Page 148 of The Rebel and the Rose
She squeezed her eyes shut, sliding hand over hand, tugging at the weakening rope. He tightened his fists around it, holding it taut. Breath ballooned in his chest, the flames now lashing his back. Menacing amber flickers crowded his periphery, but his eyes were on her.
‘Just a few more feet.’
She opened her eyes. ‘Ransom, thefire.’
‘Never mind about the fire.’
Too late. She let herself go, falling the rest of the way. Darkness enveloped her, the distant thud heralding her fall.
‘Fuck.’
‘Still alive,’ she croaked, before his heart stopped entirely. ‘Hurry.’
Ransom swung himself over the balcony, throwing himself at the mercy of the fraying banner. He didn’t dare look up again, his palms burning as he slid fast and hard towards the ground.
He was halfway down when the rope gave way with a fatefulsnap. He pitched backwards, the fire glimmering above him as he plummeted down, down, down—
‘Oomph!’
The landing was softer than he was expecting, owing to the crushed rose bush underneath him. The pain in his shoulder told him it was dislocated. Seraphine, who had landed in the flowerbed to his left, was cradling her ankle.
‘How bad is it?’
‘A bit mangled,’ she huffed. ‘I think I can walk.’
Shouts sounded in the distance, the clatter of bootsteps heralding nearby soldiers.
‘Running would be better,’ he said, urgently. After grabbing a sword from a dead mercenary and hooking it to his waist, he helped her up, tucking his good arm around her waist.
They made for the gates, staggering down the steep hill to where the Verne flowed towards the midnight sea. Ransom spied twin glints of silver hair up ahead. The Versinis, Val and Anouk were a quarter of a mile away, heading west along the riverbank. Most of the others had fled east, scattering across the rocky shoreline. No sign of Nadia or Caruso, or Lark.
They turned west too, following the river. Darkness enfolded them, the sea wind dragging clouds across the stars. Up ahead, the younger Versini had spotted them. He stalled downriver, waving his arms back and forth.
Ransom quickened his steps. ‘Almost there.’
Seraphine grunted. ‘So tired.’
They stumbled on.
Behind them, the Summer Palace was ablaze, a mighty torch against the darkening sky. Its reflection turned the riverwater amber, the flames dancing in the far-off sea. Gone was the king and his favoured seat of power. Who would replace him in the cold light of morning? Would Andreas heal and live to terrorize Valterre? To chase Seraphine, his coveted rose, to the ends of the continent?
Doubt gnawed at Ransom. A part of him wanted to turn around and see his mission through. To look for the friends he had left behind.
‘Old friend…’ As though summoned by the thought, Lark’s voice echoed through the night. ‘Where are you running to?’
Ransom halted. Tucking Seraphine into his side, he scoured the darkness, finding Lark just up the hill. He was standing by the entrance to the royal graveyard, that sacred wedge of land that flanked the Summer Palace and looked out over the South Sea. Even in death, the revered kings and queens of Valterre still had the best view.
In the darkness, Lark’s golden eyes were like torches, illuminating the Daggers at his side. Lisette was there, along with half the Order, the thirty or so power-hungry assassins who had chosen to side with the untried People’s Saint. Ransom expected it of Lisette, but the sight of Nadia standing at Lark’s right-hand side struck him like a blow. Caruso, too, had chosen his side, though he hovered apart from the others, unusually quiet.
‘Why aren’tyourunning?’ Ransom called back. ‘You’re alive. You’refree.’
‘Why should I run?’ Lark parried. ‘I’m a saint now, thanks to your little firecracker. This is where I belong.’
‘In a graveyard?’
‘In a palace.’ Lark laughed. ‘Haven’t you been listening? The Age of Kings is at an end. The kingdom is ours for the taking.’ He gestured to the Daggers that crowded him. ‘It’s time to crawl out of the man-made dark and seize our place on the throne of Valterre.’
‘There is only room for one person on that bloodstained throne,’ said Ransom. ‘And he has no interest in sharing it.’
