Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

AFTER A couple of hours spent indulging, drinking and stuffing themselves silly with all the delightful offerings, everyone was submerged in that pleasant restfulness that comes with big meals. Silas had only managed to eat one serve of the kedgeree, as it turned out that the others were not so averse to the dish after all. Isaac, in particular, had to be held back from picking up the terrine and licking it clean.

They slouched in their chairs, happily tipsy, the conversation fading to quieter chats between neighbours, rather than verbose arguments involving the whole table. Pitch had absolutely revelled in the discourse over which style of ballgown would best suit him. Silas won the conversation by declaring it was whichever one lay upon their bedroom floor. His cheeks had burned at the audacity, but to hell with propriety, he'd decided. Even Mr Ahari, still withdrawn amongst those he'd betrayed, had been overcome with deep belly laughs.

Pitch had turned his chair, and placed his legs over Silas's lap, despite Tyvain's admonishment.

‘Bloody ruffian. At least kick ya boots off.'

Pitch had ignored her.

Silas rubbed his hand over the prince's trouser leg, tracing the contours of his knees; teasing at moving higher, only to retreat. Eliciting a wry smile from Pitch. Silas was about to suggest it was time to retire to their rooms, when Tyvain made a choked sound, and Charlie gasped softly.

The lad stared at the soothsayer with a brightness in their gaze Silas had not noted before. ‘Tyvain, is there something wrong?'

‘Well it ain't right, but you know that already, don't ya lad?' Tyvain pushed up her sleeve, scratching ferociously at her bare arm. Her skin was blotched with red welts. ‘I see it in your face. Ya feel it too.'

‘I wish I didn't, but yes.' Charlie nodded, and looked to Silas. ‘It is time for us to go.'

Silas inhaled, trying to still the upheaval in his belly. ‘I see.'

Jane sucked in a breath. ‘Ty, is that what the marks tell you?'

The soothsayer screwed up her nose. ‘Nah. These are from the Brussel sprouts.'

‘No one's allergic to Brussel sprouts,' Isaac snorted. ‘You daft woman.'

But Tyvain was intent on Silas and Pitch. She tapped at the side of her head. ‘Wish I could tell this damned voice to feck off, but we all know that won't do much but stave off what's gotta ‘appen anyway. They are wantin' us…to let ya go. It's time you left now, boys.' She swallowed, and glanced at Charlie. ‘The party is over.'

Jane bowed her head, taking hold of Charlie's hand.

‘Yes, it is,' the lad said, giving Silas an apologetic look.

Silas smiled, to soothe his friend's obvious distress. ‘It's alright, Charlie. Edward has been alone too long as it is. And it is not as if we weren't expecting the need to carry on. Ambleside is lovely, but not our final destination.'

He wished he knew more of that place. Really all they understood of Blood Lake was that it was where they needed to go; as to what it looked like, what they should expect, he knew no more than the housemaids who had served their meal.

Pitch's low belch was delicate, hidden behind a raised hand. ‘Could have at least let us digest our meals. Don't blame me Silas, if this meal comes up to say hello again, once we are trotting about.'

‘There'll be a bit of time to catch your breath as we head up the Struggle,' Charlie said, clutching Jane's hand. ‘We won't be making the horses go at a trot up there.'

‘The Struggle?' Silas said. ‘I'm not sure I like the sound of that.'

‘It is the road out of town we must take. Rather a steep climb, and not easy on the horses. My legs certainly didn't enjoy it.' Charlie rubbed at his thighs. ‘It just seems to go on forever.'

‘Of course it fucking does.' Pitch stabbed at a cold piece of roast pumpkin on his plate. ‘Up a mountainside and into a priest's hole. If ever there was proof needed that Seraphiel was a vindictive cunt, then let this be the pudding. Speaking of which, did you not say there would be dessert, Ahari? Best you sort out a few saddlebags worth of pastries and cake for me. Perhaps a slice of pie for Silas.'

Mr Ahari jumped to his feet. ‘Of course, of course. I shall wake Samuel at once. I forgot I had him still sleeping, truth be known. I'll see to it right away.'

‘Best you do, old man.' Pitch was as cool as winter's northern winds. ‘Don't let me down in this, at least.'

Mr Ahari faltered, grabbing at the back of his dining chair. ‘Tobias…I'm so –'

‘I know. Go.'

