Page 33 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)
‘Shaking my fist at the sky in jealousy,’ he said, drolly.
‘I was getting food, since I’m starving.
’ He returned his attention to Sera. ‘Kasper tried to jump in and wrench Caruso away, nearly killing himself accidentally in the process. Nadia dragged him off and knocked him out for his own good. End of fairy tale.’
Sera looked back at Kasper’s crumpled form. Maelle and Bram were crouched beside him, trying to rouse him. The corpse remained where it had fallen, like a piece of discarded refuse.
Nausea gathered in the pit of her stomach. How many children had witnessed the horrifying kill?
‘What now?’ said Val, looking around helplessly.
‘Now Caruso gets his goldfish and we continue on our way,’ said Ransom. ‘Unless Sera wants to have a little go on the carousel first.’
Sera glared at him.
He glared right back.
‘Let him handle it,’ said Val, tugging her away. ‘It’s his mess.’
‘You go on,’ said Sera, squeezing her hand. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’
As Val and Theo returned to the carriage, Sera hung back, watching Ransom approach the king’s soldiers.
He bent down to check on Kasper, tapping the boy’s cheek.
He told Maelle to wait with him until he came to, then return with him to the barracks.
Sera could tell by Maelle’s expression of relief that she was eager to put some distance between herself and Caruso.
Sera didn’t blame her. That Dagger walked around like a lit fuse.
Ransom wandered over to Nadia and Caruso then, the conversation too low for her to overhear.
Setting her rage aside, Sera approached the dead body.
She stared down at the stranger’s Shade-mottled skin, those black eyes like twin coals in his haggard face, and couldn’t help but think of poor Mama, who had met the same fate.
The dead man had a wiry frame and unkempt brown hair.
Sera wondered if he had family working here at the fairground, if his children had seen him hang from Caruso’s makeshift noose, had counted those ten endless seconds before his heartbeats ran out.
The fairground was empty now, the other workers long since fled.
A part of her wanted to flee too. From this place, this task, this looming cloud of destiny.
A terrible shiver tore through her as she clambered into the stall, searching for something to cover him with.
In the end, she had to rip down the awning and spread it over his body.
She went to the edge of the grass and knelt there, picking a small bouquet of wildflowers.
She returned and laid it on his chest, feeling guilty at how paltry it looked.
Roused by the nearness of his Shade-ravaged body, her magic flickered to life. That door inside her opened again. Only a crack now.
Maker , it called, like it was trying to comfort her.
She grabbed a dandelion and held it in her fist.
‘Make something of this,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’
Her palm sparked. The weed changed from a flat yellow dandelion to a golden rose.
A gift of magic, come too late to save him.
She laid the rose on his chest. It was a promise.
Some day Lightfire would flood every town in Valterre, and no one in this beautiful ancient kingdom would have to fear the dark reaches of Shade again.
‘What are you doing?’
Sera turned around to find Ransom watching her. His eyes were hooded, his hands dug into his pockets. The other Daggers must have returned to the carriage.
She said, ‘Cleaning up your mess.’
He arched a brow. ‘It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, piss off, Ransom.’ She shoved past him.
He followed her. ‘Hey, wait.’
She ignored him.
He grabbed her hand.
She spun around, jabbing him hard in the chest. ‘An innocent man just died for no reason . I’m not about to stand here and let you make fun of me for showing his dead body a basic shred of respect.
It might mean nothing to you, but it means something to me.
And it sure as hell will mean something to his people when they come to collect his body. ’
He stared at her for a long moment, a muscle working in his jaw. Then quietly, he said, ‘All right.’
‘All right?’ She prodded him again. ‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘What do you want me to say, Seraphine?’
‘That you’re going to punish Caruso. That what he did was unforgivable. That it bothers you.’ Standing back from the heat of his body, she scraped her hands through her hair. ‘ Saints , Ransom. Why the hell doesn’t it bother you?’
‘What makes you think it doesn’t?’ he said, evenly.
‘Everything I know about you.’
He jerked like she had hit him.
She turned around again, ignoring the furious thudding in her chest. A part of her wanted to cry. She didn’t know if it was the sudden nearness of her own grief or the reminder that the man she liked beyond reason was a cruel and deadly killer – that he might always be just that.
‘Hey.’ He jogged to keep up. ‘Talk to me.’ His voice was soft now, his expression imploring.
She stopped beside the deserted doughnut stall, where the grass was powdered with sugar, and the rest of the carnival felt miles away. Her throat bobbed, her tears threatening to spill over. She rubbed her chest, trying to soothe the ache there.
Her magic flared again, that door inside her widening.
Maker , it whispered. She felt it reaching out. Not for her. For him.
She shoved it back. No .
Ransom was looking at her again, his dark brows knitting. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
Huffing, she thew her hands up. Where to begin?
How to explain that she felt like a player in a game she didn’t understand.
Like every move she was making was the wrong one.
That she was hurting the people around her, drawn to a man who would always be wed to the darkness.
A man who might one day turn into the monster her father had become.
A man who had sworn to murder the only two people in Valterre – the only two saints – who had any shred of an inkling about what she was going through.
About what lay on the other side of all this confusion.
‘I hate this,’ she said. ‘All this death and fear and terror . I feel like I can’t relax. Like I’ll never get away from it.’
He canted his head. ‘Do you feel afraid, Seraphine?’
It was worse than that. ‘I feel hopeless .’
He moved closer, crowding out the rest of the fairground until it was just the two of them, and the honeyed softness of his eyes. ‘Let me help.’
Her laugh was a bitter thing. ‘How can you help when you’re part of the problem?’
This, of everything she had hurled at him, seemed to wound him the most. Looking away, he scrubbed a hand across his jaw.
‘I don’t want to be part of the problem.
But if you don’t tell me what’s going on with you, then how can I solve it?
’ He was so close now, close enough that she could feel the warmth rolling off his body, smell the peppermint on his breath.
She swayed, wondering what he would do if she confided in him about her magic, about her deep, tunnelling fear of the beast that slumbered inside her.
If she asked him, here and now, to spare Prince Andreas.
To spare the acolyte on the Isle of Alisa.
To give up the lure of Shade and hang his loyalty to the Crown.
To his friends. Let the saints of Valterre live.
Let the new age dawn, so that she might find her place in it.
It was madness to even consider it. And yet… she wavered.
He was still standing there, his hands flexing like he wanted to reach for her. ‘If you just let me in …’
Without meaning to, she laid her hand against his chest, not to prod this time. Or to shove. Just to feel the thrum of his heart beneath her fingers, to remind herself that he was human. Still Bastian. The Shade had not yet erased him. ‘I don’t know how,’ she whispered.
He took her hand in his, her magic leaping at his touch.
Lifting her hand to his mouth, he brushed his lips against it.
‘Yes, you do,’ he said, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
To the hand that had killed Lark, had maimed Ribauld.
His touch was soft, so very gentle, like he was trying to show her what he was capable of. ‘You’re just afraid to try.’
And that was the truth, simple and stark.
Sera wanted to trust him, but she was afraid of the leap. Afraid of the fall. By the time she was ready to respond, he had already turned from her, his strides lengthening as he made his way back to the carriage.