Silas snatched it from the air, fingers tight around the handle. The wood hummed, the energy still there in the grains. He planted both hands firmly, making sure there was no chance of another flight. As soon as he fingers curled around the shaft, the vibrations ceased. The scythe quietened.
‘What the bloody hell was all that?’ the soothsayer cried.
Silas turned, the axe shifting back to the simplicity of the ring. ‘Sybilla, are you all right?’
‘We all will be so long as you don’t try that again.’ She was wry, a hint of her old self emerging.
‘Hate ta ask ya this, Syb,’ Tyvain said. ‘But can you use any of your magick juice to get us out?’
Sybilla sagged in her chair. ‘I don’t…I’m not…’
‘She’s not ready.’ Benedict scowled. ‘Can’t you see it with your own eyes? Don’t push yourself, Sybilla, you are recovering from a formidable injury. All in good time.’
But time was exactly what they did not have. ‘Sybilla, I’m sorry,’ Silas said. ‘I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate–’
Sybilla’s burned fingers curled tighter. ‘I have no magick, Silas. It left me, as I wished…I gave it to him…when I…when I died.’
The faint noises of the world beyond the walls grew fainter still as the blood thundered in Silas’s ears. ‘You gave him your magick?’
Her smile was grim. ‘A death wish, for whatever it was worth. There’s wasn’t much magick to give, but I hoped it might protect him…even just a little.’
The prince had an angel’s divine magick. He may be safer than Silas ever dared imagine possible.
‘Very noble,’ Benedict declared.
‘Jesus,’ Tyvain breathed. ‘No doubt about it. But I’m gonna be a naysayer instead of a soothsayer here and ask the question. What does it mean for a death wish, if ya don’t stay dead?’
Silas’s elation drained away.
Sybilla slumped forward, a cry of pain slipping through tight lips. If not for Silas’s steadying arm, she would be in danger of toppling from the chair.
‘Right, get her inside,’ Benedict said. ‘Quickly now.’
Ignoring Sybilla’s protests, Silas scooped up the angel. Christ, she was frail beneath the billowy gown. The blanket slid from her, and he caught a glimpse of her legs, the skin like parched earth.
Silas cradled her close, sick with the thought of what had been done to her by the angel’s halo. And by his own refusal to let her go.
As he manoeuvred them both through the narrow doorway, Silas glanced back into the yard. Lalassu remained at the gate, her nose a mere inch from the wood. She dragged a hoof across the cobblestones, harsh as a pick axe in the mines.
‘Take her into the sitting room, this way.’ Benedict directed. ‘The fire’s going well there.’
‘I’m all right, damn it,’ Sybilla said. ‘Put me down, Silas.’
She moved more forcefully than he’d expected, and rather than risk losing the wriggling Valkyrie, Silas relinquished his hold.
‘Here,’ Benedict pointed. ‘Please take a seat on the sofa.’
With an irritated grunt, Sybilla did as she was asked. Pain flit across her face as she settled on the overstuffed settee, with its boisterous floral print.
‘I’m not that bloody pathetic,’ the Valkyrie muttered, as Tyvain moved in and started plumping the cushions. ‘Get off, will you. I was dizzy that’s all. Probably the disturbance of the magick in the seal. Nothing serious.’
‘Try and tell me you’re fine all ya like, luv. You look a bloody wreck.’
‘Well, none of you look particularly well, if we are being painfully honest. I dare say you could all do with some sleep.’
Silas, kneeling to fix the blanket over Sybilla’s knees, jerked at the new voice.
‘What the bloody blazes are you doin’ ‘ere?’ Tyvain jumped to place herself between Sybilla and their unexpected guest.
