Chapter 28 Ransom

Chapter 28 Ransom

With the body from the fountain in his arms, Ransom trudged back to the catacombs, damp and exhausted and full of thoughts of her. He couldn't stop replaying those final aching moments… The gentle caress of her hand against his cheek, how her trembling breath had feathered his skin, her mouth so close he could almost taste her. He would not sleep easy tonight. Or perhaps ever again.

His legs were leaden as he walked, his shirt so torn that one of the sleeves had fallen off. It was the least of his concerns. He reached the catacombs and took the steps two at a time, passing under the blank-eyed stares of a hundred skulls and bumping right into Lark, who was on his way out for the night.

Lark stumbled backwards, nearly dropping the vial of Shade in his hand. His gaze swept over the body in Ransom's arms, which was really more of a damp sack of skin and bones. ‘What… is that?'

‘It's Kipp,' said Ransom, working to keep his voice even. Trying to pretend like he hadn't retched when he saw Kipp's hollow eyes staring up at him as he lifted him from the fountain. ‘He's dead.'

‘No shit,' said Lark.

They were interrupted by approaching footsteps. Nadia's voice floated down the tunnel. ‘What are you two whispering about?' She stopped short, her brown eyes widening. ‘Is that your mark?' She jostled Lark aside. ‘The farmgirl?'

Ransom stiffened before he could help it. The thought of Seraphine Marchant dead in his arms was a whole new level of horror he couldn't afford to imagine. Not after tonight. Not after the fountain and what had come after.

Lark moved his hand to the small of Nadia's back. ‘Take a closer look.'

‘Oh, Kipp.' She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘He looks like hell.'

‘Well, he is dead,' said Lark, unnecessarily.

‘He looks more than dead,' she said, recoiling from the body. ‘He looks wrong. Like someone plunged their hand down his throat and yanked out his soul.'

Ransom's Shade was wearing off. His head was beginning to pound, the body growing heavy in his arms. ‘Is Dufort here?'

‘He's drunk in the Cavern,' said Nadia. ‘Piss-poor mood. As usual.'

‘I bet this will cheer him up,' said Lark dryly. He pocketed his vial of Shade and followed Ransom down the north passage.

‘I thought Kipp was a monster,' said Nadia, hurrying after them.

‘He was,' said Ransom, flatly. ‘He changed back.'

‘ How ?' the other two chorused.

Ransom shrugged, trying to shake off the memory of Seraphine standing in that fountain, glowing like a human flame.

‘Ransom.' Lark came to his side. ‘How?'

‘I don't know, Lark.'

‘Why do you sound so angry?' said Nadia, coming to his other side.

‘Maybe because I've been carrying the dead body of our friend around for the last hour,' said Ransom, all but spitting the words. His friends exchanged a loaded glance, and he fell silent, prickling with guilt.

A hush fell over the Cavern when he staggered in. Daggers stopped their conversations and set down their drinks, straining to see the dead body in his arms. He paid them no mind, striding straight to the back of the room, where Dufort was necking whiskey by the roaring fireplace, with a handful of older Daggers.

Lisette was perched on the arm of his chair, wearing a midnight-blue dress with a low neckline and a thigh-high slit. Her blonde hair was scraped into a tight bun and her eyes were bright silver. When she spotted Ransom, she rose from her seat. ‘Are you drunk?' she hissed, through coral-stained lips. ‘You know better than to bring a mark down here.'

‘It's not a mark,' said Ransom. ‘Clear the table.'

When nobody moved, Dufort barked, ‘Clear the fucking table!'

The Daggers rushed into action, swiping away playing cards and sovereigns, dirty ashtrays and half-smoked cigars. Ransom laid Kipp's body down. In the flickering lamplight, they all stared at it, trying to make sense of the sunken cheeks and haunted eyes, the shrivelled skin and paper-thin lips. The silence stretched on and on. Ransom's fingers twitched as he watched Dufort. His body was flagging, fresh plumes of nausea rising inside him. He wanted to turn and rush back to his room, to sit alone in the dark and finally process everything he had seen tonight. Everything he had felt. But if he fled now, he would only arouse suspicion.

Dufort broke the silence with a grunt. ‘There goes Kipp. Poor bastard.'

‘Sad,' said Lisette, returning to her perch.

‘Kipp was one of the monsters stalking the city,' said Lark. ‘He attacked us a few days ago.'

‘Well, now he's dead,' said Dufort.

‘And damp,' said Lisette, wrinkling her nose.

‘It wasn't the Shade that killed him,' said Nadia uneasily. ‘There are no markers. Look at his eyes. His skin. And he doesn't have a single shadow-mark.'

