Page 50 of The Rebel and the Rose
That mouth.
‘All right,’ she said, more to herself than him, but she seemed unsure. Versini was wearing the same look of unease.
‘You are coming on our quest?’ said Ransom.
She cut her eyes at him. ‘We’re here, aren’t we?’
Across the courtyard, the palace gates opened. Three coachmen arrived presently, loading the carriages with provisions, before checking the horses. Then came four of the king’s favoured soldiers dressed in plain clothing. Two of them Ransom had bloodied up last night. They avoided his gaze now. With more than enough Shade to last them, they were hardly in need of such paltry backup, but he suspected they were here as an extension of the king himself, to cast a wary eye over the mission and make sure nothing went terribly awry.
As long as they didn’t get in his way, Ransom didn’t care.
They drifted through the gates. Four soldiers. Three Daggers. Two Flames. And a whole lot of unfinished business.
Versini and Seraphine made a beeline for the first coach.
‘Bye then,’ Ransom called after them.
Seraphine waggled her fingers without turning around.
‘See you at the Appoline, Tunnel Rat,’ called the Shadowsmith.
‘I’m decking him for that when we stop for lunch,’ said Ransom.
‘As far as public rejection goes, I wouldn’t take that personally,’ mused Caruso, coming to stand beside him. ‘If shesits anywhere near Nadia, she’ll get her throat slit before we reach the next village.’
Nadia rolled her eyes, prodding him towards the second carriage. ‘You know I don’t kill before my second coffee of the day. You two can have the pleasure of my company if you promise to shut your mouths until I drink it.’
‘Only if you play cards with me. I haven’t fleeced you in months,’ said Caruso.
They bickered their way into the second carriage. Their retinue of soldiers, which included a red-haired woman with a stern face, called Maelle, a stockier, bald soldier called Bram, whose nose Ransom had rearranged last night, a beanpole with a broom-handle moustache called Ribauld and a ghostly pale blond called Kasper, were collectively wise enough to leave the Daggers to their own carriage and made instead for the third coach.
The sentries saw them off, but Ransom’s eyes were on the white-stone balcony above, where the king himself stood watching, his fists curled tight around the balustrade like he could hold onto his palace – and all that inherited power – through sheer will alone.
It occurred to him that the future of Valterre as they knew it now rested squarely on their shoulders. The coming weeks would decide what kind of kingdom would emerge from this brewing uprising. A land of dangerous untried saints or one that continued to kneel under the boot of a self-concerned king.
The thought was oddly…wearying. Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep from a night spent traipsing through the king’sdungeons, trying to save the life of a woman he was not supposed to care about.
Caruso parted his hands, flicking an entire deck of cards between them. ‘Twenty-one. You want in?’
‘I’ll take your money later.’ Ransom kicked his feet up on the opposite bench and slid down in his seat, tucking his chin into the collar of his coat. ‘Wake me when it’s time for lunch.’
Ransom woke to the sound of screaming. He was up like a shot and out of the carriage before he could process where he even was. One blink revealed the sun, ripe and golden in a cloudless sky. It must have been an hour or so after noon. Another blink revealed a bustling market square, packed with wooden stalls draped in colourful banners.
That scream came again.
He whirled, catching sight of Nadia and Caruso standing among a gathering crowd of onlookers. They were both laughing, glued to the senseless brawl unfolding right in front of them. Likely a pair of violent, drunken—
Hell’s teeth.
Through a break in the crowd, Ransom spied a familiar blonde hair braid. Seraphine was scrapping with one of the king’s soldiers. Or, more accurately, she was swinging from Ribauld’s neck. The soldier was half crouched over the body of… well, shit. Was that the Shadowsmith sprawled out in the square?
Ribauld had his sword drawn, the point dangerously close to Versini’s neck. Versini had gone completely still.
Good.Easy does it.
Seraphine didn’tquiteget the idea. She was pummelling Ribauld from behind, yelling at him to drop his sword.
Stifling a curse, Ransom lunged, pushing through a sea of shoulders only to stumble into a sudden flare of blinding bright. Another scream ripped through the square. This one belonged to Ribauld. Ransom blinked the floating black spots from his vision to find the soldier rolling around on the ground, holding his left ear.
