Page 149 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘We’ll see,’ was all Lark said.
Ransom shook his head. ‘So this is where your loyalty ends.’
‘You’re one to talk about loyalty.’ With a derisive snort, he pointed at Seraphine. ‘Shefuckingmurdered me!’
‘She made you a saint!’
‘Which you figured out all of one hour ago,’ scoffed Lark. ‘How long were you screwing her before that? Enjoying the taste of your best friend’s murderer?’
Ransom bared his teeth. ‘Tell yourselves whatever you need to, but tonight, you’ve sold your souls to Prince Andreas. And trust me when I tell you, he will mangle them – andyou– as he sees fit.’
Nadia was the only one who flinched. But still, she refused to step away from Lark, to sacrifice that decade of loyalty they had built down in the catacombs. The love they’d fostered in secret. A part of Ransom understood. The other part hated her for it. For making him feel like a traitor.
Lark clucked his tongue. ‘And you sold your soul to the Saint-maker. If you think Andreas is more of a danger to Valterre thanher, then you’re a shittier Dagger than I thought.’
‘I’m done being a Dagger.’
Angered by Lark’s taunt, Seraphine found a modicumof strength, and with it, called out, ‘Stay here and worship your tyrant. Bow to the man who intends to control the free thoughts of Valterre. If you think I’m worse than Andreas, I promise you Iwillbe. Move against me or my friends and I swear to Saint Oriel, I will do everything in my power tounmakeyou, Lark Delano. I will put you back in the ground.’
‘Fighting words.’ Lark sauntered forward, his steps lazy and unthreatening, but there was a predator behind those eyes, the glimmer of some new, deadly ambition that set Ransom’s teeth on edge. ‘Call it now, Ransom. You’re either with us or against us.’
Tightening his hold on Seraphine, Ransom backed away from his friends, his family, the people who once meant everything to him.
‘Don’t make us chase you.’ Frustration rippled in Lark’s voice.
‘Make your own choices. And I’ll make mine.’
‘We need the girl, Ransom.’
Seraphine raised her middle finger.
Ransom palmed the hilt of his sword. ‘Over my dead body.’
Lark gave a small smile. The hairs on the back of Ransom’s neck rose. He knew that smirk. It was the same one he offered a mark right before a kill.
There came a bracing sweep of wind. It didn’t roll in from the sea or skim the river. It came from the graveyard. The earth there trembled, a low moan gathering in the breeze. Raising his sword, Ransom backed away, making a shield of his body.
‘Run,’ he urged Seraphine. ‘Get to the others up the riverbank.’
She gripped him tighter. ‘Not running. Not without you.’
The night air filled with the sound of shattered stone and churning earth. Something primal stirred the air, a wrongness snatching at them from the yawning shadows. Nadia glanced over her shoulder. Whatever she glimpsed in the graveyard made her curl her arms around herself and shuffle closer to Caruso.
Jaw straining, Lark raised up his hands.
Seraphine stiffened, muttering, ‘Saints above.’
Ransom smelled the skeletons before he saw them, the putrid rot of mulch and bone and maggots bleeding through the air. A cloud passed in front of the moon. When the light returned, all the dead kings and queens of Valterre were standing in the graveyard. An army of rotting bones still wearing their beautiful golden crowns. Some were dragging rusted swords behind them.
‘Lark.’ Ransom said the name like a curse, moving quicker now. Putting as much space between them and the dead as possible. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Is it not clear?’ Lark stepped aside, ushering his makeshift army through the gates of the graveyard. ‘I am necromancing.’
Composures wavering now, many of the Daggers turned away. Caruso braced himself against the low wall. Nadia doubled over, vomiting on the grass.
‘All saints,’ whispered Seraphine. ‘We’re screwed.’
Still ragged with pain and exhaustion, they turned and bolted for their lives.
