Chapter 37 Ransom
Ransom returned to the Saints’ Quarter under an empty grey sky, feeling like he had lived a thousand lifetimes since dawn. He was all the worse for it. The dragon had been a thing of monstrous power. To sustain it had meant tunnelling deep into the black well of his soul. He had lost himself there.
Part of him was still trying to claw its way out.
Regret gnawed at him. By falling into Lark’s trap, he’d harmed the city he’d sworn to protect and dragged Anouk down with him. She trudged wearily beside him, lost in her own silent anguish, while Paola forged ahead, eager to return to the others.
Across the square, Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral loomed, the stained-glass saints looking over them as if in disapproval.
Months ago, during his first parting from Seraphine, Ransom had destroyed those windows and nearly pulled the whole building down with them.
A regret he had atoned for, in gold and to great excess, in his first week as Head of the Order of Daggers.
There would be no atoning for the guilt that gutted him now.
Too many bannermen had fallen along Merchant’s Way, their eerily blank faces still flashing in his head. And still, Lark had got away. He had used the compelled like a shield while he scurried into the sewers like a rat.
That poisonous song of peace lingered, playing Ransom’s spine like a xylophone.
Peace, Lark had cried. Let there be peace.
And the townsfolk, so hopeful in their uncertainty, had joined his chorus.
The parade wasn’t a prelude to some grand scheme. It was the cheese in the mousetrap, and Ransom, slave to his own dark power, had devoured it. Devoured all of them.
Anouk sobbed into her sleeve.
He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘Forgive me, Anouk.’
‘We’ve destroyed everything, Bastian.’
The name made him flinch. Whatever vestiges of Bastian had remained before today were gone. He was a monster now, a thing born from the brutal dark. Not a dreamer or an artist but a slave to his own nightmares.
Ahead of them, Paola skidded to a stop. ‘Blood.’
Ransom jerked his chin down, alarmed at himself for missing the dark rusted pools. It was all over the cobbles.
‘Someone died here,’ whispered Anouk.
Ransom scanned the arrows littering the square. All that blood so close to the church. To their sanctuary. His thoughts flew, as they always did, to Seraphine.
He ran for the steps of Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral, throwing himself at the heavy oak doors. They were locked. He banged his fists against them, impatience jolting his magic awake. Shadows streamed across the steps.
Paola came up behind him. ‘Easy, Nightmare. You’re leaking.’
He reeled his shadows in, crushed them down, down, down into that bottomless black well.
‘Move aside,’ said Anouk. ‘I’ll rip the doors apart.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ barked a voice from inside. ‘You’ve done enough damage today.’
Fontaine.
Ransom pounded again. ‘Open the fucking door!’
‘Or what? You’ll send a dragon to devour me? Hold your horses, Hale. I’m going as fast as I can.’
When the doors finally groaned open, he marched right past the old Cloak and her withering glare, and into the main chamber of the cathedral.
The church smelled like incense and blood. It was quiet but nowhere near empty. There were Cloaks and Flames everywhere. Most were scattered across the pews in groups of twos and threes, talking low among themselves. Others sat alone, praying to the marbled statues on the altar.
Ransom stalked up the centre aisle, searching for her bright hair in the dimness. Cloaks peeled away from him on instinct, Mercure eyeing him as he passed.
‘Well, here he comes now: the terror of Fantome.’ Caruso hopped out from a pew, with a half-eaten sandwich. ‘Is that insane dragon of yours perched on the roof?’ He made a show of looking up at the ceiling. ‘I hope it knows we’re the good guys.’
Ignoring the taunt, Ransom said, ‘Where’s Seraphine?’
‘She’s here.’ Caruso took a bite out of his sandwich. ‘Take a breath, yeah? You look constipated.’
‘Don’t rile him,’ snapped Val from over his shoulder. ‘I don’t want that damn dragon in here!’
Judging by all the dried blood on her, she’d had one hell of a day.
‘What happened to you?’
Swallowing his mouthful of sandwich, Caruso said, ‘Daggers ambushed us on the roof. Ren. Then Marishka and Alonso. It was gruesome.’
‘Worse for them, I gather?’
A tight nod. ‘They stuck her with an arrow. Got her back here just in time. That’s when we ran into…’ Caruso looked uncomfortable. ‘Well. You’ll see.’
