Page 155 of The Rebel and the Rose
But darkness. Dreams and shadow. The two halves of Ransom’s existence, the good and bad, combining to form an entirely unexpected power.
A Saint of Nightmares.
Twin serpents curled around his ankles, hissing softly. The sound, the weight of them, was as real as adders, those black fangs just as deadly.
‘They’re mine, Seraphine,’ he said, against her hair. ‘They answer to me.’
Slowly, she pulled back, raising her cautious gaze to him. He glimpsed the golden sheen of his own eyes in the reflection of her wide black pupils. Cupping her face with gentle hands, he brushed his nose against hers. ‘I promise, they willneverhurt you.’
But they will kill for you.
Iwill kill for you.
Already attuned to his desires, the shadows peeled away from them, rearranging themselves in a circle, facing the river and its tributaries. A wall of beasts, ready to strike at his command.
‘They’re yours?’ she said, pulling back. ‘Youcreatedthem?’
‘With your help,’ he said, ‘Saint-maker.’ First Lark and now Ransom. A power so great that Andreas coveted it above all others. ‘I guess you didn’t mean to do it?’
She shook her head. ‘I meant to save you. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.’ She was crying again. He tugged her close, pressing his lips against her hair. She turned her face to his, seizing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.
His heart thrummed, the beasts around them settling. Contented.
‘Saint of Nightmares,’ she murmured, echoing in his thoughts.
‘Are they growing on you?’
She paled as the serpent slithered towards her. With a flick of his finger, Ransom sent it away. ‘I’m sure they will,’ she said, a little sheepishly.
He turned from her, squinting into the darkness. ‘Andreas’s soldiers seem to have retreated for now. It won’t be long before they regroup.’
‘We need to keep moving,’ said Sera, gripped by the same growing urgency.
They rolled to their feet, their strength renewed by the magic that had passed between them. Pulling her into the heat of his body, Ransom raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there. ‘Ready, spitfire?’
Sera smiled, twining her fingers with his. ‘For this, and whatever comes after.’
And then they were running, hand in hand, a swarm of shadow beasts gathering at their backs.
Chapter 41Seraphine
Ransom was a saint. And he wasdamn goodat it. Deep in the Cavern of the catacombs of Fantome, he sat at one end of a long wooden table, his golden eyes glimmering like a dark lord of hell. Shadows swarmed him, shaped into seething, snarling beasts. More occupied the north and south tunnels and stood on either side of the guarded entryway. There, at his insistence, and by the grace of his new power, this writhing darkness made from light.
Drumming his fingers along the wood, he locked eyes with Sera, a smile curling one side of his mouth. Seated all the way at the other end of the table, like a queen of her own, she returned his smile, ever aware of that tug in her chest. The thread that had saved him. The one that now bound them to each other.
Between them, sat the members of their burgeoning new Order: Theo at Sera’s right-hand side, and Val to her left. Paola had remained back at Halbracht for the time being, to oversee the production of Lightfire and keep a watchful eye on Pippin, who was nestled safely in the Pinetops.
There was an empty chair beside Val for Bibi. Bibi who had died as a result of Andreas’s macabre spectacle of power. Bibi, whom they had failed to rescue after all. The guilt of that loss was a rock in Sera’s chest. As sharp and heavy as her grief.
She swore she would avenge her.
If it was the last thing she did.
All hell, she would.
Anouk occupied the chair beside Ransom, the rest of them filled by the Daggers who had ignored Lisette’s call to pledge their allegiance to Prince Andreas and had instead waited for Ransom to return.
They had not been expecting the saint that had walked through these doors three nights ago. Or the company he had brought with him. But they had stayed, and heard it all, free to make a new choice: stand with the Saint-maker of Fantome or pledge themselves to a tyrant prince.
