Page 39 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)
Upon finding that all but one of the inns at Marvale were full, they had little choice but to check into the Paramour, a small inn tucked away on the eastern edge of town, which was bedecked in all manner of tassels and velvet.
It seemed they were not the only ones seeking an audience with the People’s Saint, which only added to Sera’s disquiet.
How many people now stood between her and the prince? And would one of them be Ransom?
The bed in Sera’s suite was red and frilled and shaped like a heart. Big enough to share with Val, and with a generous love seat for Theo to sleep on. They took their time washing and getting changed before heading downstairs for breakfast.
The Daggers joined them, and over a platter of eggs, bacon and fresh fruit, they worked out their plan, dutifully pretending they were all still on the same side.
Since the cobbled streets of Marvale were deserted, they would spend the day scouring the town for word of the prince.
It was early yet, which meant they had time to gather their wits and some new clothes while they were at it.
As Nadia was quick to point out, nights in Marvale were long and loud, and the fashions here were flashier than what they were used to back in Fantome.
They would either have to adapt or stick out like sore thumbs. A prospect that was even more off-putting after having glimpsed the mangled bodies hanging from the entrance arch.
‘What would you have us dress up as then?’ asked Theo. ‘Rebels or revellers?’
‘Whatever improves that hideous brown jacket,’ Nadia said, between swigs of coffee. ‘You look like someone’s grandfather.’
Theo spluttered in mock offence. ‘I’ll have you know this jacket was a most treasured gift from your king.’ He gestured to the fading bruises along his jaw. ‘Along with these.’
‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘Just do better.’
‘Val and I will see to our new wardrobes. But only if you promise to replace that creepy coat of yours. Nothing screams I’ve come to murder you like an intimidating black trench coat and knife-blade stilettos.’
Nadia smirked. ‘That’s typically the idea.’
They bickered on, Val and Caruso soon joining in. All the while, Sera kept her eyes on Ransom. And Ransom kept his eyes on her.
Neither of them ate very much, picking at cold strips of bacon as the clock on the wall ticked on, moving ever closer to that fork in the road. The question that still lingered between them:
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 even know him,’ 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.
She was standing underneath the statue of a weeping angel. Sera hesitated on the threshold to the graveyard, not wanting to disturb her. Or draw her ire. Again. But curiosity soon got the better of her. She slipped inside, announcing herself with a timid, ‘Hi.’
Nadia turned, lightning fast. Her slender brows knitted. ‘Has something happened?’ she said, urgently. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘What? Nothing,’ said Sera quickly. ‘I was just walking this way. And I spotted you.’
‘Oh. Right.’
There was beat of heavy silence.
‘What are you doing out here? I thought you were with Ransom and Caruso.’
‘I was. We went up to the mills and I spotted the graveyard from there. I wanted to check if any of the graves had been disturbed.’ She tightened the belt on her coat, pulling her arms around herself. ‘I just had this… strange feeling .’
Sera could relate. Lately, it seemed like her entire life was a collection of strange feelings, nudging her into dangerous situations.
She looked around, scanning the graves. Everything appeared normal to her, but Nadia’s words had set her on edge.
Her magic, too. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as it flickered to life inside her.
That crack in the door slowly widening, like someone was peeking out.
‘What are you doing out here?’ said Nadia.
‘I don’t know,’ Sera confessed. ‘I was looking for you three and I sort of ended up here.’
But why? she wondered now. There were ten different directions she could have chosen. Wasn’t it strange that they would both find themselves here?
Nadia didn’t seem to notice, or care particularly. ‘They’re still tracking the prince. According to the locals, Andreas holds court in the evenings. Ransom says you’re keen to speak to him before we off him…’
Sera shrugged, feigning a casualness she did not feel about the entire affair. ‘I think a target this vital to the fate of the kingdom should at least be given a chance to explain himself.’
‘Afraid killing a saint might finally taint that squeaky clean soul of yours?’
Sera glanced sidelong at her. ‘Aren’t you afraid? To kill for the king is one thing, but to knowingly unthread the strands of fate is another… There are greater enemies than the Crown, you know.’
‘Tell that to your friend Bibi.’
‘I’ll get her out,’ said Sera, defiantly.
‘Meet your precious saint, then. Kiss his feet if you like. I have nothing to lose either way.’ Nadia looked away, but not fast enough to hide the shadow behind her eyes. ‘I’ve already lost.’
Lark.
His life, and then his body.
The spectre of him seemed to crowd the space between them.
Feeling a sudden chill in the wind, Sera turned, her gaze lingering on the trees to their left.
The branches there were swaying, as if to wave them off.
She didn’t know what possessed her, why a part of her wanted to dwell in this uncomfortable moment with the Dagger who had made no secret of her hostility towards her, but she didn’t feel right leaving her on her own either, so she said, ‘Should we… Do you want to walk a bit?’
Nadia’s brows lifted. ‘And what, try not to kill each other?’
‘Novel concept, I know. I’m game, if you are.’
Was that a smile on Nadia Raine’s face? It occurred to Sera that she really was beautiful. In certain circumstances, that smile would probably be just as deadly as the Shade she carried in her pockets.
They fell into step, ambling through the graveyard like a pair of old friends, and not two people who had brawled in the Appoline barely a few days ago.