Chapter 22 Ransom
Ransom didn’t bother waiting for Val to return from her interrogation in the cloakroom.
Whatever she had gleaned about Theo Versini, he already knew in his gut.
The Shadowsmith couldn’t be trusted. Not after the Appoline.
Not with Sera’s life hanging in the balance.
But there was, he hoped, a Versini at House Armand who could help him.
He found her pacing in the garden. It was dark by then, the moon just a sliver in the star-flecked sky.
He called across the grass. ‘Can I speak with you?’
Paola turned at the sound of his voice. Her frown tightened. ‘As long as you keep your shadows where I can see them.’
He hadn’t even noticed the dark leaking from him. More and more, it seemed his magic had a will of its own.
‘Sorry,’ he said, shoving it back down.
‘I trust you haven’t killed my nephew.’
‘Not yet.’ A bland smile. ‘Though of the two of us, I’d say he has the better shot.’
She hmm’d, looking past him.
He came towards her. ‘I need a favour, Paola. It’s no small ask.’
Her eyes narrowed, but she let him go on.
‘You don’t know me well. But you know Seraphine. And that means you know my heart.’
‘Poetic,’ she remarked, wryly.
He went on. ‘She’s at Bellevue Castle. Whatever dark plans Andreas has for her are likely already in motion. I need to get to her before it’s too late.’
‘Agreed,’ she said at once. ‘We can’t afford to lose her.’
The pragmatism in her statement rankled him.
But it was not unfair. Apart from anything else, Seraphine was the head of their Order, the leader of their movement.
She was the dove of Fantome. Without her, there would be no one to rally behind.
No more good-hearted saints. No hope. No peace. Paola was smart enough to know that.
‘How can I help?’
Relief trickled through him. ‘I’m going after her tonight. If you come with me, we’ll get there in half the time.’
Her brows knitted. ‘As much as I’d love to sprout wings and take flight, I’m no Strix.’
‘But you can ride,’ he said. ‘Seraphine says you’re the fastest rider in Halbracht. That you spent three years training stallions in Frederic’s Rest.’ A farming town not far from Bellevue. ‘You’ve lived in the east plains. You know it better than anyone else here. And you can get there quicker.’
‘You want me to ride?’
Aside from stealing and mounting a Strix, there was no faster way to Bellevue.
‘I want you to take me,’ he said. ‘Get me within arrow-shot of Bellevue Castle, and I’ll do the rest.’
‘And what’s your plan exactly?’
‘Death,’ he said bluntly. ‘To anyone who stands between me and her.’
She frowned. ‘It needs work.’
‘We’ll firm it up on the way.’
She hesitated, glancing up at the house. ‘When do you plan to leave?’
‘Ideally, ten minutes ago,’ he said.
She snorted. ‘Do you even have a horse?’
‘I’ll get a horse.’
‘What about the others? This all feels rather… hasty.’
He had considered asking Anouk. The Stone Maiden was a force to be reckoned with, but she had worked on him all night and her magic was spent.
She was spent. He couldn’t afford to wait for her to recover.
And besides, Paola could only take one of them to Bellevue.
The fewer that set out, the faster they’d get there.
‘It’s just me, Paola,’ he said.
Her lips twisted, considering him.
‘I’ll beg,’ he said, and he meant it. ‘I’ll go on my knees.’
‘Go to a stable,’ she countered, betraying the hint of a smile. ‘Get me a horse.’
A short while later, Ransom was standing outside House Armand with a horse. A fine grey stallion called Bolt, who, with a single carrot and a few cajoling words, had been lured from his stables in the Hollows.
Keeping her word, Paola came marching down the garden path with a satchel on her back and a determined gleam in her eye. At the sight of Bolt, she gave a low whistle.
‘You don’t do things by halves to you, Hale?’
‘Not when it comes to her.’
