Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE COOK was waiting for them. Standing by the oven with a cloth over one shoulder, a smudge of black on one cheek of their familiar face. Silas stopped dead in the doorway, his pulses galloping.

‘What are you doing here?' he demanded.

But before the man could answer, Pitch's voice rang out behind him.

‘So brusque, Mr Mercer. Has your little ferret friend got into the corn?'

‘Get back,' Silas hissed. ‘I told you to stay at the table.'

Pitch shrugged. ‘I didn't listen. Who are you talking to?' He rose on tiptoe to try to see past Silas, his paper crown slipping. ‘Why are you ruining this Christmas hogwash with your dramatics?'

‘Pitch, I said get back,' Silas shouted.

‘What the fuck is wrong, Silas? Stand aside, now.'

‘Gentlemen, there is no need for me to cause strife between you. I come with no ill-intent,' the cook said, gently.

‘Fucking gods,' Pitch said. ‘Is that Ahari?'

With a frustrated exhale, Silas stepped into the kitchen, moving out of the doorway.

‘Hello, your highness.' Mr Ahari gave Pitch a short bow.

The kitsune wore a cook's garb; his apron blotched with orange stains from the kedgeree, sweat glistening on his brow from the kitchen's heat. The old man did not look well, thinner than last they'd met, and that had not been so long ago. His skin held a grey pallor that was not pleasing, and his hair was a stark white now, no peppered hints of grey remaining.

Pitch did not enter the room, nor allow his flame to rise, for which Silas was thankful. If Ahari had poisoned them all, they needed him alive to learn if an antidote were possible.

Was the old man truly that callous? Silas's reasonable mind begged the question, while his distrusting self screamed that he'd proved himself a traitor.

‘No closer, Pitch. Do you feel alright? Not light-headed, sleepy perhaps?'

There were no sneers of indignation from the daemon, just a simple, understanding shake of his head. ‘Merely annoyed at going back to cold potatoes.'

‘It is good to see you so well, your highness.'

‘The same can't be said for you. You look fucking awful, Ahari.'

‘It's been a difficult time,' he said, solemn, his eyes filled with a sadness that might have made Silas a little gentler, were he not remembering how close Mr Ahari's actions had come to stealing Pitch from him forever.

‘What have you done to the food, Ahari?' Silas drew on every note of his new, imposing quaver.

‘Nothing, of course, nothing.' To Silas's surprise Mr Ahari went to his knees, head lowered. ‘My Lord Death, I do not expect to ever gain your forgiveness for what I did.'

‘Good. Then you'll never be disappointed.'

The kitsune's shoulders dropped. ‘But I must tell you that I did it in good faith. I thought it for the best…for everyone…' He seemed even less convinced by his words than Silas.

‘What did you do, Ahari?' Pitch said.

Silas had not yet had a conversation with him about the events at Cumberland House; about Mr Ahari siding with Lucifer to keep Silas from searching for a lost prince.

‘I sought to keep safe as many of those I cared for as I could.' Mr Ahari leaned his hands to the black and white tiles. The rest of the kitchen staff continued with their business, as though neither Silas nor Pitch nor Ahari conversed at all.

‘You thought to make us safe by keeping us prisoner in York?' Sybilla stepped up behind Pitch; another who had ignored Silas's order to stay seated. ‘And Lucifer do as he pleased, even when you were aware it may include the death of the prince?'

Pitch watched Ahari intently. ‘You stopped them from coming to my aid? You were happy to allow me to die?'

‘Absolutely not.' Mr Ahari shook his head emphatically. ‘No. No. Lucifer never threatened such a fate for you. I'd never have agreed to hold the others back otherwise.'

‘Then what fate did you agree Pitch could face? The abaddon?' Silas asked. ‘How bloody noble of you.' He'd been so afraid, so deathly afraid, and he had trusted the kitsune. That was hardest to forgive.

‘I understand your anger. You have every right to it, but please try to understand…my choice was impossible.' Mr Ahari wavered, head still lowered. Pitch stepped up to him, keeping Silas back with a simple shake of the head.

‘Have you done anything to the food, Ahari?' Pitch said, with a calm so unlike him. ‘Do we have reason to doubt you, now?'

The kistune looked up, and in that sudden move there was hint of the fox beneath his skin, the sudden sharpening of features, the blackness of his eyes, the shimmering sway of a multitude of tails behind him.

‘None, none, my boy. I swear to you. I want nothing more than to find some way to make amends.'

‘With food?' Silas demanded. ‘And a ridiculous tree? That was you, was it not?'

Ahari nodded. ‘I saw how you looked at that tree on your way to the cemetery last night. I thought, you'd be pleased to have –'

‘Last night?' Silas demanded, wishing Pitch would keep greater distance from the old man. ‘You've been in Ambleside all this time, watching us?'

