Page 73 of The Simurgh

The lorebider inclined their head. ‘Indeed, no more real then Father Christmas.’

‘He’s not real?’ Pitch gasped, and at last everyone seemed to notice he was there. He grinned, knowing it hideous for the blood that coated his lips and dripped from his chin.

Appreciation for his ill-humour came from very unexpected quarters. Macha giggled where she sat on the far side of the chamber, up against the wall, knees raised, her masked eyes peeking over their edge. Nemain nudged her toe against her sister’s leg and Macha burrowed her face into the backs of her knees.

The angels regarded the elf with narrowed eyes.

‘You know much,’ Azazel said. ‘for one whose usual purpose is to guard the Erlking alone.’

The lorebider bowed his head but his shoulders did not lose their stiffness. ‘His Majesty encourages an interest in the purebreds, all the better to protect him. Knowing one’s enemy, so to speak. I have an interest in their tales and tomes. Their monsters amuse me, and it is always useful to know what can scare a man into submission.’

Iblis barked laughter, and it held a slight echo as Azazel joined in.

‘I am not delaying here any longer to discuss this,’ Gabriel said. ‘Azazel, I will meet you in the palace conservatory. Lorebiders, you’ll not need to escort the sorcerers back just yet so I’ll have you with me.’

Gabriel walked past Pitch without a glance, still stroking his precious box. The lorebiders followed after him, keeping the requisite few paces back, as they would have done for the Erlking. Pitch watched until he could crane his neck no further. He thought for a moment the lorebider who studied monsters was going to turn, and take heed of the one he was leaving behind. He paused just on the edge of Pitch’s peripheral view, his grip shifting upon his staff. But he, like Gabriel, did not look back.

Pitch slumped back into his vacuous self. Too tired to throw out a caustic remark about fond farewells. He let his eyes close. That abyss at his centre flickered. For the first time, in an agonisingly long time Pitch felt the unhindered warmth of his own flame.

His eyes flew open. His breath shook from him.

The door closed with a heavy thud.

‘And the daemon, what of him, your grace?’ Harut said.

The Exarch raised one of Iblis’s brows, dragging his fire-pinched gaze over Pitch’s body. Pitch sought to keep level-headed in a situation that had turned him upside down, terrified that perhaps the angel might see what hefelt.

‘What of him indeed. You are not so magnificent a creature to look upon now, are you Dominion?’ Pitch played his part. He groaned softly, letting his chin drop to his chest, hiding behind the stinking bird’s nest his hair had become, trying not to think on how much he missed Scarlet’s presence in the strands.

‘Fuck off,’ he said, weak as a newborn lamb, and rough as a man addicted to the pipe. ‘One bird does not an army make. You won’t take the halo with that over-sized canary.’

Gods, he’d just formed several coherent sentences, so much for playing the half-dead daemon. He whimpered for good measure, but he’d not felt less like doing so since he arrived on Lady Satine’s doorstep. His body was coming back to him, the firelight piecing him back together. The heat slipping through his veins, reminding him he was still in one piece. Still existed.

‘Perhaps we will not secure the halo, but then neither will you, your highness. What a pitiful thing you were in the end. We are done here. I have far better places to be.’

The ruler of Elyssiam made good on his words. Iblis staggered and Harut stepped in to keep the angel on his feet.

‘Captain?’ he said anxiously. ‘Are you back with us?’

Iblis righted, pushing off the assistance with a frown. ‘I am, don’t fuss.’ He turned, looking to where the sorcerers sat together in a tired huddle. ‘Are you all well?’

Maybe Pitch was still delusional, because the Watcher angel sounded earnest in his enquiry.

‘As well as to be expected,’ Nemain replied. ‘That was divine magick like I’ve never known.’

‘Nor wish to again.’

Badh didn’t lift his head from Macha’s shoulder as he spoke. All three had removed their masks. The amethyst walls seemed brighter now all was said and done, highlighting their features. He’d never paid much attention to how young those bastards were. Barely deserving of adulthood.

‘What is to be done about the daemon?’ Macha asked.

Iblis adjusted the lie of his collar and fixed a button that had come undone.

‘We are to destroy him.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SILAS FOUNDanother turn of speed, another lengthening of stride. Following the faint notes of the bandalore that guided him across the land.