Page 49 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

The storm was here again, howling like a beast. Lightning shattered the blackness, illuminating a sky full of heaving purple clouds.

They pressed in from all sides, the white stone floor shaking under her slippers.

Looking down at herself, she saw the pale blue of her prayer robe had been drenched to navy, the wool clinging to her sopping skin.

Vaguely, Sera knew this was not her body, but the dream was as real to her as a memory.

And she was trapped inside it.

A bolt struck, much too close. In the spiral of flashing light, she saw she was standing at the top of a tall white tower.

Prayer tower , some distant part of her whispered.

But the storm was so fierce, and the stones were trembling under her feet. She didn’t want to be here tonight, by herself, and so far from her sisters in the priory.

But tonight is my vigil. I must give thanks to Saint Alisa .

Thunder roared, and she fell to her knees, her shaking hands coming together in prayer.

Saints , she was so very frightened.

Why had Mother Madeline made her come up here tonight?

Couldn’t their prayers wait for the sky to settle?

Wouldn’t the sick of Valterre last until dawn?

It was madness climbing the tower when the sky was in such a state. And she was madder for doing it. Where was her backbone, that crucial sense of survival that had got her this far?

Run, you fool .

Run, before the storm takes a bite out of you!

Her inner voice grew as loud as the wind, urging her to return to the winding steps that would lead her back to earth.

To safety. It was late now, and the others would be asleep.

She could slip in through the back door and hide under her bed, like she used to when she was a child.

Honoria was such a heavy sleeper, she wouldn’t even notice.

A fine mist gathered around her. The lightning was so close now, it raised the hairs on her arm.

Fear won out. To hell with Saint Alisa, and the enduring sorrows of the sick.

They only ever prayed for the rich ones anyway.

She turned to run, tripping on the first of the five hundred stone steps.

The world spun, the clouds so close, they dizzied her.

Don’t look down .

Don’t look up .

Ten steps, and then ten more.

Quickly, now .

The storm is at your back .

The next strike turned the world silver. She stumbled again, her knees meeting hard marble. Scrabbling to her feet, she reached blindly for the railing. She was screaming now, cursing madly, but she didn’t care. She had far bigger worries than the hard rap of Mother Madeline’s cane.

There came a dull ringing in her ears, and beyond it – utter silence.

The sky raged but she could no longer hear it.

Then a ragged pain in her back, like a hot poker skewering her spine.

She couldn’t feel her feet. She looked down, just in time to see the tower cleave, the steps falling away beneath her.

She fell too. So storm-struck she couldn’t hear her own scream, not the heavy thud of her body landing on the sodden earth, or the hail of white stone as it buried her.

When death came, she reached for it with both hands.

I am tired, Saint Calvin .

Take me home .

Sera woke with a gasp. Sunlight poured over her, scorching away the nightmare she had just endured. All but the fear still pounding in her heart.

Not her fear.

Not her memory.

But she thought she knew that ivory tower, and where it stood: Ra’azule, home of the Priory of Saint Alisa, and the saint called Marianne who had been imprisoned there.

Strange that she would dream of her now. Last night’s meeting with Andreas must have unlocked her connection to another saint. The fog of destiny was slowly clearing but Sera still couldn’t see her way through.

Or perhaps it had been Ransom who had unlocked her magic last night, deftly coaxing it out with a lover’s touch. Maybe that was the secret to understanding it. Not fear but tenderness. Patience.

Last night came flooding back all at once. Sitting up, Sera looked for Ransom. Morning light cascaded through the open drapes, sparking off the skull ring on his bedside table. Dufort’s ring.

Ransom had taken it off.

Was it intended to be a sign of his commitment to her? A gift of freedom to himself? He would tell her soon enough.

Smiling now, Sera grabbed her clothes from last night and got dressed in a hurry. She doubled back to pocket the ring. They could throw it in the river on their way to find Andreas again. There was still so much to learn, and to plan.

There was no sign of Ransom in the hallway, no echo of his footsteps in the stairwell. Where the hell was he?

When she returned to the suite she shared with Val and Theo, Val was fast asleep in their bed.

Theo was standing by the window. A silvered brow arched as he looked her up and down, silently noting her badly laced corset and crumpled red skirt.

Mercifully, he kept his mouth shut. Likely too tired to tease her.

She could tell by his ruffled hair and puffy eyes that he hadn’t been awake long.