‘Oh no, no, good sir. I've been watching you for longer than that. When I learned you were…' he hesitated.

‘Alive?' Pitch said.

With a grimace, Ahari nodded. ‘I begged Satine to allow me to help in whatever way I could, to see you through to the end of the journey. She was very, very displeased with me.'

‘Rightly so.' Sybilla leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, no visible sign of discomfort. Silas blinked, thinking he'd caught hint of a shimmer around her.

‘Yes. Rightly so.' Ahari, normally a ball of cheeriness and vague distraction, was glum. ‘But she came to understand what obstacles I faced, and knew me no villain. She allowed me to follow you, keep watch over you.'

Silas glared. ‘Do you expect us to trust a word from your mouth?'

‘No. Not at all. But do you think Lalassu would not be aware of the fox lurking in the woods all that time, and not challenge it, if she saw fit? You trust your mare, Horseman.'

Silas folded his arms. ‘She missed your treachery in York.'

‘She expected it no more than I did. And it was not treachery, not at the heart of it.' Ahari rubbed at his rosy cheeks, sighing deeply. ‘There was a choice to be made, and perhaps…I chose wrongly.'

Pitch grabbed a stool from beneath a set of high shelves, and set it beside Ahari. ‘Here, sit down you old fool, before you fall down.'

The kitsune's shock was fit for the stage, his heavy-lidded eyes widening. ‘You're too kind. Thank you, your highness.'

‘Call me that again, and we shall truly have issues.' Pitch looked to Silas. ‘We have no issues here. The kitsune is, as he says, no villain. But a bloody good cook, I have to say.'

Mr Ahari brightened. ‘Well, thank you, your highness.' He touched his fingers to his lips, shrinking beneath the daemon's glare. ‘Sorry.'

‘Pitch, you were not there in York,' Silas began, still able to feel the sheer terror of that moment of betrayal. ‘I cannot –'

‘Ensure no one is too hard upon Mr Ahari when next you meet,' Pitch said, a steely look upon his face. ‘The kitsune had no choice but to follow my instruction. Those were among the last words Lucifer spoke to me, before he left us at Newchurch. What did he threaten you with, exactly Mr Ahari?'

‘The lives of all kitsune.' The old man grew pale with memory. ‘That Weatherby's betrayal may signal a greater treachery amongst my kind, and an inquisition would be the only way to root out the guilty who sided with Elyssium. Many more would die as Weatherby had done.'

‘There we are,' Pitch said, with the aplomb of one declaring a puzzle completed. ‘Dear Pappa was his usual congenial and subtle self, to get his way. Mr Ahari has been used, and I am no stranger to how that feels. We should move on from this…before my potatoes are too icy to eat.'

‘Gods, thank you.' The old man pulled the cloth from his shoulder and covered his face. He sobbed quietly.

Sybilla moved into the room, and with a nod towards Pitch she embraced Mr Ahari. ‘Come, join us at the table.'

Silas watched on, the strings of bitterness untying themselves from where they had lodge fast around his heart. The man who had hauled him from the grave, who felt in some strange way like Silas's anchor between life and death, was no betrayer after all.

Sybilla helped Ahari to his feet, and the old man lowered the cloth from his face, his eyes sparkling with tears.

‘It tore me apart to see your distress. Silas, I truly hope you believe me.' Mr Ahari looked positively pained. ‘And I could not have been prouder to see you defy all who tried to stifle you. Even the King of Daemonkind could not stop you, could he?' His smile was tender but weak. ‘You are both so very marvellous. Standing tall, when all others have fallen. I hope you can forgive me, in time.'

Silas gave him a subtle nod, feeling Pitch's gaze as well.

‘Let's get you on a seat before you fall down,' Sybilla said, guiding the old man towards the door. ‘You are hardly the only one who has made mistakes.'

Mr Ahari leaned into the angel. ‘You are a benevolent creature, Sybilla.'

‘No. I simply know what it is to carry guilt. Come.'

They left the kitchen at a slow shuffle, talking softly between themselves. Pitch waited quietly, amongst the bustle of the warm room, where pots bubbled and kitchen staff worked in a magickal daze, chopping and stirring, sweeping and washing, without regard for the two men who stood nearby.

‘Everything all right, Sickle?'

‘I'm not sure I can forgive him fully for keeping me from you.'

‘Go easy, my dear. I doubt very much he shall ever forgive himself. But not everyone can defy a lord of Arcadia so readily as you.' He bobbed onto his tip-toes, landing a very unexpected kiss to the tip of Silas's nose.

Barely had Silas leaned towards him, searching for more, than Pitch was skipping out of reach with an impish grin.

‘The rest of me is for dessert.' He extended his hand. ‘Come along now, Mr Mercer, you cannot escape. If I must endure this half-baked Christmas cheer then you shall be by my side. No arguments.'

Silas had none to give.