Page 22 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

It was an hour past dawn, and Ransom was pacing in the south courtyard of the Summer Palace.

Its towering white-stone turrets wound up to brush the blushing sky while the rising sun kissed the South Sea.

The waves glistened, the eager grey gulls swooping low over the water, hunting for fish.

In the air, the tang of seaweed mingled with the sweet scent of the queen’s prized rose bushes.

A nearby tinkling fountain added a sense of peace to the morning. But a war waged inside Ransom. Where the hell were Seraphine and Versini?

Outside the towering palace gates, by the leafy arch that led into the royal graveyard of Valterre, three large black carriages were waiting.

Though gleaming and pulled by the finest of coach horses, each one was conspicuously absent of the official royal crest – a rose crossed with two swords.

From the Summer Palace, they were to turn their backs to the sea and travel north undercover, lest any eagle-eyed rebel spies find out the king’s nefarious plans for his nephew.

In his ten years as a Dagger, the job had rarely taken Ransom beyond the bounds of the capital, and the marks that led him further astray were never more than an hour or two by carriage.

But this mark was mercurial and fast-moving.

Prince Andreas could be anywhere in Valterre, as close as the taverns in east Fantome or as far as the low hills that bordered Urnica.

They would begin their search at the Appoline, the university where Prince Andreas had spent the last few years of his life, no doubt coming up with plans for the eventual usurpation of his uncle. From there, the trail could go cold at once, or branch off into several new directions.

There were concerns to consider, like how well Lisette would run the Order in Ransom’s and Nadia’s absence and whether its remaining members would be able to withstand the rising demands brought about by the chaos in the capital.

At least with Seraphine under his supervision, her next shipment of Lightfire would be delayed, allowing the Daggers the upper hand once more.

He hated to admit they needed it, that eventually the swelling rebellion would become too much for them and the Shade at their disposal.

Pushing those worries aside, Ransom focused on his impatience, glaring at the doors to the Summer Palace with an intensity that made his head throb.

‘Keep staring. That’ll definitely make her appear faster,’ remarked Caruso, who was kicking the rounded heads off the king’s Buxus plants. They soared over the rose bushes and into the garden pond, where Nadia was skimming pebbles so violently it looked like she was trying to wound the water.

A bored Dagger made for a destructive Dagger.

A pair of nearby sentries gave Caruso an admonishing glare, but neither moved to rebuke him. Only a fool would square up to one of the king’s assassins.

‘Can you not vandalize everything you lay your eyes on?’ said Ransom, like he was scolding a child. ‘Believe me, you wouldn’t like the dungeons here.’

Caruso barked a laugh. ‘Like they’d dare drag me down there.’

‘They will if you piss off the queen. These are her gardens.’

‘She has a hundred gardens. And she’s not even in residence here. The maids say she’s back at Bellevue Castle with her little gremlins. Probably thinks the king is a pig. Did you see the way he eats? Doesn’t even chew his food.’

‘Speak louder. I don’t think they heard you down in the servants’ quarters.’

‘How long more do we have to wait?’

‘Go and bother Nadia if you’re bored.’

‘Why, so you can brood in peace?’

‘I’m not brooding. I’m thinking.’

About her .

He replayed their conversation from last night.

The fire in her eyes so at odds with the bruises marring her face.

That barbed tongue and smart mouth, the softness of her skin under his cruel, callused hands.

The anger he had tried so hard to cling to had fractured at the sight of her sitting in the dark.

The confusion on her face when he’d questioned her about Lark. It had seemed genuine.

Ransom had reported it to Nadia this morning over breakfast. She had rolled her eyes as she sipped her coffee, tossing him that piteous look he had grown to hate, the one that relegated him to some addled lovesick fool.

She’s a slight little thing , Caruso had reasoned, around a mouthful of bacon. I can’t imagine her lugging a skeleton out of the ground. And her man’s got clean fingernails. Versinis don’t like to get their hands dirty .

Unless you count all the killing they used to do , Ransom had reminded him, with a bite in his voice. And he’s not her man , he’d wanted to add, but what did he know? And what did it matter to Caruso?

Nothing dirty about killing if you do it right , said Caruso, downing his coffee.

Nadia had done the same. Next time, let me do the interrogation .

Fine , he’d relented.

There would be plenty of time on their journey.

And the truth was, even if Ransom did believe her about Lark, he still couldn’t trust her.

What loyalty did Seraphine Marchant have towards the King of Valterre, a man who had dragged her off the streets of Fantome and had her beaten black and blue?

Threatened her in full view of his Daggers and remained wary of her, even now.

The only thing tying her to this mission – and her word – was the fate of one of her best friends, Bibi. But Seraphine was a mercurial creature and a Versini always had a plot up his sleeve. Ransom would have to watch them both closely to keep them in line.

At last, the palace doors groaned open and Seraphine came down the stone steps.

The Shadowsmith was with her, both of them washed and dressed in clean clothes, and carrying matching satchels presumably with supplies for the journey ahead.

Someone had stitched closed the cut on Versini’s forehead, and applied tinctures to the rest of their wounds.

Seraphine’s bruises were already fading from purple to yellow, the swelling around her eye abating overnight. Compared to Versini, she was faring a hell of a lot better. Ransom fisted his hands as that thing in his chest tugged.

Was it the work of Saint Oriel or his own twisted desire?

She is not to be trusted .

She is your enemy .

This was just business . His business. Royal business.

They would work together for a time, kill the prince and bury the acolyte, and come home to kiss the king’s ring, before going their separate ways again.

For good. Seraphine would live under the Crown’s protection, and Ransom would return to the fate he had resigned himself to.

Yes. Good. Fine.

Fine .

Seraphine surged forward, leaving Versini and their accompanying soldiers trailing down the steps behind her. She stomped towards him, and at once, Ransom was drawn to the strand of wheat-blonde hair that had slipped free of her braid.

He folded his arms to keep from reaching for it. ‘Ready to quest, spitfire?’

‘Did you find Bibi?’

‘She’s in the lower dungeon. Scared half stiff. Though she seems to have fared a lot better than you and Versini.’

‘Call him Theo.’

Make me .

Versini was glaring at him. Standing six paces back with his arms folded like some kind of war general. ‘Let’s not start off on the wrong foot, Tunnel Rat.’

Ransom cocked his head. ‘Do you always talk to trained assassins this way, or just the ones who already want to kill you?’

Seraphine swatted him. ‘Don’t start. It’s too early.’

‘Accosting the Head of the Daggers in front of his underlings.’ Caruso whistled. ‘You must have a death wish, little dragon.’

‘It’s all right, Caruso. That’s just her way of flirting.’

‘Bibi,’ she said impatiently. ‘Tell me.’

Right, right. The king’s bait. ‘As I said, she’s alive.

Well fed, and somewhat rested. As far as hostages go.

When I found her, she attempted to claw my eyes out through the bars of her cell.

I think she thought I had killed you both.

’ Sera flinched. He had flinched. It had taken several minutes to calm Bibi down, to convince her to trust him. ‘I tried to put her mind at ease.’

‘Did it work?’

He weighed his answer. The truth was definitely not . Bibi had burst into tears, almost immediately, then begged him to free her. ‘I told her you and I were going on a little quest. And that when we return, she’ll be free to go.’

She chewed on her bottom lip. The cut there had crusted over in the night, the cherry red of her blood a shade lighter than the rest of her mouth.

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.