Dufort looked at Ransom, his eyes cold. ‘Where did you find him?'

‘Saint Celiana's fountain.'

‘And you were there why?' said Lisette.

‘I was out for a walk.'

‘And a swim?' she said, looking him up and down. ‘New hobby of yours?'

He smiled tightly. ‘I had no idea you were so fascinated by me, Lisette.'

She fingered her sleeve. ‘Only since my sister swore she saw you leave the city the other day. She said you were headed to the plains.' She smirked. ‘Isn't that where your mark used to live?'

Dufort snapped his chin up. ‘The girl went back?'

‘Not that I'm aware of,' said Ransom evenly. Then to Lisette. ‘Your sister is mistaken.'

‘Or you are lying.'

‘Shut the fuck up, Lisette,' said Lark.

Dufort's eyes were still on Ransom. ‘This isn't the body I asked you for.'

‘You wanted a monster, Gaspard.'

‘That's not a monster,' said Lisette.

‘Not any more,' said Ransom. ‘But maybe you can study it. Try to—'

‘What the fuck do I look like?' snapped Dufort. ‘A scholar?'

Ransom's face burned. ‘Should I have left him in the fountain for a nightguard to find?'

‘It depends on how he got in there in the first place,' mused Lisette. Still prodding. Insufferable bootlicker. ‘And whether there was something else, some one else, you could have taken instead…'

Ransom inhaled.

She licked her teeth. Triumphant.

‘What would you have preferred, Lisette? A fistful of coppers?' said Nadia, glaring at her. ‘In case you haven't noticed, the entire city's been under attack for weeks now. This is the closest we've come to finding out why.'

‘Don't be such a smart-ass,' she hit back. ‘I'm talking about the girl. The one he spends all his time following but not actually killing.'

‘She's a Cloak,' snapped Ransom. ‘It's not that simple.'

‘Because you can't find her? Or ,' Lisette purred, leaning forward, ‘because you're enjoying the chase a little too much?'

‘Watch it,' he said through his teeth.

The smirk returned. ‘Have you screwed her?'

Ransom's temper flared, every muscle in his body going taut. If he had taken another vial of Shade, Lisette would be up against the cavern wall right now, with his shadows around her throat.

‘Easy,' said Lark, laying a hand on his arm. ‘She's just trying to rile you.'

‘Remember your place, Lisette,' warned Lark.

She barked a laugh. ‘Says one lapdog to another.'

‘At least you're self-aware,' remarked Nadia.

‘Not half enough,' said Lark. ‘She's talking like a traitor.'

‘Says who?' pressed Lisette. ‘There's nothing more traitorous than screwing the mark. Especially if you forget to kill her afterwards.'

‘ Enough! ' Dufort shattered his whiskey glass against the fireplace, bringing the entire Cavern to a standstill. ‘Shut up, all of you, so I can hear myself think.'

‘So, think,' said Ransom, stepping back from the table. ‘I need to get changed.' His breathing was ragged as he hurried towards the north passage. Panic crested like a wave inside him, and he had the sudden feeling that he was going to throw up, right there in the cavern. And then everyone would know the truth.

He was a liar. A failure. A traitor. Seraphine Marchant was alive because he had saved her life. Not once, but three times in one night. Four, if he counted the lie of omission about that power she wore around her neck. The power that had shattered in a hail of golden light, freeing Kipp from the monster he had become, but too late to save him. If Dufort found out about any of it, he would cut Ransom's head from his body and mount it on the wall.

And what had Ransom done it for? The lure of Lightfire, and what it could do for his own soul? What he now knew it could do for the monsters of Fantome? Seraphine Marchant didn't just have the power to free Ransom. She had the power to free the entire city.

Or perhaps his unwillingness to harm her was born of something far simpler… something far more dangerous. Perhaps, beneath the logic of it all, Lisette was right. He did want her. He wanted to take her more than he wanted to kill her.

It was all he could do not to think about kissing her. Tasting the fire of her just to see what it would do to him. What she would do to him. Ransom had been fighting for his life for as long as he could remember, trying to wrench power from men far stronger – and crueller – than him, and yet somehow, he felt most alive when he was standing in the glaring spotlight of that bronze-flecked gaze and sustaining insults from that sharp, lashing tongue.

Seraphine was a spitfire. And Ransom wanted to burn.

His footsteps echoed as he fled down the north passage, before turning east into a narrower tunnel. On and on he went, but it wasn't far enough. He couldn't outrun his panic, the lies churning in the pit of his stomach. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, the dark mouth of Fantome opening up to swallow him whole.

