Chapter Forty-Three

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

A YOUNG man, with an astonishing tangle of golden-orange curls, stood just inside the doorway. He was plain faced, neither stunning nor unattractive, with several large dark freckles on his sun-kissed face. He held a bunch of flowers, whose type Silas was not even going to guess at, after what he'd seen beyond that window.

Silas stepped between the new arrival and the prince. Realising as he did so that the scythe was gone.

There was little time to fret.

‘Oh, shit,' Pitch gasped. For a moment Silas thought him about to faint, but the daemon was doing something equally strange.

He went to one knee and bowed low at the waist.

The hydra, the remarkable creature with three heads and legs as nobbly as a giraffe's, though half as long, seemed to lose all of his minds. He threw himself to the flagstone floor, covering his central head with a clawed hand.

‘My Lord Enoch.'

Silas's own knees went rubbery. ‘What? He's the…that's the…'

Pitch grabbed at Silas's blanket, no doubt trying to urge him down, but with Silas's shock came a loosened grip. The blanket slipped away, and both Pitch and Silas met the Lord of Arcadia utterly naked.

A strangled cry left Silas, but the prince kept his head bowed, and was no bloody help at all with the retrieval of the blanket, slapping at Silas's hand as he reached for it.

‘Kneel, damn you. You're embarrassing me.'

Silas glared at the top of his head. ‘We have our bloody balls out.'

‘He's seen such things before. Get down.'

It took a moment to register the laughter. Another moment for Silas to wade through his cheek-burning mortification, to realise the young man, the ruler of daemons and angels, laughed.

Rather heartily.

Enoch clutched at his chest through the white smock he wore. Both it and his knee-length breeches were smudged with a dark substance Silas hoped was dirt and not blood. Considering the lord's feet were also bare, and also dirty–with darkness between the toes–soil seemed the more fortunate option.

‘If there were any doubt of your humanity, Silas Mercer, it is eased now. What a specimen you are. The goddess has a fine eye all round.'

Lord Enoch smiled, and the breath left Silas's lungs. He forgot he wore not a jot of clothing; forgot the horrors he had just endured, and the land beyond the window he did not recognise. There was nothing in the world but that smile; it bathed the entire room with radiance, an ethereal lightness beyond comprehension.

A jab at his leg startled him.

‘You are staring,' Pitch hissed, shoving the blanket at him.

Silas took it absently, holding it so just enough covered his most private parts. What point was there in hiding from this being? His presence must filter into every crack and crevice in the world.

‘My Lord, forgive us.' Pitch was flustered. ‘We didn't know…it has been very…I truly don't –'

‘Don't understand. I know Vassago. But I assure you, we meet again under very different circumstances to the last. All of Arcadia gives thanks for what the pair of you have achieved.' Arcadia's master, in the guise of a farm boy barely free of his childhood, extended the bouquet. ‘Welcome, Silas Mercer. I hope these flowers please you.'

Silas nearly tripped over the dragging blanket as he rushed forward to accept the blooms. Roses, perhaps? They were tied with a simple blue string, and must have been picked some time ago, for they drooped a little.

‘Yes, I know. They are a little wilted,' Enoch said, brown eyes warm as hot chocolate. Silas blinked. Christ, he could read minds? ‘And no, I cannot read your mind. You have your privacy here. I am merely very good at deciphering expressions.'

Silas kept his gaze fixed on the flowers. Not roses, but vaguely rose-like, with their pink petals contrasting with hearts of yellow pollen bobbing on long, black stems.

‘They are…' he didn't mean to hesitate, but it was all a bit too much.

‘Beautiful, they are beautiful, Silas,' Pitch said firmly.

‘Of course, yes, yes. Superb.'

Enoch laughed, right from deep in his belly, and there again was that smile. Silas relaxed, if only a little, and made his way back to Pitch's side.

‘I'm told you adore the garden, so I thought flowers a suitable welcome gift.'

