Page 25 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

‘I wilfully wreck my one eternal soul – as you so creatively put it – because it keeps me in power. And when I’m the one in power, you are allowed to live.

Wherever the hell you feel like, doing whatever the hell you want.

’ He shook his head, his lip curling. ‘ Hell’s teeth , Seraphine.

What part of that don’t you get? You are free . And I’m the one paying for it.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Her own anger burst out of her. ‘I asked you to come with me. To leave the Daggers behind. I begged you.’ His choices were his alone. His kills were his, even if they were in some kind of twisted service to her. She had never asked him to protect her. She had never wanted this .

She was breathing too fast, her heart hammering like a drum. Beneath her anger, guilt pricked at her. She was free, and he was her living sacrifice. But this wasn’t her fault… it wasn’t her doing…

It wasn’t fair .

Magic yawned inside her, heat kissing her blood. She felt it in her throat, hot and insistent. Impatiently, it roiled, and for an absurd moment, she felt like a dragon, ready to spit fire.

Maker , it crooned.

Take him .

Make him .

‘You’re right.’ The resignation in Ransom’s voice cut through the chaos inside her, the wounded look in his eyes quelling the bite of her rage.

‘My undoing is my own.’ He slumped in his seat, dragging his hands across his face.

‘I never used to get angry like this. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing control of myself. Losing the man I used to be.’

She couldn’t tear her gaze from the marks on his hands. They were changing him. Ruining him.

Regret needled her. She had been too cavalier with her words, too free with her judgement. Wounded him because the sight of that skull ring flashing on his left hand wounded her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t simple. That was the problem.

Opening the curtains, he turned to watch the countryside flitting by, like the sheep there were of sudden fascination.

‘I shouldn’t have said that stuff about your soul,’ she said quietly. ‘I wasn’t trying to hurt you… It’s just… whenever I see that ring on your hand, I feel like I’m back in the catacombs looking at my father.’

Ransom’s eyes were glazed. Was he even listening to her?

‘Hey?’ She leaned forward without thinking. His shadows parted, like they were afraid of her. When she touched his knee, her fingers sparked. The darkness disintegrated, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

She reeled backwards, caught in the sudden flood of afternoon light.

Ransom swung his head around. ‘ Your eyes .’

Bright gold. She could feel the heat behind them. Touching Ransom’s Shade had brought her magic rushing to the fore. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to go away again.

‘Seraphine.’ The seat creaked as he moved closer, a quiet command in his voice. ‘Look at me.’

She shook her head, keeping her eyes shut. ‘No thanks.’

He drew closer still, his broad hands bracketing her thighs on the bench. ‘Seraphine,’ he whispered. ‘I dare you to let me look longingly into your eyes.’

A shiver went through her.

He was way too close, his thumbs brushing the thin material of her trousers, his breath warm against her lips. ‘I know what you are, Seraphine.’

‘What, hungry?’ she said, weakly.

That heat flared again, like her magic was rising to his challenge.

Maker , it begged, like an animal prowling in its cage.

Go away , she hissed back. The last thing she wanted was to scald Ransom’s stupidly perfect face. But her magic thrashed until it became uncomfortably hot, a sun burning in her chest. Fire spewed through her blood. It was reacting to his nearness, dancing to the furious beat of her own heart.

‘I didn’t understand at first, the way the barest touch of your skin shattered my Shade,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But hearing about Prince Andreas. And that acolyte on the Isle of Alisa… the rumours of a Second Coming.’

Sera held her breath without meaning to.

‘I’m thinking… you’re a… saint,’ he said, deathly quiet.

Panic struck.

Lie .

Play it off .

Save your ass .

‘That scent .’ He inhaled, breathing her in. ‘Like lemon blossoms …’

She swallowed a whimper, her hands absently curling in the collar of his shirt. She had meant to shove him off, to put some distance between him and her unruly magic before it struck out, but his nearness was so intoxicating, she couldn’t think clearly.

‘Careful,’ she warned. ‘If what you think is true, you really have no idea what I’m capable of.’

There was a shift in temperature. He drew back from her, flattening himself against the bench.

She opened her eyes.

‘What do you mean by that?’ he said.

The heat inside her vanished, replaced by a sudden wash of cold. It was the way he was looking at her now… with suspicion. And … disgust .

Theo had warned her not to reveal anything more about her magic, and this was exactly why.

‘Nothing. I didn’t mean anything.’

Too late. It was too late to take any of it back.

He stared at her.

She folded her arms. ‘Are you going to tell the king about me? Will I be next on your list?’

He didn’t even blink. ‘That depends, what kind of saint are you, Seraphine?’

‘What kind of question is that?’

One she couldn’t answer.

He said, ‘The only one that matters.’

‘I’m still waiting on my letter of instruction from Saint Oriel,’ she said, reaching for sarcasm. ‘Right now, I kind of just char stuff. Let me know if you ever want a steak cooked.’

That look of suspicion remained.

‘What you did back there at the marketplace—’

‘Was an accident. Not that I entirely regret it.’

