Page 14 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘Which reminds me, you’re cooking tonight,’ said Theo, patting Sera on the back.
She rounded on him. ‘My shoulder’s dislocated!’
He smiled blandly. ‘Wasdislocated.’
‘I hate cooking.’
‘Remember our agreement? Total equality in the Order of Flames.’
‘Fine.’ She stormed off, tossing a parting threat over her shoulder. ‘But we’re having beets.’
Chapter 4Ransom
The midnight air thrummed with distant hoofbeats as Ransom prowled along the Verne, treading an all-too-familiar path. Nightguards patrolled the city, trying to stamp out the rising flames of rebellion. But dissent was spreading across Fantome, and it was catching in the outlying towns and villages too.
The people were unsettled, unsafe. Without their beloved Aurore, they believed the fate of the kingdom was changing. That King Bertrand himself had deserted them during their hour of need, sitting safe and cossetted in one of his many castles while a plague of ravenous monsters had stalked the city, leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake.
Even now, they feared the monsters would return to Fantome.
And there would be no one to protect them when they did.
All along the riverbank, the royal banners burned. On clear nights, fires flickered across the rooftops like stars, as effigies of the king hung from some of the oldest buildings in Valterre. A clear-throated message from its people:
Fantome no longer bows before its king.
Rebellion had taken root in the heart of the kingdom, which meant the king’s enemies were growing in number every week. The Daggers had never been busier. And all the while, Seraphine Marchant was working tirelessly against them, paying calculated visits to Ransom’s network of smugglers in a bid to lure them to her side and choke his supply of Shade. She was a different, more dangerous kind of threat. She wasn’t running around his city, burning flags and desecrating royal statues. She was stripping away the age-old man-made power of Fantome, bit by bit.
Clever. Taunting.
He should have resented her for it. And yet, there was a part of him that enjoyed the challenge, that relished the creeping sense that their paths might cross once more. What had become of his once-innocent farmgirl in the months since he’d last seen her? This calculating creature remade with vengeance and Lightfire. If he saw her again, would she burn him? Would he let her come close enough to try?
Dangerous thoughts.
A cat darting from a nearby alley jolted Ransom from his thoughts. The city returned in a flood of noise and colour. When he looked up, he was standing outside the townhouse that belonged to Benoit Renard, one of the richest merchantsin Valterre. An oil lamp flickered in a window on the fourth floor, casting shadows on the drapes. Renard was about to meet one more.
Downing a vial of Shade, Ransom barely registered the acrid taste as he yanked a shadow from the drainpipe and climbed up the trim red-brick exterior. The sash window was wide open, saving him the trouble of kicking it in. He slipped inside, parting the drapes, like a reaper coming through the gates of hell.
And was met with a stifled curse.
Renard was standing at the end of his bed in his nightcap and gown, brandishing a brass poker. ‘Figured you’d show up sooner or later,’ he said, in a voice that was commendably even.
Pulling a shadow off the wall, Ransom said, ‘That’s what happens when you plot to kill your king, Renard.’
Renard’s pale face went translucent. The poor fool really thought he would get away with it.
‘Next time you pay a gang of toothless mercenaries to assassinate the most protected man in Valterre, make sure they’re not a bunch of blabbering drunkards,’ said Ransom, slowly winding the shadow into a noose. ‘Actually, never mind. There won’t be a next time.’
Renard found his voice. ‘Perhaps not for me. But others will try. The king’s days are numbered. The People’s Saint is coming. His followers grow by the day. You cannot kill us all.’
Despite his urgency to get this over with, Ransom paused.The People’s Saint. This was the second time in less than a week that a mark had pledged their dying allegiance to a saint that Ransom had never even heard of.
Renard’s yellowed teeth glowed in the dimness. ‘The old ways are changing, Dagger. The king has failed his people, failed the memory of our blessed saints. Fate has given us a new one. He who will stand up to monsters and protect his people. Courage is catching throughout Valterre.’ He dared a sneer. ‘I suspect it will be bad for your business.’
‘Maybe.’ Ransom feigned a shrug, shoving his curiosity aside. A distracted Dagger made for a runaway mark. ‘But not quite yet.’
He tossed the shadow-noose, tightening the shadows around Renard’s throat just as the wily trader whipped a vial from his pocket. It smashed on the floorboards between them, scorching the bedchamber with blinding bright light.
The Shade left Ransom like a swift and violent wind.