‘You old romantic, you.’ She mounted the horse with impressive ease, at once towering over him. It occurred to her to ask, ‘Have you ever ridden a horse?’
‘When I was a boy.’ Every Sunday, Mama would take him and Anouk to the fields behind Everell.
They would trek there, losing themselves in the forest that bled across the western border of Fantome.
Now and then, he would find himself thinking about those days, and how the trill of his mother’s laughter blended with the birdsong in the trees.
‘Muscle memory,’ she said, pleased with his answer. ‘It never leaves you.’
‘No,’ he murmured. ‘It doesn’t.’
‘Do you need a hand up, or will I spare your dignity?’
He vaulted the horse, landing with a lot less grace than she had. Gripping the back of the saddle, he adjusted himself behind her.
She glared at him over her shoulder. ‘One brush of your shadows and I’m flinging you off.’
‘You have my word.’
She smirked, gripping the reins. ‘Look at you, trusting a Versini.’
What choice did he have?
She chuckled under her breath like she could hear him. ‘This will be good practice for when we get back. You can start being less of a shithead to Theo.’
‘Don’t bet on it.’
They set off. Paola was a sure rider, skilfully guiding the horse down cobbled streets.
Soon, they reached Hangman’s Pass, trotting under the old stone gate and leaving the slumbering Hollows behind.
As the spires of Fantome faded in the mist and the moon cast its waning gaze across the east plains of Valterre, Paola guided Bolt into a steady gallop.
The midnight wind howled fiercely, the road turning rough beneath them.
The hills grew sparse, surrendering to a sprawl of farmland that seemed to go on for ever.
Paola hunched low, firing them like an arrow across the cornfields.
They rode all night, eventually turning at the crossroads that led on to Montmarie, and pushing north as the crow flies, through miles of vineyards, then across pastures filled with sheep and cows, stone-walled towns and thatch-roofed villages still flying the old flags of Valterre.
They vaulted over streams and waded through rivers, never stopping, barely slowing.
Rarely talking, except to guess at the distance behind them and the road yet ahead.
Ransom trusted Paola’s sense of direction, but even if the map of her memory betrayed them, he would have known the way by the thread in his chest pulling ever tauter.
When dawn came, the land turned gold. Wheat gleamed like stalks of treasure, beckoning them onwards, the distant oaks crowned in their morning glory. And there, beyond the forest, like a snaggle tooth on the horizon, loomed Bellevue Castle.
The horse slowed, Paola’s shoulders stiffening at the sight.
Andreas’s flags rippled in the dawn wind.
It wasn’t the prince’s crest that made his stomach lurch, or even the sight of the archers perched along the battlements, as though they were expecting him.
It was the Strix slumbering on the rooftop.
There was another curled around the east turret like a dragon.
Ransom knew there would be more in the courtyard and throughout the grounds.
Paola urged the horse down the sloping grass. It was only when they reached the safety of the trees that she turned to look at him.
Her face was drawn. ‘We never did talk about your plan.’
‘I’m still going with death.’
‘You’ll need a horse once you get out. Or, better yet, a Strix.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
The silence of the trees was eerie, as if the forest was listening in. The birds had abandoned their nests, no doubt fleeing when the Strix arrived.
They reached the northern treeline. Bellevue Castle was not far then, close enough that Ransom could see the stern faces of its archers and the long red tail feathers of the Strix that slumbered on the roof.
He dismounted the horse and adjusted his weapons.
Paola looked down at him, her brow furrowed. ‘What now?’
‘We part, with my thanks. You can turn around and ride to safety.’ Dipping his chin, he stepped back from the horse. Shadows plumed, kissing his fingers. His soul sighed at the release. ‘And I’ll go and do what I do best.’
Kill, and kill, and kill.
Stepping through the treeline, he set his eyes on the monolith before him. Magic spilled from him in great black rivers, swallowing the dawn light and casting a dark promise across the sky.
Death had come to Bellevue.
And it would not be merciful.