Ransom’s attention shifted to the woman sitting on the far side of Val. Her hair was long and dark, and though she was facing away from him, her knew her by the spikes of her black leather boots.
‘Nadia?’
She turned at the sound of her name, peering up at him with bright golden eyes.
Saint.
No.
No.
Ransom stared and stared, his breath shallowing in his chest.
‘Crazy day, huh?’ she drawled.
Misreading the look of murder on his face, Caruso placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Calm down, all right? She’s on our side. She actually—’
‘Where is Seraphine?’
‘I told you, she’s—’
‘Where?’ he growled through his teeth.
Caruso pointed dead ahead, and Ransom took off towards the altar. In the flickering sconce light twelve marble statues marked a prayer ring around the sprawling dais.
Seraphine was lying underneath the statue of Saint Oriel.
Tobias was sitting cross-legged beside her.
When he spotted Ransom, he straightened. ‘I figured this would be the best place for her to rest.’
Ransom said nothing. He was too busy studying the shadows under Sera’s eyes, the way her lashes fluttered like she was trying to wake up. ‘How long has she been out?’
‘A while.’ Tobias was cagey, or perhaps wary of the look on Ransom’s face. ‘Albert helped me carry her in from the square. That was after Nadia came. She took an arrow for her. She was going to die out there, all alone, so Sera didn’t have a choice, really. She had to—’
‘You can go.’
Paola was calling for him anyway. Tobias hurried to her, leaving Ransom and Seraphine alone on the altar. Outside, the sun surrendered its own vigil, its dying rays bathing Seraphine in a wash of golden light, as though the heavens themselves were blessing her.
Sinking to the floor, Ransom sat with his back against the statue of Oriel Beauregard. Brushing a stray hair from Sera’s forehead, he sank into a disquieted reverie and waited for her to wake up.
Cloaks and Flames milled about, sharing food and conversation, and yet no one dared to set foot on the altar. Even Anouk, who came to offer him half of her sandwich, kept her distance.
Hovering by the statue of Saint Maurius, she dangled it back and forth. ‘Hungry?’
‘I’ll eat when she wakes.’
‘We don’t know how long that’ll be.’
‘I’ll eat when she wakes,’ he said again.
She sighed. ‘Mercure says we’ll likely stay here for the night. Just in case Andreas has something else up his sleeve.’
‘You mean beyond throwing a fake parade as a cover for his trained assassins to pick us off one by one?’
‘I suppose so.’ She lingered. ‘Do you remember seeing Theo earlier?’
He shook his head. Come to think of it, he was surprised the Shadowsmith hadn’t come to excoriate him over the dragon. ‘Where is our resident soul-eater?’
‘He’s missing. Paola says they got separated on Merchant’s Way.’
‘With any luck, he fell down that hole she made.’
‘Bastian.’
‘I haven’t seen him, Anouk. And our meetings tend to be memorable.’ She sucked her teeth, frowning. He thought to ask, ‘What is Nadia?’
‘She’s still figuring it out.’
His gaze returned to Seraphine. ‘It better be worth it.’
Not the making but the taking. The quiet dimming of her light.
Anouk gestured towards the statue at his back. ‘Oriel will make sure of it.’
A mirthless huff.
Anouk left the sandwich beside him and left.
Seraphine came to just before midnight. For a heartbeat her eyes shone gold, as if her magic was peering out, looking for its latest making. She blinked and they were blue again, the fleck of bronze glimmering in recognition.
‘Hey, stranger.’
‘How do you feel?’ said Ransom.
She winced. ‘Fine.’
‘Such a poor liar.’
She sat up, slowly.
He passed her his water flask. ‘Drink this.’
She guzzled it down.
Then his sandwich. ‘Here.’
She devoured that, too.
Her face remained deathly pale.
‘I need to find Nadia.’ She stood, supporting herself on a statue.
He shot to his feet. ‘Sit down, Sera.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said between heaves.
They were interrupted by the pointed clearing of a throat. ‘I don’t mean to intrude.’
Fontaine was standing at the edge of the altar.
‘Yes you do,’ said Ransom, flatly.
She waggled her cane at Seraphine. ‘You might want to do a headcount of your Order.’
‘We already know Versini’s fucked off,’ said Ransom, biting back a good riddance.
‘What?’ Sera said, reeling.
‘Not just Theo,’ said Fontaine. ‘It seems young Fabian has gone missing too.’