Page 37 of The Simurgh

But neither could he shake the story she’d told. Of consequence, and terrible loss. Of the games the powerful played at the expense of all else.

‘No, no, no, you bastard. What have you done?’

Macha loomed over him, her mask removed but her cloak in place, the hatred pouring from her. He felt certain the sorceress was about to strike him, but then she dropped low, going to her knees beside the daemon, the sweep of her spreading cloak making a draft.

‘I’m here, I’m here, Onis. Where is Nemain?’ Macha shouted. ‘Bring my sister here, at once. Easy, easy now…oh gods, you will suffer for this Vassago….Onis…hold fast…Onis, please.’

There were tugs at Pitch’s ankles, a rattle at his wrists. His bindings being tested.

‘Mistress, he is bound,’ someone declared. ‘This was not the prince’s doing–’

‘Of course it’s his doing.’ Macha’s shouted return was strangled with rage. ‘They should never have brought him here, they should have cut off his fucking head the moment they had the chance. Someone help me. Oh gods, Oni, please, hold on.’

She was so very desperate. So utterly at a loss.

It took Pitch only a moment to understand. He suspected he’d sounded not much different when he’d thought Silas drowned in the pond.

The stupid, callous magick-wielding bitch who had made their lives a misery in the Fulbourn cared for the Alp.

The horrid gurgling ceased. And the sorceress let out a long, mournful cry. She howled. There was no other word for it.

Pitch wondered, strangely for the moment, if he’d have the strength to make a sound if he lost Silas.

The guards eased back, standing to attention, allowing the entrance of a very unwelcome visitor.

‘She is dead.’ The square-jawed angel ignored Pitch to stare down at the sorcerer with eyes dark as coal. ‘Get up,’ Iblis snapped.

‘No. Help her.’ Her voice seemed to float up from an abyss. ‘Help her, Iblis, or I will not play my part.’

‘She is beyond help. Get up.’ Iblis bent down. ‘Let her go at once, and get to your feet. Now, girl.’

He was not gentle, and he did not wait for his orders to be heeded. The angel wrenched Macha upright, and she struggled in his grasp.

‘Take the body out of here, now.’ Iblis snapped at the guards who jumped to heed his bidding, two of them, lithe and slender as the rest, gathered up Onoskolis’s corpse. One of her horns clunked against the stone and Pitch was not beyond a grim smile. The guards were quick to make their departure and kept their distance and their gazes from Pitch and his plinth. A hush marked the opening of whatever entrance it was behind him, and returned again a moment later, stifling the sounds of the guards’ footfalls at once.

‘Why was she here?’ Macha muttered, slumped in Iblis’s arms.

Wrongful decision making, Pitch mused. ‘I suppose she won’t make that mistake again, will she?’ he said out loud.

‘Cunt.’

Macha lunged, and very nearly succeeded in leaping up onto the plinth…altar…whatever the hell it was. Screaming like the madwoman he recalled from the Fulbourn, she managed to scratch her nails over his chest, right over his nipple, makings his eyes water as it cut through the stiffened nub. But the dash of pain was brief, there and gone by the time Iblis grabbed her and hauled her away, literally kicking and screaming. The battle to keep control of his witch had his sagging jowls wobbling, his hair flopping into his eyes.

‘Calm yourself, damn you. The daemon was not careful enough.’

‘She has a name, you bastard,’ Macha screeched. ‘Why was Onis here? Why? We’d been told to stay away…we’d been told to stay away…that he was too dangerous. We knew, we knew.’ Her voice cracked. Pitch thought her about to cry. ‘Why did you not kill this fucking daemon in that forest when you had your chance? This is your fault.’

Iblis did not answer her. ‘Harut,’ he called.

The now-familiar sound of the entranceway came just before the reply. ‘Captain.’

Iblis’s little henchman, and the one who had dropped Pitch from a great height, had not died a miserable death at Sybilla’s hands, then. Pity.

‘Take the sorcerer to her rooms. Ensure they all remain there, extra guards at their doors, until word is given otherwise.’

Macha moaned softly.

‘Yes, Captain.’ Pitch could do no more than listen to the exchange, with both angels and the sorcerer beyond where his eyes could follow. ‘Shall I send word to Lord Gabriel of the Alp’s demise?’