Page 147 of The Simurgh
‘They matter to me.’ Pitch glanced to where Silas had disappeared, gripped with the need for the ankou’s strong arm here. But there was only Tyvain peering from behind her tomb stone, her eyes looking set to pop out of her head. ‘Tell me all that happened.’
‘Not now.’ Lucifer’s steeliness was returning, though the colour had left his cheeks, his skin stark against the black of his facial hair. ‘That lies in the past, and you have a freedom, a life, that never would have become yours had you –’
‘Not been branded an angel-killer and thrown into an abyss to die a long, slow death?’ Pitch said, incredulous, still needing the wall to keep his jellied legs from giving way.
‘Oh, that sounds dreadful,’ Phillipa gasped, only to disappear into the carriage entirely at the glare that came from Lucifer.
‘Had I not brought you to the purebred world,’ he continued. ‘You’d not have met –’
‘If you say Silas, I swear to all the gods, Lucifer, that shall be the last thing you say.’ Pitch fumed, while the coldness hardened in his veins. ‘I have been put through torments you cannot imagine, because of a lie.Manylies. Yours and Enochs, and Seraphiel’s. And I am –’
‘And you are still standing.’ Lucifer did not chase away the wisp this time, letting Scarlet land where they’d sought to go, on his shoulder. ‘He might have been mad, but Seraphiel was wise. He knew you the one to carry the simurgh, he remarked on your fortitude so often I bade him stop.’
‘Perhaps he was not talking about my ability to handle a large Cultivation.’ It was astonishingly childish, but Lucifer had always managed to bring out the churlish side in him. And he wanted his sire to hurt, despite how little he was doing to deserve it right now.
The king scowled, and turned away, and Pitch was pleased.
‘I told him you were not worthy of his attentions,’ Lucifer said. ‘And he never debated me on that.’
Pitch rolled his eyes. ‘Well I had his full attention, I assure you. His prick was never wanting when he was with me, which made for a nice change from watching you read your books, I’m sure.’ He’d gone down the path of childishness, he might as well stick to it.
‘He did not need a prick, when in my presence, I assureyou. We did not debase ourselves to the levels of the purebreds, which must have been a nice change from watching you spread your legs for any old Penny Dreadful.’
‘I’m so dreadfully wounded by that terribly imprecise analogy.’
Lucifer muttered something that didn’t reach Pitch.
‘Should I keep a score or somethin?’ Tyvain said, in a stage whisper. ‘I can mark ‘em on the stone ‘ere. This chap’s been dead forty years, ‘e won’t mind a tally over ‘is particulars.’
‘Shut up.’ Pitch hissed.
‘Righty-o, then.’
Lucifer opened the door of the carriage. The first time he’d been able to attempt it without being set upon by Scarlet. Perhaps the wisp wished for the conversation to be over as much as Pitch did. He glanced again towards the side of the church, where Silas, and everyone else he longed to see was hidden from view. He’d not rid himself of anxious knots until he saw Sybilla alive and well, with his own eyes.
‘They won’t be long, and aren’t far away, lad,’ Tyvain said. ‘Don’t you worry. We ain’t alone.’
Damn if that soothsayer wasn’t becoming more of a mind-reader everyday. He acknowledged her with a subtle nod.
The king made a noise, one of displeasure, as he leaned into the carriage. ‘All the trials endured, by you and your ankou, will be for bloody nothing if the simurgh is lost now. Gabriel and Azazel were using the Cultivation, and the Primordial Flame it holds, to place a bridge between Elyssium and the cockaigne. The strain on the Cultivation was enormous, it may have altered its original design. Look at it, the simurgh has barely moved since I took it from the palace. The colours are drained in places, there is grey on that wing, and a bit on the neck too. And one of the feet is clearly injured. Do you see?’ Pitch couldn’t see a thing from where he stood but he nodded, for he’d seen it already when the creature unfurled itself from the cloak as they all huddled on the last bit of dry land in the cockaigne. Lucifer kept on. ‘Perhaps it cannot do what he intended anymore, but I cannot say for certain, this magick is far beyond me. The Primordial Flame is beyond anything I’ve encountered. You though, are a part of it.’ He looked up, and said the very last thing Pitch was expecting. ‘Do you think there is still hope, Vassago?’
Pitch stared at the creature who may or may not be the King of Daemonkind, because he did not recognise this troubled man who waited on his words like he were Seraphiel himself.
‘All right there, Astaroth?’ Tyvain jolted him from his stupor. ‘Want me to go get the big fellow?’
Ignoring her, Pitch frowned at Lucifer. ‘Hope?’
‘Yes. Does the Cultivation have any hope of destroying the halo, must I make it any plainer?’ The king’s glare was cutting. He swatted at Scarlet who apparently didn’t like his tone of voice and was giving him a decent what-for with a tug on his hair. They were truly going to get themselves cooked at this rate. ‘Is there any point continuing this, Vassago? Or is it too late?’
Pitch watched the sleeping simurgh, uncertain if a lie or the truth was for the best. He had no idea which Lucifer deserved, the king’s back-and-forth behaviour was beyond confusing. He looked to the daemon, who’d returned to gazing on the wildness. He was pensive, and something else besides. Was it longing, or was it yearning that hinted beneath a melancholy even that stern, immovable face could not bury in its lines?
A muscle in Lucifer’s jaw ticked, and he looked up.
Pitch saw it plainly then.
It was fragile hope. Lucifer had said it himself. And as the king quickly shuttered his face once more, covering over what he’d let slip free when looking on the simurgh, Pitch knew his majesty’s hope very little to do with destroying Samyaza’s halo, and everything to do with Seraphiel’s Cultivation. All of the Seraph that remained.
Pitch made his choice. ‘There is hope. The magick is still strong.’