Traitor, traitor, traitor , chanted the skulls. A blunt Dagger is a dead Dagger.

Ransom swung into the nearest bathroom and vomited. He retched until his stomach ached and his breath came in dry heaves. When the worst of it was over, he collapsed against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes.

‘Saint Oriel,' he whispered, though he knew she couldn't hear him down here. The saints did not service the needs of those already in hell. His wishes were not made to be answered. But he made one anyway. ‘I want to go home.'

‘You are home, Bastian,' came a familiar rumble. In that voice, his name – the one his mother had given him – sounded as threatening as a weapon. Ransom looked up to find Dufort towering over him, his arms folded across his barrel chest. ‘Haven't I given you everything you've ever needed?'

It was not a real question.

‘Safety. Security. Revenge. Riches. Power. ' He growled the last word, but there was hurt beneath it. Hurt in his eyes. Frustration, too. He sighed through his nose. ‘I raised you in my own likeness, Bastian. I raised you for greatness. But after all these years together, you're crumbling before my eyes and I can't understand why.'

‘I'm not crumbling,' croaked Ransom.

Dufort squatted down. ‘If I don't know what's wrong, I can't help you, son.'

Ransom looked at his feet. He couldn't tell him that he wanted out. That he wanted her .

‘When you build a wall with lies, the lies will crack,' said Dufort. ‘The wall will crumble. And you will find me, standing on the other side of it. As I am now.'

‘I'm not lying,' said Ransom, raising his chin. ‘You wanted a monster. I brought you one.'

‘You brought me a husk.'

‘It's more than anyone else has brought you.'

Dufort's lips twisted, another sigh heaving his shoulders. ‘Forget about the monsters. If they can be killed as easily as they're formed, I don't care to waste my time on them. They'll die out eventually.'

Ransom frowned. ‘The monsters are still killing people. More and more each day. They're making you look sloppy.'

Dufort snorted. ‘I'm a Dagger, Ransom. Do you think I give a fuck what people think of me?'

Another non-question. Ransom knotted his hands, willing the conversation to end, but Dufort was only getting started. ‘Let the beasts stalk. Let them kill. They'll wear themselves out.'

‘Sure.' Ransom's voice was hollow. ‘Whatever you say.'

Dufort grabbed his shoulder. ‘I don't know what you're hiding from me, son, but I'm not made of patience. No one here is untouchable. Not even you. If I find out you've been with that girl, if you've betrayed my trust in you, I'll cast you out onto those streets just as quickly as I took you from them. I'll rip away everything you have.'

Ransom exhaled through his teeth, fighting the urge to swing at Dufort.

‘The longer that girl lives, the more dangerous she becomes,' said Dufort. ‘I won't tell you again. Get rid of her.'

He rolled to his feet, just as a shadow flitted by the door. Dufort reached out, yanking Lark in by the scruff of his neck. ‘Stealthless, Delano. Even for you. I assume you heard that?'

Lark rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Just the headlines, really.'

‘Good,' said Dufort, with a grunt. ‘Because now Seraphine Marchant is your mark, too.' He looked back and forth between them. ‘If you two idiots can't get it done by the end of the week, you're both out on your asses.' He turned on Lark. ‘I haven't appointed my Second yet. This is your chance to impress me.' Lark swallowed thickly, hunger glowing in his eyes. ‘Don't screw it up, Delano. The next time Lisette barks at you, I'll have her lick your boots.'

He patted him roughly on the cheek, then stomped out of the chamber without so much as a backwards glance at Ransom. They listened for the fading echo of his footfall.

‘Well, that was fun,' said Lark drolly. ‘You should bring him dead monsters more often.'

Ransom summoned a smile. Even on his worst days, Lark always managed to make him feel less shitty. ‘That'll teach me to go fishing in fountains.'

Lark looked down at him. ‘Which, by the way, strikes me as extremely out of character for you.'

‘Maybe I was making a wish.'

He raised his brows. ‘What kind of wish?'

‘Can't tell you,' he said, leaning his head back against the wall. ‘Then it won't come true.'

‘I thought Dufort was going to name you as his heir.'

Ransom's lips twisted. He was falling out of favour and he couldn't bring himself to care. ‘I guess he's having second thoughts.'

Lark sat down beside him, bringing his knees up to his chest. ‘We've never shared a mark before.'

Ransom hesitated, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. ‘No…'

‘Nothing wrong with a bit of healthy competition, though.' Lark paused. ‘Right?'

‘Right.'

Lark blew out a breath, dimple flashing. ‘Well, then. Let the game begin.'