Page 122 of The Simurgh

The stallion slowed as the denser terrain thwarted speed. The forest was thinning, the tangle of hanging vines not so difficult to negotiate.

Which meant Pitch saw it clearly when the shining arches of the palace came into view. One section of the roof was brighter than the others, as though multiple chandeliers blazed their candles beneath.

The moment he laid eyes on the glow Pitch’s pulse quickened.

‘Silas, I think thatis –’

A sharp flash, a tongue of white light streaking through the glass, and the palace exploded. Glass sprayed into the air like manic birds of crystal taking flight.

‘What was that?’ Silas called.

Tall as he was, the ankou didn’t have Pitch’s bird’s-eye view from atop the Herlequin’s enormous mount.

‘There’s been an explosion.’

‘I did gather that. Was it at the palace?’

Pitch pulled from his squinted scrutiny of the palace to stare down at the ankou. ‘That mouth of yours is going to get you quite the spanking one of these days.’

‘Pitch,’ Silas said, testily.

‘Yes it was at –’

Shock waves hit the forest edge with an enormous wallop of air. Branches snapped and clouds of debris were whipped up; leaves and twigs and everything that could sting the eye. The horse shied. Pitch was totally unprepared and was flung from the saddle. He cursed, the sound forced out in a ridiculous squeal as he hit the ground, arse first.

‘Pitch.’ Silas took no time to reach him, nearly dashing straight past in his eagerness, the boots too efficient. ‘Are you–’

‘The horse, quick, he’ll…’ Pitch sighed. ‘Bolt.’

The shire was a pair of hindquarters and dinner-plate hooves disappearing into a grove of pine trees with red cones, stirrups bouncing madly as he sought escape.

‘I can catch it.’

Pitch grabbed at Silas’s hand. ‘No, we are not separating. Not here.’ Or ever again if they survived this.

The ankou gave him a solemn nod.

A crack of thunder rang out. And another brilliant flash of piercing white light made shadows dance across Silas’s face. He scowled at the sky, which was still cloudless but had shifted to a colour like pond scum.

‘What the bloody hell now?’ He turned back to Pitch quickly. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Not terrible.’ He pressed a hand to his belly. ‘I feel that something has changed, but for the better. I don’t think the simurgh is in any danger.’

‘Well someone is.’ Silas’s words were nearly lost beneath another grumble of thunder. And another searing white flash.

The ankou helped Pitch to his feet. The cloak was heavier than before, thanks to his acumen in landing in one of the few patches of muddy ground around.

The first patter of rain fell against the canopy overhead.

‘Wonderful, because nothing would make this day better than a drenching.’ Pitch wiped at his cheek.

‘Come on, let’s keep moving.’

Silas bent his knees, and without needing a word said, Pitch resumed his position upon the ankou’s back, wrapping his legs about a waist that was a far more preferable circumference than the horse.

As Silas started to move in a loping gait, undoubtedly adopted to make it more comfortable for his rider, Pitch considered the quietness in his belly, and that brief burst of flame he’d spied. Because itwasflame. Daemonic. He’d bet his cock on it.

‘Lucifer is there.’