Just as soon as the lord put him at ease, he shifted Silas off-balance again. Who would have told him such things? And why the blazes would Enoch remember such a triviality?

‘Yes, my lord. I do love the garden, well, nature in general, I think.' Silas's tongue was like a spooked horse, racing away from him. ‘I certainly feel most at ease amongst the foliage, with the ground beneath my feet. I can see you share my affinity for the soil. Nothing like dirt under the nails. I think perhaps, at some point, I was a gardener.' Pitch elbowed his leg. And it was only then that Silas took a breath. ‘Forgive me, I am quite nervous, and talking far too much. I didn't mean to insult you…about the dirt…if it's dirt…it could be anything, I suppose.'

Pitch groaned. ‘Silas…stop.'

‘Sorry.' Silas clutched the bouquet so hard, it was a wonder the stems did not snap.

‘You apologise a lot, don't you? They said that of you, too. But they also said you usually had nothing to apologise for, and were a decent, affable man. I quite agree.' Enoch turned his head. ‘Why don't you come out, little one? I truly doubt Vassago will be angry with you for waking him. Both he and Mr Mercer shall have plenty of time to rest and recover. We won't keep them too much longer.'

For a moment, it seemed he'd spoken to thin air. Then a small sunrise peeked through the wild curls of his hair; apricots and strawberry hues, and a rounded pair of black, unblinking eyes.

‘Scarlet.' Silas's voice cracked. ‘Oh my god, look Pitch.'

The wisp darted out of their hairy hiding place, whipping towards Silas with a speed that blew Lord Enoch's hair wide. Scarlet filled the air with their wondrous, happy colours, chittering madly, with arms outstretched, as though the tiny creature thought to hug him. Instead, they flattened themselves against his cheek, nuzzling and cheeping. Silas laughed against the vibrations of the wisp.

Scarlet buzzed away, a spectrum of colours radiating now as they focused on Pitch. He was still kneeling, staring wide-eyed at the wisp.

‘Off your knees, Vassago,' Enoch said. ‘And tell your friend they are quite forgiven for waking you. They've been most concerned about you both. It was no simple task keeping them out of here, and in the end, I just gave up.'

Silas watched Scarlet as they bobbed towards Pitch; the tiny critter whom the Lord of Arcadia had given in to. What in all the great confounding blazes was going on here?

Pitch rose to his feet and was bombarded. Scarlet went utterly mad with excitement around him: darting around his head, dashing into his hair and wriggling about like a chick caught in its nest.

‘Will you sit still, you bloody lunatic?' Pitch shirked his shoulder, screwing up his face, as Scarlet played in his hair. But his eyes glittered, his smile a quirk at the edge of his lips. ‘My lord, how did they come to be here?'

‘They chose Arcadia as their reward for assisting me.'

‘Assisting you?' Pitch bowed his head. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord, but how did a wisp assist you?'

Silas was bemused by Pitch's unfamiliar formality. This was such an unexpected day in so many ways. And likely not done with its surprises.

‘In the way small things often do. Scarlet has been most gracious in allowing me to use them, so I might have my eyes and ears upon you.'

‘You watched us?' Pitch's reply was far less acquiescent than the last. ‘Through the wisp?'

‘Yes.'

Silas's pleasant mood slipped.

‘For how long?' Pitch did not quite demand an answer. He was close, though.

‘How long have you known the wisp?'

Pitch took a step back, his hands clenched. ‘You watched us all this time?'

‘Well, not all of it,' Enoch said, as though the idea was simply preposterous. ‘I have a world to command, and a war to see too, and the Celestials are most demanding on my time. But I dipped my toe when I could. Am I using that phrase as intended, Silas?'

The sudden swing of the conversation had Silas stuttering. ‘I suppose it could...maybe. Yes, my lord. That's it exactly.' He bobbed his head, completely at a loss as to proper etiquette. Scarlet left Pitch's hair to plant themselves against Silas's bare chest, where the hair made for easy handholds. It pinched, but he was more concerned with how still Pitch had become.

