Page 27 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

The gatekeepers scurried off, leaving them to make their way down a stone path bordered by neatly pruned rose bushes.

The cobbles led them right through the arched foreground of the Appoline, and onto the grassy quadrangle within.

Shadows prowled alongside Ransom, keeping pace with his steps.

The others remained at his back, silently taking in the grandeur.

The Appoline was a palace all of its own.

Towering ivy-clad walls made a perfect square four storeys high with wide gilded windows that looked out over the generous courtyard, welcoming the sunlight of each new day.

History seeped from every stone, wept from every ancient willow they passed.

They emerged at last into the central courtyard.

The grass here was neatly shorn, bordered by rows of lavender and long-stemmed daisies.

Wooden benches occupied the middle, where scholars had gathered to picnic, or to read in the late-afternoon sun.

Some looked up as they approached, clocked the sea of shadows that moved with Ransom and fled, leaving their satchels and half-eaten sandwiches behind.

‘And you thought I made a scene at the marketplace,’ remarked Seraphine, plucking a book from the grass and idly thumbing through it. ‘You’re creating mass hysteria.’

Ransom glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘I’m nothing if not efficient.’

‘Just try not to kill the provost when he arrives.’

He pretended to mull it over. ‘Unless he’s rude to me.’

‘Not funny.’

‘What makes you think it was a joke?’ Caruso piped up.

‘Don’t talk to them, Sera,’ said Versini, under his breath. ‘They clearly get off on it.’

Faces gathered at the windows as frightened scholars cowered in their dorms, waiting for the big bad wolf to leave. Ransom hated how he envied them.

Wasn’t this power more intoxicating? Wasn’t he richer than all of them put together?

Then why do I feel so empty?

Caruso picked up an abandoned sandwich and devoured it. ‘These fuckers eat well,’ he said, licking mustard from his fingers. ‘Brain food, I suppose.’

‘They sure as hell pay enough money to come here.’ Nadia grabbed a discarded apple and practised aiming it at the nearest window. ‘This provost has three minutes to show his face, or I’m smashing something.’

Fortunately for the venerated university, the provost arrived in two, hurrying across the lawn in a long black robe and with a face like thunder. He was tall and as narrow as a rake, with a drawn pale face, a crop of wiry grey hair and a short grey beard.

Somewhat surprisingly, he didn’t look scared. Just completely incandescent.

‘Enough of this terror!’ he bellowed. ‘What brings you to these hallowed grounds? We have an accord with the Daggers!’

Ransom’s brows shot up. He hadn’t known that. Maybe brute force hadn’t been the best choice here. Leashing his shadows, he cleared his throat and said, ‘Calm yourself, Provost. We don’t mean any harm.’

‘Yet,’ added Caruso.

‘We won’t cause any trouble,’ said Versini, who had the gall to step in front of Ransom.

Skirting those shadows as if, in his heightened state, Ransom wouldn’t flick one at him on a whim.

‘Thank you for coming here so promptly, Provost Ambrose, we really appreciate your time.’ He stuck his hand out.

What an insufferable, simpering—

‘A little decorum. Very good.’ The provost shook his hand, offering a flat smile. ‘Whatever this is about, I’m sure we can handle it like civilized adults.’

Despite the forced air of politeness, tension simmered.

Ransom cut to the chase. ‘We’re looking for Prince Andreas.’

The provost went paler still. ‘You seek to kill a prince of the realm?’

‘Not necessarily,’ he lied.

The provost took a measured step backwards.

Looking between them, he said, ‘Andreas left us months ago. Not long after the unfortunate clock tower incident.’ He pointed past them, towards the north end of the square.

They all turned, craning their necks as they took in the remains of what must have been the clock tower.

The top half, including the clock face and the heavy brass bell, had been destroyed.

The rest of the stone had caved in on itself, forming a mound of rubble atop the roof.

‘How on earth did he survive that fall?’ said Nadia.

‘Sainthood, I suppose,’ said Ransom.

He glanced at Seraphine. She was chewing on her thumbnail, staring up at the broken clock tower like she was looking at a ghost.

‘What exactly happened here?’ asked Versini.

The provost took a moment to answer. ‘A sort of madness came over Andreas. He climbed the clock tower in the middle of the storm. The lightning struck him in the mouth. It went through him like a current.’

‘Didn’t anyone try and stop him?’

Brow furrowing, the provost said, ‘Andreas was single-minded in this, as he was in all his endeavours.’

‘When did he leave?’ asked Ransom.

‘Within the fortnight. Once the worst of his injuries had healed. He slipped out of his bedchamber some time in the middle of the night, grabbed his personal effects and waved goodbye to the gatekeepers. Never summoned a carriage. He must have walked for hours.’

‘To where?’ Nadia pressed.

The provost shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I couldn’t say.’

‘Take a guess,’ urged Ransom.

‘What is it that you want with Andreas?’ asked the provost baldly.

‘Tea and scones,’ said Caruso, dryly. ‘What the fuck do you think, old-timer?’

Versini cut in, his voice laced with concern.

‘Rebellion is stirring across Valterre. Fantome has fallen into lawlessness. Innocents are fighting in the streets. They are dying for a cause that has sprung up as if from nowhere…’ If the provost was surprised by any of this, he didn’t show it.