‘And what about Lark?’

Lark again . ‘You already know what happened with—’

‘Did you go to his grave?’

Surprise cut through her frustration. ‘What are you talking about?’

He chewed on his response. Where once the carriage had been too close to think straight, now it felt cold. She was cold. Outside, the sun was dimming as heavy storm clouds rolled in from the east. She reached for her cardigan.

He watched her shrug it on, a muscle working in his jaw. Was he really so disgusted by the idea of her accidental sainthood, or was he wrestling with his sworn duty to the king? He was, after all, Betrand’s appointed saint-killer. And here she sat, within choking distance.

She watched his hands twitch.

Let him try it.

She’d go down swinging.

‘Why would I go to Lark’s grave?’ she pressed. ‘It’s bad enough that I killed him. Every time I think about that night, it makes me sick.’

‘Someone disturbed it.’ He drew out each word, carefully studying her reaction. ‘The grass there… it smelled just like lemon blossoms.’

‘Like magic, you mean.’

‘Like you , Seraphine.’

For goodness’ sake! She rolled her eyes. ‘Like I don’t have better things to do than go around vandalizing people’s graves. Saints , Ransom. Give me a little credit.’

‘They took his body.’

She froze. ‘What?’

‘They came in the night and stole his body,’ he said again. ‘His grave is empty. Nadia nearly lost her mind.’

Sera’s stomach lurched. Her mind turned to Fontaine’s tarot cards, the same ones she and Theo had been poring over in the carriage that very morning.

They were burning a hole in her pocket. Her fingers itched to draw them out, to look upon one card in particular.

The Necromancer – Death’s right hand. Was Fontaine’s fortune telling holding true?

Was there another saint prowling around Fantome, yanking bodies from their graves?

The silence thickened. Ransom was still watching her in that calculating way, like he was waiting for her to break.

All hell… Was this how he truly thought of her? Some depraved graverobber who would wrench the body of his dead best friend from the earth just to screw with him? Words failed her. She couldn’t think past the storm of her own confusion and anger… her hurt .

‘I want to pull over,’ she managed. ‘You can switch places with Theo.’

He jerked his chin. ‘Why?’

She had to work to keep her voice steady. ‘Because apparently you think I’m a fucking graverobber .’

‘Your eyes are glowing again.’

‘Good,’ she hissed. ‘Wait another minute and they might actually incinerate you.’

Right now, it didn’t feel like the worst outcome.

‘You wouldn’t,’ he said.

‘You have no idea what I can do, Ransom.’ And neither do I .

‘But you clearly have a wild imagination,’ she added.

‘Calm down,’ he said, raising his hands. Now that she had passed his little graverobber test, he was all sunshine and smirks again. Too bad. She was not about to forget the insult. ‘It was a misunderstanding. The lemon blossoms… I had forgotten. I just needed to be sure.’

‘Go to hell,’ she snapped.

‘Seraphine, I had to ask.’

She folded her arms. ‘Congratulations on your new-found common sense. No, I did not steal the corpse of your dead best friend. Any other depraved accusations you’d like to level at me before I shove you out into that rain?

’ Something else occurred to her. ‘Is that what your provocative little game of truth or dare was really about?’

‘It was more about getting your cardigan off.’

She offered her middle finger. ‘Stay here another minute and we’ll find out what else I can rip off …’ She glared pointedly at his crotch.

‘Oh good, we’re back to flirting.’

She kicked his shin. Saints , her eyes burned. What was it about this Dagger that made her feel like a lit match?

He canted his head. ‘Huh, it seems like your magic is tied to your emotions.’

‘This one is anger in case you didn’t realize.’

‘It must accelerate your healing too. The bruise along your jaw is almost gone.’

Shame she couldn’t say the same for her bruised feelings. If this carriage ride had taught her anything, it was how little he thought of her. Why would she ever confide in him when he held such a dim view of her? Why would she even want to?

What did it matter anyway? She was going to jump ship the moment they found Prince Andreas. It would be easier this way.

She slammed her fist against the ceiling, yelling for the coachman to pull over.

As the carriage trundled to a stop, she kicked the door open. ‘Either you get out, or I will.’

Ransom gave her a flat look. ‘It’s a long way to the Appoline, Seraphine. No more games, I promise. We’ll think of something else to do.’

‘In your dreams.’

‘Admittedly, yes.’

‘Get out, Ransom.’

To her surprise he did, offering her one last doleful look over his shoulder before disappearing into the rain.

A moment later, Theo returned, his brows pinched in concern as he clambered inside the carriage.

He looked her over. ‘Did you fight?’

‘Of course,’ she huffed. ‘What did you three talk about?’

‘Not much.’ He slumped onto the bench, sliding a little to one side. ‘We were playing cards.’

Sera sniffed, then narrowed her eyes. ‘Why do you smell like whiskey?’

He offered a lopsided grin. ‘We were doing forfeits.’

‘And what? You lost?’

‘Oh no,’ he said, kicking his legs up and settling in for a snooze. ‘I won.’