‘Scarlet was with me in the cockaigne.' The prince spoke too carefully. It made his stifled anger more obvious. ‘So, you were there when I was held in that coffin?'

The boy, the lord, nodded, rocking on his feet, hands behind his back. ‘For some of it, yes. Like I said, eyes and ears. I was an observer only. It is not for me to interfere in the design of the fates.'

Silas counted his breaths, feeling his own ire rise. The Lord of Arcadia was close to godliness then; they all spent their time watching on, rarely interceding.

‘You just stood by,' Pitch said quietly. ‘You stood by when so many suffered.'

Scarlet pressed against Silas's chest, as still as the prince.

‘Pitch…' he warned softly.

‘I know you suffered, yes, Vassago.'

Pitch shook his head, knuckles pale. ‘As Silas did, and Sybilla, and all those creatures who had no hope of challenging the horrors that befell them.'

‘But they had a hope,' Enoch said. ‘In you. And Silas. And Sybilla. Or they had hope in themselves, as it was for Charlie, and in their purpose, as it was for Edward. You did not need me, not a single one of you. And that is how it had to be. Or all hope was lost, anyway. Seraphiel chose his path, as did Samyaza. It is not for me to deny any creature their freedom by interfering. The chance to forge one's own destiny is my will. That is what I told Lucifer, and he understood.'

Silas stared down at the wisp, whose rainbow coloured his skin. ‘Lucifer's free will nearly destroyed our chances, but in the end, he was the one who stood aside and allowed me to enter the lake. I'd like to thank him for that.'

‘That won't be possible, I'm afraid,' Enoch said.

Silas glanced at Pitch, who frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘He has gone to the gods. Lucifer, and Seraphiel, gave of themselves to prevent the breakdown of the Seal. And to give you time, Vassago. Time you used in a manner that does their sacrifices honour.'

‘May the gods seat King Lucifer at their right hand,' Forneus said, with reverence. He had shifted from prone to kneeling, his lanky legs curled up beneath him. All heads bowed.

Silas's blood chilled as the truth sunk in. ‘Lucifer did not survive?'

‘He did not.' Enoch's tone was like his features, neither here nor there; not unkind, but no hint of empathy, either. ‘He made his choice, many of them, in fact. And they led him to the end of his road. It was his fate, and he set course towards it willingly.'

‘Oh my god.' Silas's heart sought to pound out of his chest. ‘Did all at the Sanctuary succumb?'

If one so powerful as Lucifer was lost, what hope for Charlie and Edward?

‘No,' Enoch said. ‘Because Lucifer ensured your friends would be safe. As he promised.'

Scarlet lifted from Silas's chest and flew to Pitch as he stumbled to the bedside, sitting heavily on the mattress. He stared ahead, fingers tight on the bedclothes.

Silas crouched down in front of him, placing his hands on his thighs, caring little when his own blanket slipped dangerously. ‘Pitch, I am so sorry.' The relationship between prince and king had been complex, to say the very least, but Silas thought at the last it had softened. ‘He did so much for us in the end. We have much to be grateful to him for.'

If Pitch heard him, there was no telling. He kept staring at something beyond Silas's shoulder. Beyond his reach.

‘Was this his doing, then?' Pitch said, his tone dull. He did not look at Silas, but he shifted his hand so they touched. ‘Did Lucifer make this death wish? Is it he who brought us back?'

Silas's legs shook with holding his weight in such a crouch, but he could not move. ‘He was powerful enough for such things?'

‘Perhaps,' Enoch said. ‘If he had died as strong as he'd been made. But Lucifer was much ravaged by all that came to pass. He was dying, as was the last remaining shred of Seraphiel's soul. Together, they were enough to prevent Michael, and the lake, from putting a premature end to your endeavour. But Lucifer had nothing left to give to a death wish.'

Pitch stood, and the suddenness would have cast Silas onto his arse if not for Scarlet. The wisp burrowed at his back, just strong enough to prevent a fall.

