Page 89 of The Dagger and the Flame
‘I’ll get you the journal,’ he said at once, and she thought perhaps he had already intended to do it.
She smiled. ‘There. Was that really so hard?’
His own lips curved. There was a slow beat of hesitation, and in the sliver of space that remained between them, she felt the heat of his desire raging against her own.
Then the church bells rang out, making her jump.
Ransom’s face shuttered. ‘I should go,’ he said, more to himself than to her.
Seraphine nodded. ‘The journal…’
‘Yes. The journal.’ He jumped to his feet, taking the music box with him. ‘I’ll let you know when it’s done. In the meantime, go home and try to stay out of trouble.’
All she could do was stare after him as he strode from the church, clutching that little wooden box to his chest, like it was the other half of his heart. Her bribe accepted, their deal made, even if there was no kiss to seal it.
Seraphine couldn’t help the crushing weight of her disappointment as she slid from the pew and followed him.
Chapter 33Ransom
Ransom bolted from the Saints’ Quarter with his self-control hanging by a single fraying thread. Heat flooded his veins and pounded in his chest, telling him to turn around, to go back and take Seraphine Marchant in that damn pew. To slide his fingers through her hair, crush his lips against hers and finish what they started in the shadows of that church. In the waters of Saint Celiana’s fountain. On the day she had driven that blade into his gut and taunted him with those bronze-flecked cerulean eyes.
No, he could not go back. He could not afford to free-fall into lust. It would only damn them both. The full might of the Daggers was coming down on Seraphine Marchant, and if he wasn’t careful, the hammer would fall on him too.
Curiosity had made Ransom come to the cathedral, but it wasdesire that made him weak for her. It was desire that made him say yes.Yes, he would help her.Yes, he would plunder the crypt of Lucille Versini, and wrest that journal from her cold, dead hands.Yes, he would help Sera mine the secrets of Lightfire.Yes, he would help her destroy all those monsters, in the hope that she might destroy the monster that lived inside him too.
And if Dufort caught wind of it…
A violent shudder went through Ransom.
No. Dufort was away for another day and night. Lark had gone with him, leaving Ransom in charge of Hugo’s Passage. There was something divine about the timing, as though Saint Oriel herself had plucked the strands of fate to allow him this one chance to help Seraphine.
To help himself, too.
The clangour of church bells soon faded into the distance. A light rain began to fall, the chill in the wind heralding winter. Overhead, a blanket of clouds smothered the moon, a gauzy mist smearing the light from the streetlamps until he felt like he had stumbled into a painting.
Before he knew it, Ransom had reached Old Haven. He was so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the graveyards crowding in on him as he walked long into the night. The world fell quiet, save for the distant howls reminding him of the monsters that now prowled taverns and homes, ripping innocents from their beds. Indiscriminate, sloppy kills. Terror sown by chaos.
And yet, a murder was a murder.
A killer was a killer.
Was he really so different from Sylvie’s monsters? Did he deserve to be saved?
The question tormented him. He held his hands up to the streetlamp, studying the shadow-marks along his fingers. He was choosing to help Seraphine save this city, and that made him a man. Not a monster. Didn’t it?
Up ahead, the statue of Lucille Versini gazed blankly towards the Aurore Tower. The sculpture once made for the cathedral now stood alone on a deserted street in Old Haven, guarding the entrance to Hugo’s Passage instead. Even in death, Lucille could not outrun her brother.
Ransom unstopped a vial. A quick press of his lips against the glass rim gave him just enough Shade to pull the statue down. The entrance to Hugo’s Passage groaned open and he ducked underneath the archway of skulls, making his way into the dimness. His feet led him down the north passage, then east. He ducked his head, nodding at Daggers as they stalked past him, preparing for their night’s work.
At last, he reached the door to Dufort’s bedchamber. He glanced around, then stripped a shadow from the wall and used it to work the lock free. It swallowed the last of his Shade, yielding with a softclick. Dufort might have taken better precautions if he ever thought a Dagger would be foolish enough to steal from him, or if he had anything in his room worth stealing, but the Shade here was stored in the vault at the end of the south passage, along with the rest of Dufort’s riches.
A four-poster bed occupied one half of the chamber, while a set of leather armchairs and a grand bookshelf stood along the other, bracketing a fireplace full of ash. Ransom didn’t linger. He grabbed the crypt keys from a hook on the wall and pocketed them, before slipping back out into the tunnel.
Shadows flickered on the wall and for a moment he stilled, but it was only his own fear playing tricks on him. Dufort was halfway across Valterre, summoned by the king himself. Ransom hurried on, down one passage and then another, until he came to a spiral of stone steps that wound deeper into the earth. The smell of damp clung to his skin as he descended into the bowels of the catacombs. Down, down, down he went, until the shadows thickened, fighting the oil lamps that hung widely spaced on the walls down here.
There were only two crypts in Hugo’s Passage, one for Hugo himself, and the other for Lucille. Ransom went straight to the second, using the skeleton key in the ancient lock. The door yielded with a keening groan but he froze on the threshold, sure he heard the shuffle of footsteps. He spun around, his heartbeat thrumming in his throat.
‘Who’s there?’ he called out.
