Page 35 of The Dagger and the Flame
Right now, Ransom’s trouble was directly underneath him. After weeks of waiting, he was going to come face to face with her again, and this time, there would be no lullaby.
A bell sounded, unsettling a flock of river gulls. The tiles rattled under his feet as he stalked across the roof. He heard dogs barking. Trackers, most likely.
Girls’ voices began to scream.
The back door burst open, sending a frightened fox skittering through the bushes. He peered over the roof and saw two girls hobbling through the garden. Cloakless. One redhead, one with purple hair. And… was that atiara? Thegirl was cursing and limping, while the redhead was crying so hard she couldn’t speak.
No sign of Seraphine. But by the sickening growls in the building below him, Ransom guessed where she was. Though dead or alive, he couldn’t tell. He watched the other two girls scramble over the railings with a ripple of disgust. He couldn’t imagine leaving Lark or Nadia to such a grisly fate.
‘Stay back!’ Seraphine’s voice cut through the night.
Ransom anchored himself to the drainpipe and looked down. He could trace her outline as she stood against the stained-glass window. Not only was she alive, she was fighting for her life.
The dogs were almost upon her.Hell’s teeth, they were going to savage her.
A chair sailed through the stained-glass window, shattering it into a million pieces. It was followed, almost immediately, by Seraphine Marchant. She screamed as she leaped through the falling glass, soaring over a stone balustrade and skidding down the sloping roof.
The end of her cloak snagged on the horn of a gargoyle, bringing her to an abrupt stop in mid-air. For a moment, she hung half-choked from the sculpture, her feet dangling helplessly above the Verne. Then a look of determination came over her reddening face, so fierce it made Ransom laugh.
Here was a girl determined to live.
And ten feet above her stood the assassin who had been sent to kill her. He was not unaware of the unfairness of that. And he was impressed by her. He was compelled, despite himself, by the fire in her eyes and the hiss of her breath as she flung her arm up, reaching for the end of her cloak.
It seemed a shame to kill her.
The mark is just a mark.Dufort’s voice echoed in his head.
Ransom set his jaw. This was about his survival, too.
She twined her fingers in her cloak, using the twisted material as a rope to pull herself up. To his mounting surprise, she managed to reach the gargoyle, grabbing its horn with one hand, and throwing her free arm around its neck. Her feet scrabbled for purchase as she clambered onto the balustrade, caught between the narrow walkway and the roof.
Ransom had hesitated long enough. With the Shade coursing through his veins, he reached inwards for that familiar mask, the cold impassivity he had spent years cultivating – the bravado that allowed him to be a Dagger. To be ruthless and unfeeling, and entirely in control.
Then he pulled a shadow from the roof and swung down to the balustrade.
It was a soundless landing, barely six feet from where his mark was kneeling with her cheek pressed against the gargoyle. He sauntered towards her, stepping into a shaft of moonlight.
He sensed the exact moment she saw him. Her body stiffened and she hugged the gargoyle closer, as though it could save her. He heard her breathing become fast and shallow, caught the whispered plea between her lips, but when she looked up at him, there was no fear on her face. Just that same fierce determination. And beneath it, a glowing ember of hatred.
‘You,’ she breathed.
Ransom rolled his neck, sinking into the game. ‘Me,’ he said, with a feral smile.
Chapter 11Seraphine
The Dagger came from nowhere, stepping out of thin air as if Sera had conjured him with the strength of her own fear. He towered over her now, dressed head to toe in black. No cloak, but he didn’t need one. Shade moved inside him. In the moonlight, she could see it writhing beneath his olive skin. A black whorl breached the collar of his sweater, and she cursed herself for not spotting the shadow-mark at the marketplace. A white scar sliced through his bottom lip. She had been too distracted by his eyes to notice that either.
Those eyes were quicksilver now, and hard as steel.
‘Dancing swan,’ he said, flashing his teeth. No sign of the warm, honey-gazed curiosity he had shown at the Rascalle. He cocked his head. ‘Or is it dangling swan?’
She squared her jaw, summoning a mask of defiance. ‘I’m not going to make this easy for you.’
His smirk grew. ‘I like a challenge.’
Sera wanted to punch the smile off his smug face, then spit in it for good measure, but she was too busy clinging onto the gargoyle for dear life. ‘My friends are coming for me.’
He tossed her a pitying look. ‘Don’t you know? There’s no honour among thieves.’
