‘Then where the bloody hell is ’e?’
Sybilla moaned and rolled her head against the pillow.
‘There, there, it’s all right, luv,’ Tyvain soothed. ‘The ankou is just belly-achin’, nothin’ to worry about.’
There was so much to worry about that Silas’s spine ached with the weight of it. So much time was being wasted.
‘Silas,’ Sybilla whispered.
He rushed to the angel’s side, glaring at Byleist, who took a step back. Silas knelt beside Tyvain, touching the angel’s arm. ‘I’m here, right here.’
Sybilla’s eyes flew open. The whites were tinged a disturbing yellow, but her gaze was focused, finding him. A long, pained gasp escaped her, and she lifted her hand, reaching for him.
‘Easy now.’ Silas laid his palm flat, and the angel rested her cruelly-bent fingers there.
‘You’ve seen him.’
Silas and Tyvain exchanged a glance. ‘Seen who, Syb?’ Tyvain said.
‘Tobias.’
Silas’s heartbeat quickened. ‘Yes, yes, I dreamed of him.’
There was the weak hint of a smile upon her tormented lips. She lifted her hand and touched her fingertips to his cheeks. The sigh that left her was not one of distress. A tear pressed its way clear, a glistening diamond against the darkness of her skin.
‘My magick,’ her whisper was coarse, hard-won. ‘You have my magick upon you. You were with him.’
Now Silas’s own eyes ached. ‘Yes, yes. I was. I knew I was.’ He was gripped by a thought. ‘Sybilla, can your magick tell us where he is?’
Her delight turned to crooked consternation, the stiffness of her skin lending her an air of crushed confusion. ‘He doesn’t know?’
‘No,’ Silas said. ‘He said only that it was dark.’ He pushed back at the dread. ‘Can your magick lead us to him?’
‘Too faint…just remnants…’ She coughed and Tyvain nudged Silas aside to aid her in sitting up.
‘Give yourself a moment, woman. You’re in a state.’
‘Tyvain, I’m fine. I must–’ The angel’s protest was ruined by her inability to stop coughing.
‘Damn it.’ Tyvain clucked her tongue. Her gaze moved to Byleist, who watched on from the end of the settee. ‘Can ya ’elp ’er? Try anythin’ funny and between me and the ankou you’ll be wishing you never ’ad.’
‘My lord made it very clear I was not to touch the angel. Sorry, but I cannot help you, soothsayer.’
‘Mercer,’ Tyvain barked. ‘Give ya bodyguard the go-ahead, will ya? Didn’t ya say ’e’d done somethin’ for ’er once already?’
Silas hesitated, and Sybilla’s coughing fit worsened, interspersed with pained cries as she fought for breath.
‘Be quick about it, Dullahan. And heed the soothsayer’s words.’ Silas stepped back, indicating the space he’d left. ‘One hint of deception and–’
‘You’ll behead me?’ Byleist was far too amused by his own poor joke. ‘Goodness, are you two always so dour?’
‘Dullahan.’ Silas used that voice again, the one that made him feel larger than the life he defied. Giant.
The headless horseman bobbed again with a bow. ‘Yes, my lord.’
He removed the glove from his left hand. Tyvain hissed.
‘I told you the gloves are helpful.’ The Dullahan’s hand was bones only. No hint of flesh upon the chalk white skeletal remains. ‘But I feel that for the angel’s damage it is best there are no hindrances at all.’ He touched a bone fingertip against Sybilla’s crinkled, abused skin. The Dullahan whispered, a strange language flowing from him. The beauty in the words was almost tangible. Sybilla exhaled a drawn-out breath that must have scooped the air from the very bottom of her lungs.
