Page 22 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘I want to return to Fantome. I think there’s someone there who can help me figure this out.’
His face darkened. ‘You’re not seeing him, Sera. Over my dead body.’
‘Not Ransom,’ she said, punching his shoulder. Even if, secretly, recklessly, she had let herself imagine what it would be like to stalk into the heart of Old Haven and find him there.
Would he kill her?
Kiss her?
Curse her?
‘I want to go to House Armand.’
Understanding dawned across his face. ‘You want to talk to Madame Fontaine.’
‘The old crone might be halfway out of her mind and as sour as a shrivelled lemon, but she has a connection to Saint Oriel,’ said Sera. ‘You know it. Val and Bibi know it. When I was a Cloak, Fontaine knew things about me she shouldn’t have. It’s like her tarot cards were whispering to her.’
He scrubbed his jaw, mulling it over. ‘It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had. Though it is going to be fraught with untold peril.’ At her look of guilt, he summoned a grin. ‘Lucky for you that’s my favourite kind of adventure.’
She mirrored his smile. ‘Mine too.’
Chapter 6Ransom
Ransom jolted awake at the brush of a hand on his neck. He struck out, hitting someone in the dark. They cursed, stumbling backwards.
Springing upright, he reached for the oil lamp on the wall. The sudden flare of light illuminated his friend’s withering grimace.
‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ he demanded.
‘Waking you!’ Nadia made a point of rubbing her shoulder. ‘Next time, I’ll just throw something at you. Save myself the bruise.’
‘Sorry.’ He ran a hand through his hair, sweeping the unruly black strands from his eyes. ‘I thought you were strangling me.’
‘I wasproddingyou. You couldn’t hear me. You were thrashing and groaning. I thought you’d been poisoned.’
Ransom rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to remember what he had been dreaming about. There was nothing but the usual shadows pooling in the corners of his mind and the slow curling dread that often chased him from sleep.
‘I hope that wasn’t some kind of sexy dream,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘Ugh. Now I feel gross.’
He gave her a bland smile. ‘Maybe next time you’ll think twice about waltzing in here unannounced.’
‘Maybe you’ll start locking your door, like any sane Head of the Order of Daggers would.’
Ransom snorted. Was there such a thing as a sane Head Dagger? He hadn’t even moved bedchambers since he’d taken on Dufort’s role, preferring to stay in the small damp room he had been assigned at ten years old. He had no interest in the grand trappings of Dufort’s former chamber in the east passage, or the ghost of the man that lingered there. Lisette, ever the opportunist, had jumped at the chance to take it, and Ransom had let her, if only to assure her wavering loyalty.
The fewer vipers in the nest, the better.
‘What time is it?’ he said, taking a slug of water from the glass on his bedside table. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he noticed Nadia’s drawn face and the dark circles under her eyes. There was a tightness to her mouth, her shoulders too.
‘Dawn,’ she said.
Ransom frowned. Rare was the Dagger acquainted with dawn. They carried out their work in the dead of the night for a reason, and as a consequence, slept long past the rising sun. Which made this whole interruption even more disconcerting.
‘Why are you in my bedchamber at dawn?’
‘Because your little bitch is back in Fantome.’ All traces of amusement drained from her voice. ‘And when I find her, I’m going to wring her scrawny neck and hang her from the Bridge of Tears.’
Ransom was on his feet so fast, his head spun. Last night had been a long one. Three back-to-back angry, spitting marks, all runaway prisoners decked out with every weapon they could find, including a damn soup ladle. No Lightfire, at least. Still, consuming three vials of Shade had nearly sent Ransom slipping into the Verne on his way home. The after-cloud of it sat heavy in his head now, making it throb. Which is why he must have heard Nadia incorrectly.