The Appoline might be tucked away in its own leafy pocket of the kingdom, but they had hundreds of seasoned scribes at their disposal, scholars whose sole vocation was to catalogue every single thing that happened in Valterre, from the disputes reported in the daily penny papers to the changeable weather.

‘There are rumours that Prince Andreas is behind this uprising. We’d like to see for ourselves.’

The provost’s frown deepened. ‘I am no rebel,’ he said, taking another step back, as if to distance himself from the implication. ‘The prince was discharged from the Appoline the moment he left through those black gates. His movements are his own.’

‘What about his thoughts?’ Ransom watched the old man squirm. ‘Weren’t you the prince’s personal mentor while he was here?’

‘We shared an interest in the saints,’ said the provost, in a clipped tone. ‘Like most of the scholars here.’

‘What about overthrowing the king?’ said Caruso, a cat toying with a skittish mouse.

The provost spluttered in horror. ‘Certainly not!’

‘Stop it,’ chided Seraphine, nudging Caruso to one side.

‘We haven’t come here to interrogate you, Provost Ambrose.

We understand you have a university to preside over and have no interest in stoking a rebellion far beyond these walls.

And though none of us have had the pleasure of your tutelage, you can rest assured that most of us are intelligent enough to know’ – she spared a pointed glance at Caruso – ‘that you’re not hiding Prince Andreas in the pocket of your robe. ’

Taking the provost by the arm, she smiled sweetly at him. Even though Ransom knew it was as fake as all hell, he liked how it softened her eyes.

The provost seemed to like it too. He rolled his shoulders back, seeming to relax a little.

‘To save time, and more droning questions, could you please show us to his old study quarters?’ she asked, gently tugging him away from the others.

‘There might be something there that will help us make sense of all of this. What Andreas was planning, or where he might have gone. We’ll be out of your hair before you know it. ’

‘It is not customary to let visitors roam these halls…’

Ransom flicked his fingers.

The provost’s gaze dropped to the shadows now inching towards his shiny black shoes.

Seraphine twisted, putting her body between him and that menacing puddle of darkness. ‘We’ll be in and out in an hour. Once we’ve had a look at his chambers, you can return to the important work you do here, and rest easy knowing you’ll never hear from us ever again…’

Swallowing hard, the provost said, ‘I could show you to his desk. Andreas hardly ever left it. But his more recent work, his writings… they’re more like ramblings.’

Seraphine summoned that saccharine smile. ‘Lead on, Provost. We’ll be right behind you.’ She released his arm with a wink. ‘Keeping a safe distance, of course.’

The provost vaulted ahead, clearly eager to be rid of them.

Ransom hung back, falling into step with her. ‘Well played, spitfire. Who knew you could be such a darling?’

‘It’s called common decency. Try it some time. Your people skills are appalling.’

‘I’m better with corpses.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘If you threaten our first and only lead, we’ll never find another one. Do you want to find the prince or not?’

‘You mean kill the prince.’

‘Right. Same thing.’ She scurried ahead, passing under the stone arch and turning left towards a set of doors that led into the east wing of the Appoline.

‘Is it?’ he said, striding to keep up.

She stopped abruptly, letting the others slip inside ahead of her. Turning to face him, her eyes grew wide and searching. ‘You tell me, Dagger.’

Ransom stilled, angling his body towards hers. Shadows pooled around them, blotting out the world. ‘Are you having second thoughts, Seraphine?’

Biting her lip, she raised her gaze, the bronze fleck there glimmering. ‘Right now, I’m having… other thoughts,’ she said, in a low, breathy voice.

Ah . His gaze dipped from her eyes to the bow of her lips. The cut on her mouth was a faded pink line. He wanted to press his lips against it. ‘I’m all ears, spitfire.’

‘Good,’ she murmured, sliding her hands up his chest. ‘Because I need something from you. Rather urgently .’

His heart gave a deep, insistent thud, as if to say, Anything .

Her eyes gleamed as gold as sunlight as her fingers dipped beneath his open collar, lightly tracing the shadow-marks there.

Magic met magic. Dimly, he was aware of the Shade leaving him. More overtly, he didn’t give a shit.

He stifled a groan, every nerve ending in his body firing under her touch. That thread in his chest was so taut, one tug would yank his heart right out. ‘I need something too,’ he said, hoarsely.

You. Now .

Always .

She smirked.

He leaned in, desperate to taste that smile, but she was already side-stepping away.

He turned, blinking at her in confusion.

‘There.’ Her smile grew. ‘ Much better.’

Ransom looked down at himself, noting the distinct lack of shadows at his feet. Ah . The brazen spitfire had shredded his power. She had put a muzzle on the attack dog, who had been too busy drooling over her to notice.

‘We’re in a hallowed place of learning,’ she said, in an entirely different tone. One he did not particularly enjoy. ‘So stop threatening everyone like a slack-brained brute and start acting like it.’

He bit back a curse. ‘I knew it was too good to be true.’

She arched a brow, pushing past him. ‘Eyes on the prize, Dagger.’

They are , he thought to himself as he stalked inside after her.