Page 60 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘So now you want my advice? Two days ago, you flung a salt shaker at my head.’
‘Not my fault you have poor reflexes,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘And anyway, salt is bad for your health.’
‘Something you have in common with it.’
‘Enough flirting,’ said Caruso in a bored voice. ‘Go behind that giant tree and screw this out of your system so we can get on with it.’
Seraphine’s cheeks turned a furious shade of pink.
Ransom rewarded Caruso with a blistering glare.
Versini huffed an impatient sigh. ‘Visitor entry to the Appoline is by personal invitation of the provost. I’m assuming we don’t have one of those?’
‘Well reasoned,’ said Ransom drolly.
‘Why doesn’t fire-fingers over here melt the gates like she melted Ribauld’s ear?’ said Nadia. ‘Better yet, why don’t you melt the gatekeepers too. You do love to make a scene.’
Seraphine was doing a remarkably good job of holding her tongue. Which made Ransom… nervous. Or perhaps she hadn’t heard Nadia, since her gaze was trained on the turrets behind them, her lips parted in quiet wonder.
‘Enough bickering,’ he said wearily. ‘Just leave the talking to me.’
The most prestigious university in all of Valterre, the Appoline, had been built in honour of Saint Oriel herself, gifted by one of the many kings who had loved her during her lifetime over a thousand years ago. Once a place that was open to every eager scholar, now the university was a playground for the wealthy, guarded by literal and metaphorical gatekeepers, who walked the perimeter of the high stone walls, manning the black gates all day and night.
It struck Ransom as a bit much. But then, he did live inside a skull-lined catacomb, guarded by the ancient statue of a dead saint. Each to their own.
Dressed in hooded brown robes tied with a thin golden sash, and carrying longswords donated by the descendants of Cadel, Saint of Warriors, a pair of gatekeepers watched them through the iron bars as they approached.
In what he was dimly aware was an unnecessary move, Ransom removed a vial of Shade from his pocket and took a sip. The black dust danced along his tongue, burning all the way down. His eyes heated, flickering to silver. When the keepers stumbled back from the gates, he knew he had their attention.
And more importantly, their fear.
‘I don’t know why I expected this to go civilly,’ muttered Versini.
Ransom strode forward, pulling shadows from the stones and sending them skittering through the bars.
The keeper on the right began to tremble.
The other raised her sword, and cried out, ‘Who goes there?’
Ransom gave his customary savage smile. ‘Surely, introductions are not warranted? You are not so far from Fantome that you haven’t heard of me.’
Shadows wreathed the metal bars like dark fists, making them rattle.
The keepers swallowed thickly. Their hoods were deep and gaping, shielding their faces.
The one with the raised sword spoke again, her voice quaking, ‘W-what b-business do the Daggers have at the Appoline? This is a place of learning. Andpeace.’
‘I fancy a tour,’ said Ransom, with a casual flick of his wrist. A move meant to show off his ring. Not justaDagger. ButtheDagger. ‘Open these gates before I wrench them apart.’
They hesitated.
‘Maybe you should try saying “please”,’ said Seraphine.
Too late for niceties. The Shade had its claws in him now. Pretending not to hear her, Ransom cocked his head. ‘Unless you’d like your ribs wrenched apart too?’ With a curl of his fingers, he cracked the nearest shadow like a whip.
The keepers yelped, leaping away from it.
‘Now,’ he growled.
