Page 95 of The Simurgh

‘Please, Sickle.’

Silas exhaled. ‘‘Lucifer. He is here.’

That was probably the very last thing Pitch expected to hear, and he could not make sense of it.

‘What? In London again?’

‘No. Here, in the cockaigne. He was ahead of me. He tried to stop me from…’ Silas shook his head. ‘Arcadia has intervened. Lucifer is here to put an end to all of this.’

Pitch shook his head, reeling. ‘He tried to stop you from doing what, Silas?’

The ankou caressed his cheek. ‘Reaching you.’

Pitch rocked onto his knees so fast Silas had no chance to avoid a hard knock to the shoulder.

‘He comes to destroy me?’ Pitch said softly as the wind moved the tiny bells that dangled from weeping willows nearby.

‘He seeks to destroy what Seraphiel burdened you with. It must be so, if he did not strike when you were vulnerable in the tower. So you are free now, don’t you see? Let them fight over it, let us leave.’

Pitch bristled, barely hearing Silas’s words. ‘That cunt of a daemon started all this with his fucking watch. His decision has seen us sent to every blasted hell and back a thousand times over, and this is our reward? You set upon by every known monster, I am torn open, stolen from, and all for nought because the great fucking Lucifer deems the game at an end?’

‘It is not fair, you deserved none of this–’

‘Nor did you, Silas.’

The ankou waved off the assertion. ‘But what’s done is done, and we have an opportunity here, you have a chance to live freely. Truly freely.’

‘Silas.’

‘No, wait. Just listen to me.’

‘I know what you are going to say.’

‘Then you’ll agree this is an opportunity for us. To be done with this. Let Lucifer destroy the simurgh, and let Arcadia deal with their foes. It is their mess to begin with, not yours. Not ours.’

‘Silas.’

The ankou fell silent, slumping where his passion had lifted his shoulders high.

‘Please, Pitch, I beg you, don’t find fucking righteousness now. You are a selfish prick, stay that way.’ Silas’s voice lifted. ‘You’re free, you idiot. To fuck around to your heart’s content, ruin reputations and cause a scene. I’ll not hold you back, you are not beholden to me. Just go, get up, go.’

Pitch shuffled closer to the ankou, whose scowl was a sight to be seen.

‘Don’t.’ Silas pulled away. He sat back, lifting his knees, and wrapping his arms around them, the folded cloak an extra barrier.

‘Don’t tell you what you already know?’ Pitch worked his fingers between Silas’s own, and there was no protest. The rings scraped against one another. ‘I don’t wish to fuck around, I am very satisfied with the bed I’m in. Come now, my lovely oaf. My chivalrous knight. We flee, and then what? I pace the halls all night whilst you run about cutting down your teratisms? You see, I am still a selfish prick because I don’t want your bloody dead taking you from my bed every damned day. I am selfish to the core, Silas, because I don’t actually give a fuck that every Tom, Dick, or Harry might be made into a mindless monster when they die. What bothers me is that you would be fretting over them, spending too much time hunting them down, you would be sobbing with the grief that overwhelms you when they are near. You would be desperately unhappy, and I would have to watch it, knowing I could do little to ease your pain, and that it was because of me that things were not different.’

Silas’s scowl did not shift. He was staring down at their entwined hands, his mussed hair hanging over his eyes. ‘The Blight is not your fault.’

‘No, but not trying to rid us of it would be my mistake.’

‘Our mistake,’ Silas whispered. ‘I told you–’

‘I am not alone.’ Pitch leaned down and kissed their entangled fingers. ‘My darling man, look at me.’

Silas inhaled sharply, and lifted his head. His cheeks were wet, tears funnelling lines through the muck.

‘It’s the boots, isn’t it, that make you weep?’ Pitch caught at a tear with his thumb. He hated that tiny bead of hurt with all his being. ‘You’ve just noticed how awful they are.’