Page 145 of The Rebel and the Rose
Ransom roared for her, caught in such a blinding fury that he barrelled straight into the King of Valterre, who rose up from the floor in the space of a single jarring heartbeat.
Staggering backwards, Ransom tried to make sense of the man who now stood between him and Seraphine. It was not the king but his corpse. Suspended there like a doll cursed to life. Still bleeding from its chest and mouth, eyes rolling back in its head, the dead king hovered before him on pointed toes.
‘Guess who?’ crooned an eerily familiar voice.
Ransom froze, the word soundless on his lips:impossible.
Fate was not letting up. Here it was again, only now it wore the face of his best friend. When the king’s body dropped and Lark Delano appeared where he had been hovering, with eyes of burning gold, and wearing the same shit-eating grin healways did, Ransom didn’t know whether to pull Lark into a hug or run him through with a sword.
ItwasLark, but not as he used to be. His skin possessed an odd greyish hue and it was tight across the bones of his face, the shadowy sockets of his eyes making him look half skeleton, half man. For years death had ambled alongside Lark Delano and he had worn it lightly. Now death wore him like a second skin.
‘You’rethe Necromancer.’ Ransom’s head spun at this new unsettling truth. ‘How?’
‘A kiss of fate.’ Eyes wild and gleaming, Lark grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘The kingdom is changed. Join us, brother. There is a place for all of us in the prince’s court.’
Seraphine’s scream knocked Ransom back into himself. There wasn’t time to take a breath, to face the astounding, earth-bending impossibility of his best friend’s resurrection while the woman he loved fought for her life.
He pivoted around Lark, but his friend tightened his hold, holding him back. ‘Let them work it out,’ he said, as if Prince Andreas wasn’t ten feet away, choking the life out of her. As though his mercenaries weren’t closing in on them.
Yanking his friend’s collar, Ransom pulled him close. ‘It’s good to see you, brother, but I need you to move the fuck out of my way.Now.’
Lark squared his shoulders, and Ransom might have decked him right then if Nadia’s voice hadn’t rung out at that very moment.
‘Lark?’ she cried. ‘Hell’s teeth. Tell me I’m not dreaming.’
Lark’s attention shifted, the fight leaving his body like a sigh as Nadia ran to him.
Shoving him aside, Ransom ran for Seraphine.
The pillars in the ballroom began to crumble as Anouk went to work. Her laughter soared above the fray as she tore chunks of stone right out of the ceiling, flattening soldiers like flies. Methodically breaking down the wall of muscle that kept Ransom from the prince.
Vaulting over rubble, Ransom snatched up the nearest sword he could find. Without Shade, he’d have to rely on his own strength and his middling skill as a swordsman. Rage would make up for the rest.
As the prince’s soldiers descended on Seraphine, Andreas sprang to his feet and slid into Ransom’s path, his sword raised in warning. ‘The rebel returns.’
The words were slow and garbled, accompanied by a lopsided sneer. The skin of his left cheek was peeling off his face, and his jaw was covered in angry red blisters.
Ransom struck, meeting his blade with his own. ‘I’ve been meaning to butcher you.’
Those golden eyes flashing, Andreas attempted a command. Ransom punched him in the throat, killing it. Better this way anyway, more personal. He slammed his fist into the prince’s face, over and over again, until they were both splattered in blood. It was messy and primal and violent, and Ransom couldn’t stop. Even as flames surged around them, licking at his feet.
Ducking his next assault, Andreas staggered backwards with a ragged cry.
Ransom returned to his sword, meeting him clash for clash. Everywhere he looked, the fire raged out of control. Seraphinewas lost somewhere in the smoke. The rubble had stopped falling, and Anouk’s laughter had died out, too.
Panic nipped at Ransom.
The prince swung again, their blades meeting in a deafening clash. A red mist came over Ransom as he fought, hard and fast, with everything he had.
Back, back, back, he pushed the prince, weaving between the bodies on the floor, trying to see through the gathering smoke. The walls flickered amber and gold, the thickening smoke making him light-headed. His thoughts spun away from him as he struggled to suck down clean air. There was so little of it left.
Andreas was struggling too. The prince swayed, his grip on his sword slackening.
Blinking heavily, Ransom struck again.
Too slow.
Too low.