‘Then who fucking did, my lord?' Pitch chewed on the title. ‘We have had a fucking rotten day, so forgive me if my patience wears thin.'

Silas scrambled to his feet, reaching for Pitch. A wave of light-headedness struck. His outstretched arm blurred through speckled vision. A strike of memory dazzled him; an image of light and silhouettes. A goddess reaching for him.

‘Shit.'

‘Silas?' Pitch slipped beneath his outstretched arm, bolstering him. ‘What's happening? Talk to me.'

Those words drew Silas back. He'd worn them thin during their time together, but this was the first time they had come from Pitch.

Silas blinked, his mouth desert-dry. ‘Izanami. The goddess did this.'

He felt Pitch tense, felt his warmth grow. ‘This? Us? Brought us back?'

‘Yes. She did.' Enoch's appearance merely mimicked human; Silas saw it now. The lord was too still, too constantly poised. He did not understand that mortality made for restlessness. Humanity did not have the luxury of standing still. There was not time. ‘You were Her favoured child, Silas Mercer. As Seraphiel was for me. My Seraph was over zealous in his bid to please me and if he were not already dead I would have no choice but to make it so.' Silas swallowed, and Pitch pressed in closer. ‘But his sacrifice purified him, thankfully. Both he and Lucifer shall not be judged too harshly by the Celestials. But judgement is not something you need worry about, Mr Mercer. You have pleased your goddess very much. She rewards you greatly. It is Death's wish that you be granted what you were deprived of for so long.'

‘And what was that?' Silas asked. That commanding, fathomless voice he'd held, now barely an echo. ‘What was I deprived of?'

Truly, he felt blessed already. Having this precious time with Pitch; pleasure after such pain.

The lord did not blink, nor shift at all; hands behind his back, bare feet upon cold stone. ‘Life, Silas. You were deprived of your life.'

Silas stayed quiet, thoughtful, as he lifted the blanket and once more drew the all-too-quiet daemon into its folds. They pressed close, and Scarlet nestled between their shoulders. ‘And did she grant Pitch such a miracle, too?'

‘She is a goddess, Silas, she is no fool. What point in making you mortal, giving you years in which to live freely and perhaps grow old, if you spend them in deep and bitter mourning? But Izanami is not a Celestial of Arcadia. Under normal circumstances, the prince's fate would be beyond her control. But the death of her sister Morrigan, at your hands, Silas, has lifted her ranking among the gods. Combined with my full support of her endeavour to relight Vassago's Creation Flame, Her Death Wish has been honoured in its entirety.'

‘You are truly benevolent, your grace,' Forneus muttered.

‘Well, we know that is not true,' Enoch said with a shrug. ‘I had a vested interest in Vassago's return.'

Pitch inhaled, his release long and controlled. ‘And what is that interest, my lord?'

‘I want something from you.'

‘Bloody hell,' Silas muttered, pulling the blanket tighter.

‘Go on,' Pitch said.

‘You both shall remain here in Lucifer's Tower. Recovering and enjoying the start of your new lives. Silas will need time to adjust to our world, of course. I'm sure you shall be adept in teaching him its ways.'

‘I shall be very thorough,' Pitch said, giving Silas a nudge. But Silas was far too numbed to do more than stare dumbly. ‘Is that it, then? You want me to play schoolmaster? I agree to your terms in that case.'

‘Those are not my terms, but they are reward. I want something else of you.'

Silas could feel Pitch's mood darken. ‘Have I not done enough, my lord?'

‘You have done far more than enough. Even I could not determine the likelihood of the Seraph's Cultivation working.'

‘You knew of the simurgh, of Seraphiel's plans, right from the start,' Pitch said, no question in it.

