Hastings had paid dearly for her efforts.
As had Forneus. The skriker’s death stung like sweat in an open wound. But Silas would mourn them deeply, when all was said and done. For now he’d use their loss to give him strength.
Lalassu whinnied.
Her melody filled all those dark and unwelcome corners of his mind.
‘Now, steady on there, missus. I don’t want you shifting about so much.’ Benedict had no special quality to the sound of his voice, normally. He was nasally if anything. But when he spoke to an animal he had the voice of…well, not an angel, Silas had learned a hard lesson there…but his tone was sublimely comforting to the beasts. And indeed, not unpleasant on an ankou’s ear either.
Benedict too had stayed all night in the stables with Lalassu, who spent as much time nuzzling the djinn’s shoulder as she did Silas’s. She nickered softly as Benedict spoke to her, tending to the last remaining pieces of stone that clung to her coat.
Lalassu whinnied again, right as Silas turned the corner to where her gateless stall came into view. The mare wore no halter, was tied with no lead rope, and she stood halfway out in the wide corridor, ears pricked, watching for him. Sybilla was in a wood-and-iron wheelchair just inside the empty stall opposite. Clad in a loose pale blue gown, a blanket over her lap, she was leaning forward, elbows propped against her knees, the white of her right eye stark where her tormented skin pulled her eyelid high and tight. Right alongside her, on a barrel between the stalls, Tyvain perched, swinging bare feet.
Silas quickened his pace. The gaslamps installed along the passageway accentuated the depths of green that swirled beneath the mare’s pale coat, making her unusual colours come alive.
‘Lalassu,’ he called. ‘How are you, my beauty?’
She tossed her head, nickering, and much to Benedict’s disapproval, slipped from his attentions and walked up the corridor to meet her Horseman.
‘All the ’appier to see ya.’ Tyvain’s laughter was rough and raspy. ‘Come on now, Benny, stop your tuttin’. You was just sayin’ ’ow she’s back to rights now.’
‘Only barely,’ the djinn replied. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and he wrung a cloth free of a dark liquid over a wooden bucket. ‘She’s still got a little of that stone to shed yet.’
Silas lifted his hands, and the mare slid her head between them, pressing her muzzle against his chest. He caressed her cheeks, rubbing his fingers just above her eyes where he knew she enjoyed a scratch the most. Lalassu sighed against him and he laid his forehead against the long, firm length of her nose. ‘God, it is good to see you well.’
Another deep sigh was the mare’s reply.
‘I am sorry…’ he whispered. ‘For what you have lost. Hastings was so very valiant.’
The mare nudged him, and he knew it, as he knew all the strange things he was certain of, that she thanked him. She grieved too. Silas heard the added strings to her melody. The etching of loss upon them.
‘Do you know where Sanu is, my brave one? Did she go to him?’
He’d asked the question a few times now, hopeful each time. He didn’t expect she’d suddenly voice an answer as to where the Red Horse was, but he hoped…for something…a hint, a note of comfort, a twist of her mane to show him that Sanu rode to her master’s aid. And might show them the way, too.
Lalassu lifted her head, brushing her muzzle against his cheek before settling her heavy head upon his shoulder. Silas ran his hands down the length of her thick neck, slipping one hand beneath the swathe of her mane, intending another scratching there. His fingers brushed at a hardness hidden beneath the strands. He cursed and lifted her mane.
There was stone there still, the dastardly creation of divine magick that had almost killed her. A patch near as big as Silas’s palm, like a cobblestone submerged beneath moss.
‘Told you, I’m not quite done.’ Benedict appeared beside the mare, his slender appearance made ever more so by his proximity to Silas and his Pale Horse. The djinn touched his fingers to the stone. ‘But we’ll have her sorted before this day is out, mark my words, Mr Mercer. Lucky thing those angels were too preoccupied with the Valkyrie and your daemon fellow to work her over too hard. Magick any stronger and I doubt we’d be standing with her today. But remarkable creature she is, for sure, to withstand it. We owe the Lady’s horses a debt we can’t repay, you know.’
‘I am very much aware, and I thank you, Benedict, for all you’ve done here.’
‘Well I won’t see them suffer, not one bit.’ He gave Lalassu another pat and moved off. ‘I’m going to make up another batch of elixir. I’ll be back shortly.’
Benedict took his bucket and cloths with him, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve.
The mare nuzzled Silas’s arm, watching until Benedict was around the corner and out of sight before she made a tight circle around Silas, using all the space the corridor offered, to head back to where Sybilla sat. Now it was the Valkyrie’s turn for attention, Lalassu blowing at her face through widened nostrils. Sybilla’s smile was burdened, her fatigue made more exaggerated by the unsteady lighting.
The angel’s terrible scars made Silas’s heartbeat catch to look upon, and he knew she should be returned to her bed, but he had great need to speak with her.
He glanced at Tyvain, who was studying the angel with a frown.
Sybilla scratched at Lalassu’s lowered head, her lips against the velvet smoothness of the horse’s nose. She was whispering something to the mare. Their shared grief made the hairs upon the back of Silas’s neck stand. It seemed awful to interrupt, until he considered the losses they might yet face.
‘Have either of you seen Lucifer?’
Sybilla shook her head, her face still pressed to Lalassu’s nose.
