Page 25 of The Rebel and the Rose
To desecrate a grave right under his nose…
No, it was absurd.
Wasn’t it?
Wasit?
Nadia was still talking but Ransom’s mind was reeling.
The Daggers had enemies. Hundreds, perhaps more. But none of those enemies would have known what this grave meant to Ransom. To Nadia. To Seraphine.
Only her.
Sitting down, he let his legs slide into the open grave. Bracing himself, he leaned over the hole, trying to find a clue to what had happened here. The wind stirred, blowing petals across the grass. And something strange yet familiar tickled the inside of his nose. There: a tang of lemon blossoms on the wind. The barest taste of magic. Ofher.
Fuck.
Her scent lingered; the same one that had clung to him the last time he’d seen her. When she’d kissed his palm and shattered the Shade inside him, that strange golden light flickering behind her eyes. He told himself he’d imagined it, that it was an impossibility. But for weeks after, he swore he could still smell her on his skin. He’d wanted to stamp the scent there for ever.
Yes, something had changed the night the Aurore came down…
Perhaps Nadia was right.
Maybe Seraphinewasscrewing with them. As callous and cruel as any enemy.
He flopped backwards, splaying his arms as he stared up at the sky. ‘Well, shit.’
Nadia’s face appeared above him. ‘Finally coming to your senses?’
He turned his head, inhaling a lungful of dirt to chase the scent of her away.
‘Better late than never, I suppose.’ She stomped away.
He called after her. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To get a vial of Shade. So I can find her. And kill her.’
She turned to glare at him, daring him to stop her.
Ransom opened his mouth. Closed it. He couldn’t let this slide. He shouldn’twantto let this slide.
He was Head of the Order of Daggers, and this wasn’t just business.
It was personal.
He got to his feet. ‘I’ll go with you.’
They walked back in strained silence, both lost in thoughts of anger and revenge. When they reached Hugo’s Passage, a pair of dayguards were waiting by the statue of Lucille Versini. Dressed in official uniform, with their longswords glinting at their hips and the royal insignia of Valterre emblazoned on their chests – a rose crossed with two swords – they had the good sense, at least, to dip their chins in deference as Ransom stalked to meet them.
It was rare for a soldier of the Crown to interact with a Dagger in broad daylight. The king preferred to conduct his affairs – and assassinations – in private. Usually after dark, or, on occasion, in one of his grand castles.
These were desperate times indeed.
‘Morning,’ said Ransom, flatly. ‘What’s this about?’
The soldiers dispensed with false pleasantries, the one on the left struggling to meet his gaze when he reached into his breast pocket and produced a letter bearing the king’s seal.
Ransom swiped it from him and tore it open, his mouth twisting as he read.