‘Of course. I am the Lord of Arcadia,' he said, as though that explained it all, which it did. ‘Lucifer thought he stole you from the abaddon through his expertise alone. I never told him such a feat was impossible without my hand in it. But even once it was done, and the die cast, I placed no bets on your success. I tended towards a nugatory outcome.' Pitch huffed beneath his breath. ‘And you surprised me. I like that. So, here is why I implored Arcadia's gods to grant Izanami's wish. When the time comes, and I ask it of you, you shall take your sire's place.'

Pitch dug his nails into Silas's waist. ‘You wish me to become a King of Daemonkind?'

‘Yes. And I'm sure those in my council at White Mountain can be made agreeable to you taking a purebred as your consort. Your union would have my blessing, so it will be done.'

Silas pressed his lips tight, frightened the thoughts in his head might burst out. His language would be quite appalling.

Pitch laughed. A very inelegant sound. He pressed his fingers to his lips. ‘I see. What longevity did the goddess grant us? A week? A few days? If I am to be king for a day, then I agree wholeheartedly. How about you, Silas? Are you happy with being a royal bed mate for a day or two?'

Silas just stared. And Scarlet tittered, far too amused for his liking.

Enoch smiled. A weapon, Silas decided, for it disarmed and beguiled, and made a man think perhaps everything would be perfectly fine. ‘The goddess does not give her secrets away,' the lord said. ‘You shall live as all others do, not knowing when your last day has arrived.' His warm gaze shifted to Silas, who felt it like a strike of gentle lightning. ‘You are human, Silas, with all their vulnerabilities. You will die one day. But not this one, nor the next. So take your pleasures as you will.' He looked to Pitch. ‘Both of you. Now, Forneus will stay in your service, to see to all your needs.'

The hydra, a consummate professional so far as being seen and not heard was concerned, nodded emphatically. ‘Anything you wish for, your highness, my lord, ask and you shall receive. I am here for your every whim. Ever loyal, ever efficient, ever –'

Enoch held up his hand. ‘Thank you, Forneus. Let us leave these gentlemen to enjoy one another in whichever regard they see fit.'

‘Oh, they have very vigorous regard for each other, my lord,' Forneus said, rather unnecessarily.

‘Purebreds are fond of vigorous regard, Forneus. Hence why I allow Vassago to retain his human form here.'

Three heads nodded. ‘Yes, my lord. I see the fortuitousness of that now. There could be no vigorous regard if his highness took his true form, could there?'

‘Well, there could be, but I doubt Mr Mercer would survive it.' The Lord of Arcadia turned on his dirty heels. ‘Come along Scarlet, you promised to draw me a picture of that coat you say Mr Mercer is fond of, so it can be replicated.'

‘And the coblet, for his highness.' Forneus's multiple feet, or rather small black hooves, clicked against the stone.

‘I think you'll find it's called a corset, Forneus.'

‘Yes, my lord. Sounds dreadful, if I'm honest.'

‘Best you are not honest then, for your master has a taste for them, so Scarlet says.'

The wisp lifted from Pitch's shoulder and executed a loop in the air, the streaks of their colours streaming out behind them. They darted straight at Enoch, slipping in under his smock, emerging a moment later.

Tottering with the load they carried.

Silas stared in astonishment at the wooden disks; a dirty white string dangling from between them. ‘The bandalore.'

‘And only that now, I'm afraid.' Enoch settled his smock where Scarlet's invasion caught it on the waist of his breeches. ‘I forgot I had it. Immortality is troublesome that way. Izanami wanted it passed to you. A memento.'

The wisp darted back to Silas, dropping it onto his outstretched hand. Scarlet gave them an imperious salute, and then zipped away, squeaking at Enoch's ear as he walked them both out the door, humming with interest at whatever it was the wisp had to say. The lord left dirty footprints as he went.

Pitch and Silas stared down at the bandalore. Neither moved to touch it.

Forneus cleared his throat. ‘Right, well, is there anything that I can –'

‘Leave us,' Pitch said. ‘Leave now.'

‘Excellent. Just pull on this chain here, if you need something, and I'll –'

‘Forneus, go.' Pitch was firm. ‘Thank you for your service, but do not disturb us the rest of this day. I wish to show my human some vigorous regard.'