The kitsune found a new vigour at that, and dashed from the room at an admirable pace.

Pitch downed the remainder of his wine in one gulp, and reached for the nearest bottle, pouring himself a messy refill, growling at Silas when he tried to assist.

‘I'm not an invalid. Leave it, Silas.'

Pitch had had more than his fair share of the assorted wines. But Silas felt he understood the air of desperation in the daemon's regular reach for the bottle, the quick draining of his cup. He felt it himself: the strain of keeping his smile in place, the strain of keeping from ruining this precious moment with a breakdown of any sort.

The daemon suddenly stood, his chair rocking dangerously. ‘I'm going to check on Scarlet and the bird.'

‘Shall I come with you?' Silas asked, reaching to steady Pitch as he swayed.

‘No,' he snapped, then deflated at once. ‘I mean to say, no thank you. I'd prefer to go alone, if you don't mind?'

Pitch winced, as though imagining his words might cause pain. Silas had to gather himself before he replied. ‘Of course, I don't mind, my love. Do what you must. I shall see to the horses.'

Silas was not sure if it was inebriation or something else, that gave Pitch an air of uncertainty. He chewed at his lip, appearing ready to say more.

‘Good.' Was all he said in the end. ‘I won't be long.'

Pitch made his way around the table, using the back of Sybilla's chair to steady himself. He struck his knee against Charlie's pushed-back chair, and swore with his usual eloquence. A familiar habit, which made Silas oddly content.

‘The angel set more runes in her room than it has nails in the walls,' Isaac said, swirling the last of his own wine. ‘The wisp and the bird are safer than houses, or we'd know about it. You're just tryin' to get out of doin' any work so far as packing is concerned.' He chuckled at his own assessment, every bit as drunk as anyone else at the table. Silas thought it was the first time he'd heard the man laugh at all.

‘Fuck off back to where you came from, Isaac.' Pitch flicked his finger at the coachman as he reached the doorway. ‘All of you, for that matter. I've no idea why you are here bothering us to begin with. Be good little naturals, and piss off…sooner rather than later.'

And with those congenial words, he was gone. Leaving everyone else in a subdued silence. One that was broken only by the clink of glass as Jane poured another wine.

‘Well, I for one am glad ‘e did that. I don't fancy goodbyes much either.' Tyvain worked at her teeth with a toothpick, jerking her free hand towards Silas. ‘Would ya be insulted if I took my leave now, too? And if I don't say nothin' about how I reckon you're an all right kind of fella, brave as a saint, patient as one, too. Astaroth proves that. I won't mention neither, that ya ain't too hard on the eye, bloody good in a fight…and that ya deserve so much more than what ya got?' She jerked her chin towards the empty doorway. ‘So does ‘e. That lad ain't so bad, if I'm ‘onest. And if he cares to know, I don't blame ‘im for runnin' off, rather than sayin' goodbye.'

‘Thank you, Tyvain.' Silas tilted his half-full glass her way, blinking at the sting behind his eyes. ‘I too will hold my tongue and not say how much your braveness and vivacity has emboldened me in return. I'll not mention that you being so full of life, helped remind me what it is to be alive. Again. I shall certainly not tell you that your friendship is very precious to me and that I thank you for it, most deeply.'

A stifled sob came from Jane. ‘This is awful,' she sniffed, wiping at her eyes. Charlie set a comforting hand upon her shoulder, his eyes also glistening.

‘I think I almost preferred being set upon by the Hunt and having to flee,' he said softly. ‘We had no time to think of anything but staying in one piece. Certainly not farewells.'

Isaac drew a white handkerchief from somewhere in his layers, passing it to Charlie, who in turn handed it to Jane. She accepted it with a nod, and blew her nose.

‘That daemon prick has the right idea,' Isaac said, gruff as ever. ‘Better we just all piss off now. No parting speeches or any of that poppycock.' He sounded a little husky to Silas's ear.

‘I think we finally agree on something, Isaac.' Sybilla got to her feet, and Tyvain did not even attempt to assist her. ‘I had best see to arranging a horse for Charlie, though I suppose he could ride your brown gelding if you and Tobias have Lalassu.'

