Page 12 of The Simurgh

‘You do like the sound of your own voice, don’t you? I pity the Erlking listening to all that endless self-absorbed dribble of yours. He must rue the day he aligned with you.’ Pitch sighed. ‘What is this little betrayal in aid of, then? Do you not get enough of Father Enoch’s precious attention? He does favour Raphael, you know. All of White Mountain comment on it.’

Pitch was trying to rise to his usual level of bastardry, but the spark was gone, every bit as much as his own flame.

‘Do you amuse yourself, Your Highness? For you do not amuse me.’ Another slow drag of the nails, a slicing across the glass that hinted at what Gabriel really wanted here. To cut at Pitch’s own skin, flay it open to reveal what lay beneath.

Which was the whole point, of course.

The Archangel, the traitor, was greedy. He wanted what Seraphiel had left behind.

And if not for Pitch’s weakness in Sherwood Forest, his inability to do anything but hide in a fucking tree trunk and blurt out Blood Lake’s immense secret, Gabriel might not have even known there was anything worth fighting over. Azazel, Gabriel, Iblis, the Morrigan, and all the other miscreants in this feral land would just continue working their treacherous hearts out for the day when….well, what?

What had Azazel hoped to achieve when he gathered this motley crew? Was he just hedging his bets that one day they’d be useful, or had the Exarch already known of the halo? That seemed unlikely. Azazel’s surprise had been written all over Iblis’s face when Pitch let the secret loose. And Gabriel may be swanning about, mouthing off threats right now, but he was caught unawares, too. The fact Pitch was still in his coffin was testament to that.

The Archangel and the Exarch had raised their maleficent litter beneath the foul sunshine of the Blight, but they’d not been doing so in order to hunt for Samyaza’s lost halo. The news of its existence had them in a fluster of unpreparedness and uncertainty.

The Seraph angels had kept their secret, until Pitch spilled it.

He worked his tongue against the back of his clenched teeth, his thoughts tangling on doubts.

Was the blame solely his?

Three Seraph had sealed Blood Lake. There had to be repercussions when one of those seals got himself fucking killed. Perhaps the reason for the strengthening of the Blight, the need for the raising of the Horsemen, lay there.

Gabriel drew his nails up over the glass above Pitch’s head. The noise made his skull feel worked through with fractures. But he’d not flinch again.

The raucous noise was too much for Scarlet, though. The will-o’-the-wisp let loose an awful, squealing cry.

Terrified his tiny companion would be discovered, Pitch opened his mouth, lips cracking, and bellowed, ‘Stop! Fuck…stop. Gods, just get on with this. Enough with the theatrics, you wheedling, traitorous whore.’

‘Whore? My, my that is rich coming from you.’ Gabriel leaned over the glass, his warm breath hazing it. ‘And, lovely prince, I think you as close to a traitor as I. Without you and your…loose tongue…then we would not know the secret of Blood Lake.’ He made a strange genuflection, a touch of the pad of his thumb to his lips, and to his chin, then last of all to his forehead. ‘To think how long that secret was kept, until here comes one errant, idiotic daemon, and our Lord Samyaza’s halo is revealed.’ His chuckle was caustic. ‘I thank you for that gift, daemon, and for all else you shall give us. Whether I take what lies inside you or destroy it, the Watcher King is now one step closer to resurrection.’

‘I don’t give a shit if the Primordials arise and turn us all back to the mush from whence we came.’ Those creatures, there at the dawning of time, were every bit as extinct as the dinosaurs the purebreds were obsessed with. ‘Just so long as I do not have to see your scrotum-like face anymore.’

Gabriel’s smile was slippery as pond slime. ‘You’re more amusing than I recall. I always thought you a dreadful waste of a Hellfield King’s arsehole…or wherever it is they sliced you from.’

‘And here I was, never thinking of you at all.’

The darkness that surrounded Pitch’s prison spliced with light as a doorway opened off to his left. The room had felt cavernous when gripped by darkness, but it did not seem so grand now.

‘Your Grace.’

‘What is it?’

‘I have completed the runework. It just awaits your grace’s approval.’

The gruff voice was faintly familiar.

Gabriel raised an imperious chin, giving the slightest of nods. ‘Very well. See to it that the daemon is rendered senseless enough that he won’t cause any issues until I return. Macha has fixed the grave dust, as I ordered?’

Grave dust? What in all the fucking gods’ names was that about?

‘Yes, your grace. And stronger as you requested. He won’t wake until you give the order.’

Pitch rolled his head, straining to make out something of the other person through the glass. Watching them at this side angle, he was struck by an odd sense of déjà vu– a certainty he’d lain just like this, turned his head at just this tilt….but not in the pleasant way of a man regarding his lover from the bed. This familiarity made his stomach churn.

‘I will hold you and your sisters to that,’ Gabriel said. ‘And be it on your heads if he so much as flutters a lash until we are good and ready and have him in position. Do you understand me, Badh?’

Pitch’s blood seemed to drain into a deep pit in his stomach. He could not take his eyes from the man who spoke.