Silas's cheeks burned. Forneus rushed from the room, doing so at a backwards trot whilst bowing; impressive, considering all the limbs.

When he was gone, Silas said quietly, ‘You are not disappointed?'

‘About what?'

‘That I am only human.' In truth, it did not feel so bad.

Pitch lifted the bandalore from Silas's hand. ‘And that I don't have to share you with Death any longer? That I'll never again have to watch the anguish of lost souls consume you? Yes, terribly disappointed.' He toyed with the bandalore's thin silver string. ‘What of you? Are you disappointed, my dearest? Your goddess has been very gracious. But she wanted to gift you a life you have been denied…in your world, with your gardens to wander, and your kind to live amongst. Perhaps you imagine having a family, taking strolls in the sunshine, going to dinner parties and simply being mundane. You deserve as much. But you are trapped here in this tower, with me, and all this ridiculous talk of kingship. Arcadia is not simple, nor would a life here be. I understand if you wish to be returned to your world. To Charlie, and Edward, and all who loved you there. I will not resent you for it.'

He had begun flippantly, but by the end Pitch was so earnest, so obviously afraid, Silas's heart ached. ‘Pitch…'

‘Yes?'

‘You are a dolt.'

Brows lifted, and that perfect cupid-bow mouth parted. He wriggled free of the blanket trappings. ‘That's no way to speak to a King of Daemonkind.'

‘Lucky you are only a prince then.'

‘Bastard! I shall have to punish you.'

‘I should hope so.' Silas cast the bandalore away, tossing it onto the wing-back chair with its stacked books, waiting for a reader who would never return. Perhaps Silas would begin his new life learning to read; in honour of Lucifer. ‘I have just the punishment in mind. Though I suspect I won't hate it very much.'

Pitch laughed, turning away. Silas could have bathed in the sound of his happiness.

Which gave him a marvellous idea. He stared unashamedly at Pitch's glorious arse as he leaned over the bed to rearrange the pillows. ‘Would you mind if we called Forneus back first? I have a request.'

Pitch gave him a quizzical look. ‘He does not have a cock, if you're hoping for a threesome.'

‘I am not hoping that. I am not sharing you. But I'd like him to draw a bath. Hot as he can make it, and deep.'

He relished the sharp lift of Pitch's chest. ‘So you might watch me bathe? We know you enjoy a good peep.'

Silas loomed over the prince, for he could still do that well, and pressed him back gently onto the bed. The prince went willingly. Silas braced his hands on either side of Pitch's head, hungry for him once more. ‘So I might bathe with you. Lie with you in the water until it is filthy with all we do to each other. This is my new life, after all. I shall start it unafraid.'

‘Dare we believe it?' Pitch gazed up at him. His eyes had never held such a verdant gleam. ‘That all this is real for us? I'm frightened that if I step outside those doors, there shall be only emptiness, or a cruel illusion.'

Silas kissed his forehead, then drew back so they could both clamber beneath the covers, and find their well-worn places against one another. They lay face to face, legs tangled. ‘Then we don't step outside. Not until we are both ready. We don't leave this bed until you are so sick of me making love to you that you beg for escape.'

Pitch laughed. ‘I have remarkable endurance.'

‘I don't doubt it.' Silas drew the bedclothes over their heads, so they were both lost beneath warm layers. Into the dimness, he said, ‘But I mean what I say. It is just you and I. For however long we need.'

‘Just you and I.' Pitch pressed his lips to Silas's chest. ‘I adore that idea, Mr Mercer.'

‘As do I, Mr Astaroth.' He traced his fingers through his lover's hair, and dared to believe what Pitch could not; that this was no illusion. Silas's heart beat hard and true. ‘Tell me, how should we begin, my love?'

Pitch's smile was bewitching. He leaned in close and whispered his desire; and Silas learned at long last what it was to be truly alive.