Page 88 of The Rebel and the Rose
To kill or not to kill.
‘Can we speak alone for a moment?’ she asked, when her appetite had deserted her entirely.
He was on his feet at once. They moved into the narrow hallway, where the coloured oil lamps cast them in a soft crimson glow.
Sera cut right to the quick. ‘We never finished our conversation at the Bellflower.’
‘For what it’s worth, I preferred the second part of that interaction,’ he remarked.
She was too tired – too addled – to snip at him. The stakes were higher now, the strands of destiny tightening around them. ‘Are you going to kill him?’
He folded his arms. ‘Are you going to try and stop me?’
The answer was yes, and they both knew it, but she couldn’t be with Ransom every second of the day, and she knew if he came upon Andreas before her, it would be too late.
‘You don’t evenknowhim,’ she said.
‘Neither do you,’ he pointed out. ‘Although those carved-up nightguards certainly made for a pleasant introduction.’
She gave a huff of frustration. ‘There are rebels hanging all over Fantome.’
‘I’m the one who kills them.’ Not even a flinch. ‘But I don’t play with my corpses, Seraphine. I don’t pocket their eyes like jewels and carve up their faces.’
A tenuous line. And she could hardly defend it. Instead she said, ‘Don’t you care about anything we talked about?’
‘I care about all of it.’ There: a dent in his composure, those tired eyes softening. ‘I just don’t know if I can bring myself believe that Andreas is worth saving. That your life is worth the gamble.’
‘Is your soul worth the gamble of killing him?’ she shot back.
‘Let me worry about my soul, Seraphine.’
‘Let me worry about my life, Ransom.’
Another impasse. Another argument bubbling up inside her. She closed her eyes, wrangling her frustration before she tore her hair out.
‘We won’t do anything rash for now,’ he said quietly. ‘Anything that Oriel might deem… unforgivable.’
She cracked an eye open, hope fluttering inside her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I trust you, Seraphine. I want to trust your intuition too.’ His throat knotted as he swallowed, working up to a compromise. ‘The best I can offer is time. When we find Andreas, we’ll watch him first. Speak to him, if you like. Get the answers you seek. And then we’ll know the worth of the gamble. For both of us.’
She practically sagged with relief, the exhaustion of their journey – and all that lay ahead – coming over her in a wave.
It was not a reprieve, but it was a chance.
And it was enough.
After breakfast, they split up. The Daggers made for the artists’ district in the west, while Val, Theo and Sera scoured the south quarter, poking in and out of the boutiques there in search of outfits that would help them blend in once the sun went down.
They returned to the Paramour in the late afternoon. Theo promptly kicked off his boots and took a nap in a sea of satin pillows, while Val rifled through the collection of tiered skirts and fancy corsets, trying to choose her favourite.
Unable to settle, Sera went in search of the Daggers. A knock on Ransom’s bedroom door yielded no answer. Outside, the streets echoed with laughter as the city slowly came alive. Sera wandered over the east bridge, where the inns thinned out and the dusty road was bordered by wildflowers and oaks. The air grew crisper, and she welcomed the chill, trying to calm her racing anxiety.
Ransom was fine. He would always be fine. He wouldn’t go back on their word, not after they had fought so hard to trust each other again. The Daggers would return by nightfall, as they’d agreed.
She was so lost in thought she didn’t notice the graveyard until it was right in front of her. The wooden gate was swinging on its hinges. Just beyond it, among the neat rows of mottled grey headstones, she glimpsed a familiar sweep of long black hair.
Nadia.