‘What time is it?’ she thought to ask.

‘An hour or so after dawn.’ Concern flitted across his face. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, glancing at herself in the nearby mirror.

Sure, she was a bit rumpled. She needed to wash and change but she hardly looked like roadkill.

‘Last night went well. The prince seems reasonable. A better man than the king.’ Not that the bar was high.

‘He’s agreed to help us rescue Bibi. And help me with my magic too. ’

Theo’s frown deepened. ‘Good. But I was talking about Ransom.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s gone, Sera.’

She blinked, sure she had misheard him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The Daggers left not long after dawn broke. I was asleep when Caruso showed up at our door, carrying Val, like a snoring sack of potatoes. Said the Daggers were leaving, and we were on our own now.’ At Sera’s look of alarm, he turned back to the window, pointing to the empty street as though that was supposed to mean something to her.

‘They took the carriage and fled. I watched them go.’

She joined him by the sill, a horrible tremor rattling through her chest. Clearly, Theo was mistaken. ‘Why didn’t you come and get me?’

‘I figured you two had a fight,’ he said, shrugging. ‘And that you had finally seen some sense. He wasn’t exactly an ideal ally.’

‘No.’ She was shaking her head now, trying to shrug off the heaviness that was crawling into her heart, her bones.

‘We didn’t fight. We just fell asleep. It was good.

We were good.’ She started to pace, vaguely aware of the hysteria bubbling inside her.

It was a mistake. This was a mistake. ‘He’ll come back.

There’s obviously some kind of reasonable explanation. ’

Theo watched her go from one end of the room to the other and back again. Ever so gently, he said, ‘There is an explanation, Sera. This is what Ransom Hale does.’

She stopped pacing to glare at him.

‘He makes promises to you. And then he breaks them.’

She resisted the urge to fling a cushion at him, to wipe that god-awful look of pity off his face. ‘This time is different.’

He canted his head. ‘Is it?’

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she snapped. ‘Like I’m some kind of maddened fool.’

He huffed a sigh. ‘That’s what love does, Sera. It makes fools of us.’

She flung the cushion.

He took the hit.

‘You’re wrong. And I’ll prove it to you.’ Throwing one last withering look over her shoulder, she grabbed a change of clothes, stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

When Sera emerged from the bathroom Val was awake. Theo was perched on the bed beside her, speaking in hushed tones. Prickling at their sheepish looks, Sera went to shrug on her boots.

‘I’m going out to find Ransom.’ Theo opened his mouth to respond but she went on quickly, ‘I know what you think you saw, but there’s an explanation for it.’

‘Hey, I get it,’ said Val, blowing a curl from her eye. ‘Caruso ditched me too, and he owes me three whiskeys and a pack of cigarillos.’

‘I was not ditched.’ Sera grabbed the gaudy skull ring and held it up. ‘Ransom made a choice last night. And he chose me. Us. This. He was going to give Andreas a chance.’

Val and Theo exchanged a loaded look.

‘Ugh. Forget it.’ Sera pocketed the ring and stormed off.

Outside, the streets of Marvale were eerily quiet. Crows perched along the roofs, watching as she went to check on their horse and carriage.

They were gone.

Doubt crept in.

She shoved it down, walking to the bend in the road and then down the main street, where the wind grew cold and biting and the sound of weeping wafted from the dark alleys.

There was something unpleasant about Marvale in the harsh morning light, a sense that the fanciful mirage of yesterday had faded, and what remained now were bouquets of rotting rose petals, the acrid scent of vomit and a lingering sense of regret.

The few people she spotted looked strangely desolate, their glassy eyes filled with a kind of sadness that made her own heart ache.

Or maybe that was a result of another dawning reality… Ransom Hale was no longer in Marvale. And neither were his Daggers. A fact confirmed by the innkeeper at the Paramour who said they had all paid up in full before leaving an hour ago.

Why, then, had Ransom left his things behind? Dufort’s ring, his journal, his satchel… Was he really in such a hurry to get away? Or was he afraid of saying goodbye to her again? Having to admit that he had sold her a false promise before yanking it out from under her feet.

It belatedly occurred to Sera that he might have gone to find Andreas. To meet the prince – and judge him – for himself. The thought sent her back out onto the street. With renewed hope, she headed in the direction of the red mills.

She had barely made it halfway there when a carriage trundled down the street, pulling to a stop beside her.