forest had spoken of the kodami spreading word of black magick. The trees were like an enormous spiderweb across the country, all connected in the peculiar way nature allowed. He and Silas certainly had friends in the Forest of Dean, and the woodlands where he’d rescued the deer, but what if the lure of a golden apple from a fae court saw the loyalty waver? Fuck, they only needed to prick his finger with a pine needle and it may see the Hunt return.
A tawny owl made no attempt to hide itself, hooting at their passing and dragging him from his thoughts. They had little option but to be where they were, and hope it was the right place to be.
‘Look, Pitch…how magnificent,’ Silas whispered.