Page 82 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘Ransom,’ she said softly.
‘I don’t know which monster is worse,’ he confided. ‘The one that chased me into this life with his cruel fists. The ones that prowl like panthers in my head as I sleep. Or the one I know I’m becoming.’
‘You’re not a monster.’ She squeezed his hand, her grip fierce. ‘Those nightmares are your fears. They’re not who you are.’
His smile was grim. ‘What if they’re one and the same?’
‘You’re not a monster,’ she repeated. ‘You’re just…stuck.’ There was a desperation in her voice, like she wanted so badly to unstick him. Like she didn’t quite know how. He lookedagain at their hands, her pale slender fingers so small against the shadow-stained canvas of his own. Her grip as fierce as the look in her eyes. ‘You are better than this life, Ransom. You are meant for more than the Order of Daggers.’
‘Once, maybe.’ But did he deserve it now? Now, after everything he had done. He thought of all the vials he’d downed in his life, how weak he’d been as a child, how desperately he had fought to survive in the underworld. But the moment Dufort died, freedom was his to take. And he had turned his back on it, losing himself once more in Shade. Consuming more than he had ever had before. Enough to cover himself with scars and fill his dreams with monsters he could no longer outrun. He wondered if they would always be a part of him, these ravenous creatures that liked to gnaw at the ribbons of his soul.
‘Still,’ she said. And then again, ‘You arestillmeant for more than this.’ She lifted his hand to her mouth, kissing the shadow-mark along his palm. A shudder worked through him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. ‘When you are ready to be a rebel and not a Dagger, you will finally be free.’
She said it like a spell. He had never wanted to believe in anything so badly.
They were closer now, their heads brushing, their hands intertwined. ‘Enough about nightmares,’ she said, turning back to the moon. ‘I want to talk about dreams.’
‘I think I’m in one right now.’
‘Perhapsyouare the real Silver-tongue,’ she said, a smile in her voice. ‘Tell me something true, Ransom. Where would you go with your freedom?’
‘Ferrera,’ he said, without hesitation. A small island about a day’s crossing from the south harbour, Ferrera was renowned for its natural, rugged beauty. Over the centuries, it had been a home to some of the greatest artists on the continent, inspiring several of his favourite landscapes. Places he longed to see in the flesh.
‘I’d like to visit the orange groves in the east, walk the winding white cliffs and smell the wildflowers on the coast. If the weather holds, I’d take a boat out to the sea caves and see what inspiration I might find there.’
She hmm’d. ‘Just you and your paintbrush? How romantic.’
And you.
In another life.
‘I had a pin in Ferrera,’ she said, dreamily. ‘My bedroom used to be covered in maps of the world. I marked all the places I wanted to see before I died.’
‘Like where?’ he said, propping his head on his hand and turning on his side to watch her eyes light up.
‘Like everywhere,’ she said, her breath hitching. ‘I want to ride the wild horses of Urnica. Explore the bustling market streets of Paresi. Climb the highest Silvercrest and picnic with the hawks. Steal a bicycle in Liefdam and ride along the canals, wear a ballgown to the Festival of Lights in Borea and dance until my feet fall off. And that’s just off the top of my head!’
Ransom grinned like a fool, imagining her twirling her way through the Festival of Lights, like a sunbeam come to life.
‘Does this mean you’re a good dancer?’
A gleeful shake of her head. ‘No, but that’s half the fun of it. Right?’
‘Even better when you’re good at it,’ he teased. ‘And I would know. I am an incredible dancer.’
She huffed a laugh. ‘Why do I find that hard to believe?’
‘Because youinsiston seeing the worst in me.’
‘No.’ She rose up, propping her head on her hand. ‘The real trouble is, I see the best in you. I see Bastian.’
She whispered his true name like a prayer. He wanted her to say it again and again, to pull him back to that version of himself.
‘You like that,’ she murmured. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’
‘It does something to my chest,’ he murmured. ‘Or maybe that’s just you.’
She drew nearer, magic sparking in her eyes.