Silas shrugged, pushing his plate away. He still wore his papercrown. He drew it off his head, no longer feeling the spirit of the season. ‘Whatever you think is best…' But he frowned. ‘Wait, are you sure you are up to riding? And what horse shall you use?'

The angel moved to the door, her steps resolute and unfaltering. She paused, pressing her hands to the doorframe. ‘I am well and truly up to riding. Just not today.'

She walked on, leaving Silas staring at an empty space. He jumped to his feet, rushing to follow, leaving his papercrown fluttering in his wake.

‘Sybilla,' he called. ‘Wait. What are you saying?'

The Valkyrie did not slow down, and walked with a purposeful gait down the corridor. Which would have pleased him any other time, but now it was irksome. They passed through the main public area, much busier now as the clock ticked closer to midday. Silas dodged the customers who were in a far more relaxed mood than he.

‘Wait, Sybilla. Stop, please.'

It was not until she was outside, standing on the pavement, that Sybilla halted. The late morning was filled with weak winter sunlight, but the frost still persisted on windowpanes untouched by the brightness. Silas shivered at the sudden decline in temperature, Pitch's daemonic-stoked fire had been far warmer than he'd realised.

‘Let's not make a fuss over this, shall we?' Sybilla folded her arms, doing her best to look stern, and there it was again, the slight shimmer at her outline. ‘Plans have changed.'

A strangled teasing began at the back of his mind, a far distant hint of melody.

‘You aren't coming with us.'

‘No. My journey alters from yours now. There is much else for me to do.'

Threads, tiny silver threads, wove out of the shimmer around her. Silas took a step back.

‘No…it cannot be.'

‘I am happy for it, Silas. Don't look so saddened.'

The glinting threads were fine as spiderweb, but there was no mistaking them.

Silas had only ever been able to see the aura of a natural once before. In Balthazar Crane.

‘The goddess has made you ankou.' The words were sharp as they moved up his throat. ‘But you are not dead, I saved you.'

Sybilla's gaze softened, and her notes were so whisper-thin that even the slightest sound upon the street vanished them. ‘You delayed what is inevitable. Did Izanami not tell you that already?'

Of course she had. The goddess had made it patently clear when Silas had dug in his scythe and refused to let the angel go, that he was not overriding death, merely stalling its arrival.

‘Yes, but I sought to keep you in the land of the living. Not that of the dead.'

Sybilla stepped closer, away from the ears of curious passersby. ‘You kept me somewhere between them both. For which I am eternally grateful. But there is much strife in the realm of the dead, and you know it, Silas. The Blight touches far too many, but that is not your burden to bear, now. It is mine. I will do what I can, whilst you and Pitch do the rest. You removed one of the goddess's ankou in Sherwood Forest. There was a place among the guardians of the dead where Balthazar Crane once stood. A place that is now mine.'

‘Oh, Christ…Sybilla, I'm so sorry –'

‘For what?' He startled when the Valkyrie suddenly pressed her hand to his face. ‘You foolish, lovely man. This is a blessing. My time was up, and then it was not, because of you. Every breath I take since that day, I owe to you. Every chance I have to see an end to the machinations of the Blight and the lake which feeds it, is a chance I have because of you. Before this…before you and Tobias, the Order was simply filling in the cracks. Patching up holes that could never be truly covered over. They would break open again–it was always just a matter of when–because Blood Lake still brought its pressures to bear. At least now we have a genuine chance to bring this saga to an end. If I do so not as a Valkyrie with her blade, but as a messenger of death with her poor imitation of your magnificent bandalore…then so be it.' Sybilla reached into her coat pocket, pulling forth a short length of stark, white bone. ‘A witch's bone. My bandalore. My scythe. Their power helped me open the entranceway to the cockaigne –'

‘That white staff you held.'

She nodded. ‘Yes. The witches I wronged helped me save you. And now they shall be with me as I make recompense for the wrongs I did to them.' She stepped away. ‘Do not be sad for me, Silas. Be glad. I see an end to this, to all this pain and bloodshed. Because of you and Tobias. Because of the strength you inspire in each other. And I am glad of it. And proud to walk in your footsteps, Pale Horseman.'

Silas stared after her, long after she'd left his sight, headed for the stables. The angel might see an end to this, and be glad of it, but he could not say the same.

Silas feared the price yet to be paid, when all was said and done.