Page 86 of The Simurgh
‘I’d rather you promise to free the souls.’
‘Shut up, Macha.’ Silas roared. ‘Christ Almighty, you’ll get nothing from me if you do not give me a moment of peace.’
The raven wakened, lifting wings in irritation, whilst Macha’s features paled. And her bottom lip trembled.
She bobbed in a brief curtsy, the grind of her ankle making Pitch’s stomach turn. And the raven settled its ruffled feathers. ‘A goddess will not wait while you pander to your prince,’ she muttered. ‘But I suppose I shall.’
The ankou’s expression shifted from irritated to concerned in a heartbeat as he gave Pitch his full attention. When had those lovely brown eyes become so intense, so undeniable? ‘You told me you were all right.’
‘I’m not dying, if that’s what worries you. Can’t you smell me, or whatever you do to detect decay?’
Silas’s arm slipped about his shoulders. ‘The simurgh, Pitch.’
Seeing the determined glint in the ankou’s eye, Pitch gave in. ‘It is the wildness, they are one and the same. Azazel and Gabriel took it from me. What Seraphiel placed in me, what everyone has fought so hard to keep hold of, is gone. I could not keep it. And I’m not sure I wanted to. Now, please, can we go?’
He did not have time to decipher Silas’s look before Macha spoke up.
‘Yes, go, and see to the Sluagh.’
Silas and Pitch turned back to the sorcerer. She was back on her knees, her cloak hiding her grim injury. Her skin was near as ashen as that which lay around her, and her recent movement set her head wound flowing again. ‘It is important to them, all of them, the goddess, the angels. So destroy it, Silas Mercer.’ Her deep swallow clenched her throat. Her breath did not come easily. ‘They sent Oni to her death, they took my ravens…and left my family here to turn to ash. So I want you, Master of Death, to turn the Sluagh to ash, too. Promise me you shall ruin them, or I shall have every creature with a blade descend upon this tower before you could blink. Promise me.’ Macha collapsed forward, bracing herself with one hand, whilst the other went to her head. The raven cawed softly, nudging its beak into her hair.
Pitch needed no word from Silas to know that the young woman’s time was near. She’d shown a resilience beyond measure to last this long.
Silas shifted from his side and went to his knees beside the stricken sorceress.
‘I promise you.’
‘And you are a man of your word, Master Death,’ she rasped, each inhale a ghastly rattle. ‘I heard you say it.’
‘You did.’ He cupped his hand to the back of her head, and whispered to her. Pitch didn’t catch the words, but they were not meant for him.
Macha sighed, a contentment so at odds with the horrors of the chamber. The raven spread its wings, and covered her shoulders as she lay down, Silas’s hand guiding her. The ankou watched over her as she drew her last breath.
And death came quietly for the last of Azazel’s children.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
GABRIEL HELDthe pandora like a newborn. He had barely looked up from the box since they had left the tower by way of a cursed hidden passageway, one that was essentially a brief free fall into darkness. Lucifer’s stomach had nearly hit the back of his throat with the vanishing of the ground beneath his feet, and he’d been embarrassingly unsteady when the drop ended a moment later. The spiral staircase he and the lorebiders had used earlier to ascend was far preferable to that shocking descent. In a heartbeat, they had gone from touching the clouds to digging their heels in the gold-leaf-covered ground. So it was a good thing really that Gabriel was too preoccupied to take careful measure of those around him, lest he notice the captain of the guard pale-faced, and wobbling like a gin-addled fool.
Lucifer felt the press of the trumpeter against his skin as they moved towards the waiting chariots. The innocuous sliver of metal would pass for a hunting dog whistle if ever seen by purebred eyes. It was the herald of Lucifer’s redemption, his chance to repair the mess he’d made with bringing Vassago to Holly Village. And yet it was still silent. Still hidden beneath his armour.
Lucifer ground his teeth, gripping the staff so tightly that he was impressed it did not break. Some of Seraphiel’s madness must have found him, for here he was, continuing the charade with Gabriel while the Berserker Prince and the Morrigan still breathed.
Lucifer had stood by, with Vassago dangling before him, the Archangel, and the Watcher angel who bore the Exarch of Elyssiam, right before him, too.
Everything he’d come to destroy was in that godsdamned chamber.
But he’d held his breath.
He’d watched in awe as the simurgh was torn from the prince. Stared, speechless, at the design of Seraphiel’s Cultivation. And felt, to his horror, the weakening of his resolve to put an end to the angel’s madness once and for all.
The Archangel Gabriel stepped onto one of the chariots that waited to carry them back to this so-called Crystal Palace. His was drawn by three creatures who resembled horses, save for the three horns that jutted along each of their snouts and scales where equines would have hairier coats: unicorns, but far from the ones that had found their way onto the pages of purebred legends. These fae creatures might have inspired the tales, but humans had a propensity to wish away ugliness where they saw fit.
And was Lucifer so different? He desired to clean away all the ugliness of Seraphiel’s mad legacy.
Why then did his thoughts keep returning to the prince in the tower? Worse, why was he irritated that he’d not left some parting words for the creature borne of his flesh? If only to tell Vassago that the blasted ankou still lived, and was out of harm’s way. That Lucifer had tried to ensure Mercer’s survival. As a vaguely apologetic gesture, for if he had not given Seraphiel his blessing to use Vassago as a vessel, the Beserker Prince would not be at the end of his life today.
Lucifer remembered the day all too well when the prince’s fate had been sealed.