Page 70 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘Be careful what you do with that information,’ he said, stepping away from her.
She dipped her chin, conviction rippling in her words when she answered, ‘You can trust me, Provost.’
But can I?Ransom wondered.
The twist in his gut told him the answer.
Stepping back, Ransom flattened himself against the outer wall of the Appoline as Seraphine came striding out, wearing a smile that made her entire face light up. Spying Versini passing through the black gates up ahead, she hurried to catch up with him.
Ransom went after her. ‘There you are!’ he called out. ‘I thought you’d been kidnapped by a scribe.’
She spun around, her lashes fluttering in surprise. ‘Where on earth did you just come from?’ she said, half breathless.
‘I asked you first.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Tell me anyway,’ he said, offering the challenge.
Come on, Seraphine. Tell me the truth.
He watched the lie form behind her eyes, her teeth nipping her lower lip when she said, ‘I had to use the bathroom.’
Frustration curled his lip and made him itch for a taste of Shade to take the edge off. Canting his head, he said, ‘How is it that you trust a wily old scholar more than the man that’s been keeping your head off a pike for the last four months?’
Her face fell. ‘You were spying on me!’
‘You were sneaking around,’ he hissed, walking her back against a nearby stone pillar.
She flattened herself against it, fuming. ‘It’s called having a private conversation.’
He leaned over her, dropping his voice to a deadly quiet. ‘What were you planning to do, steal one of our carriages and peel off into the night with Versini? Find your way to Marvale and throw yourself at the prince’s feet? Beg like a dog for a place on his court?’
She prodded his chest. ‘Watch your mouth, Dagger.’
‘Watchyours,’ he growled. ‘You’re playing with fire.’
‘Good thing it’s my favourite element.’
He resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed.’
‘By who?You?’
‘You made a deal with the King of Valterre, Seraphine. If you intend to survive, then you have to start trusting me.’
‘Why would I?’ She jutted out her chin, blowing a stray strand from her eyes. ‘The second he finds out what I am, I’ll be your mark.’
‘You’ve been my mark for as long as I’ve known you.’Ransom threw his hands up. ‘And look at you. More alive than ever.’
She eyed him with unconcealed suspicion, her survival instincts making her shoulders stiff, her voice clipped, when she asked, ‘What exactly has the king promised you for this quest? You know, the dead bodies of two newly minted saints, the premature ending of an era divined by Oriel herself. It’s no small thing, Ransom.’
No, indeed it was not. That much was not lost on him. But a good Dagger didn’t indulge in moral quandaries. Therein madness lay. A good Dagger killed, and killed, and killed again. Let the gloom take him at the end of a long night, and he would rise again the following day, with death prowling at his side.
When he didn’t answer, she pressed again. ‘It’s not coin. It can’t be coin.’
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Not coin.’
Something far more valuable, and a hell of a lot more tenuous. His past. His family. A chance to know that they were all right, that Anouk had grown up and Mama had grown happy. Even if he might never be able to face them again, even if he was too scared to show them what he had become in their absence. This tapestry of death. This unholy reaper.
