Page 78 of The Dagger and the Flame
‘Don’t be such a smart-ass,’ she hit back. ‘I’m talking about the girl. The one he spends all his time following but not actually killing.’
‘She’s a Cloak,’ snapped Ransom. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Because you can’t find her?Or,’ Lisette purred, leaning forward, ‘because you’re enjoying the chase a little too much?’
‘Watch it,’ he said through his teeth.
The smirk returned. ‘Have you screwed her?’
Ransom’s temper flared, every muscle in his body going taut. If he had taken another vial of Shade, Lisette would be up against the cavern wall right now, with his shadows around her throat.
‘Easy,’ said Lark, laying a hand on his arm. ‘She’s just trying to rile you.’
‘Remember your place, Lisette,’ warned Lark.
She barked a laugh. ‘Says one lapdog to another.’
‘At least you’re self-aware,’ remarked Nadia.
‘Not half enough,’ said Lark. ‘She’s talking like a traitor.’
‘Says who?’ pressed Lisette. ‘There’s nothing more traitorous than screwing the mark. Especially if you forget to kill her afterwards.’
‘Enough!’ Dufort shattered his whiskey glass against the fireplace, bringing the entire Cavern to a standstill. ‘Shut up, all of you, so I can hear myself think.’
‘So, think,’ said Ransom, stepping back from the table. ‘I need to get changed.’ His breathing was ragged as he hurried towardsthe north passage. Panic crested like a wave inside him, and he had the sudden feeling that he was going to throw up, right there in the cavern. And then everyone would know the truth.
He was a liar. A failure. A traitor. Seraphine Marchant was alive because he had saved her life. Not once, but three times in one night. Four, if he counted the lie of omission about that power she wore around her neck. The power that had shattered in a hail of golden light, freeing Kipp from the monster he had become, but too late to save him. If Dufort found out about any of it, he would cut Ransom’s head from his body and mount it on the wall.
And what had Ransom done it for? The lure of Lightfire, and what it could do for his own soul? What he now knew it could do for the monsters of Fantome? Seraphine Marchant didn’t just have the power to free Ransom. She had the power to free the entire city.
Or perhaps his unwillingness to harm her was born of something far simpler… something far more dangerous. Perhaps, beneath the logic of it all, Lisette was right. Hedidwant her. He wanted to take her more than he wanted to kill her.
It was all he could do not to think about kissing her. Tasting the fire of her just to see what it would do to him. Whatshewould do to him. Ransom had been fighting for his life for as long as he could remember, trying to wrench power from men far stronger – and crueller – than him, and yet somehow, he felt most alive when he was standing in the glaring spotlight of that bronze-flecked gaze and sustaining insults from that sharp, lashing tongue.
Seraphine was a spitfire. And Ransom wanted to burn.
His footsteps echoed as he fled down the north passage, before turning east into a narrower tunnel. On and on he went, but it wasn’t far enough. He couldn’t outrun his panic, the lies churning in the pit of his stomach. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, the dark mouth of Fantome opening up to swallow him whole.
Traitor, traitor, traitor, chanted the skulls.A blunt Dagger is a dead Dagger.
Ransom swung into the nearest bathroom and vomited. He retched until his stomach ached and his breath came in dry heaves. When the worst of it was over, he collapsed against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes.
‘Saint Oriel,’ he whispered, though he knew she couldn’t hear him down here. The saints did not service the needs of those already in hell. His wishes were not made to be answered. But he made one anyway. ‘I want to go home.’
‘You are home, Bastian,’ came a familiar rumble. In that voice, his name – the one his mother had given him – sounded as threatening as a weapon. Ransom looked up to find Dufort towering over him, his arms folded across his barrel chest. ‘Haven’t I given you everything you’ve ever needed?’
It was not a real question.
‘Safety. Security. Revenge. Riches.Power.’ He growled the last word, but there was hurt beneath it. Hurt in his eyes. Frustration, too. He sighed through his nose. ‘I raised you in my own likeness, Bastian. I raised you for greatness. But after all these years together, you’re crumbling before my eyes and I can’t understand why.’
‘I’m not crumbling,’ croaked Ransom.
Dufort squatted down. ‘If I don’t know what’s wrong, I can’t help you, son.’
Ransom looked at his feet. He couldn’t tell him that he wanted out. That he wantedher.
‘When you build a wall with lies, the lies will crack,’ said Dufort. ‘The wall will crumble. And you will find me, standing on the other side of it. As I am now.’
