Chapter 31 Ransom

Chapter 31 Ransom

Ransom sat on a wall in the Hollows, feeling like a prize fool. He had come here again, like a moth drawn to a flame, and she was asleep. Of course she was asleep. What did he expect? A face at the window, a hand waving to him? The clatter of her footsteps as she ran down the garden path and flung her arms around him, eager to unpick the events of last night and confide in him the secrets of Lightfire?

No. But he had come anyway. To know that she was safe, and to warn her about Lark, who he knew would eagerly rise to the challenge of killing her. The only reason Lark hadn't already tried was because he had gone with Dufort to Bellevue Castle in east Valterre. They had left that morning, after the Head Dagger was summoned by the king himself. It seemed their troubling monster problem, and the rising state of alarm in Fantome, had finally drawn the king's attention.

If Dufort hadn't been so angry at Ransom, he would have chosen him for company, but he had taken Lark instead, which sent a very particular message to Ransom: Step up or fuck off.

It had not had the desired effect. Ransom was glad to be rid of both of them, even if it was only for a couple of days.

He waited for an agonizing hour outside House Armand then turned for home. Just as a paper dart came floating overhead. He leaped to catch it, his heart beating hard as he read that messy, looping script.

I thought our little game was over…

He reached for the pen he had stolen from the nearest brothel on that first night she had written to him, and scribbled his reply.

There are other players in the game now. You need to be careful.

He sent it back on a gusting shadow, sipping just enough Shade to do so and still keep his wits about him. There was a gap in her curtains, her face there peering out, trying to find him in the dark. He watched her write her reply.

I thought I was being careful.

He barked a laugh.

There is nothing careful about you, Seraphine.

He heard her answering laugh on the wind, and wished he could bottle it. That dart came again, veering too far to the left this time. He saved it from an open drain, scuffing his boots in the dive.

In the spirit of recklessness, I have a proposition for you, Ransom. Answer ‘Yes' and see the outcome below (artist's rendering)…

He stared at the sketch underneath her words. A woefully out-of-proportion stick man, with a generous sweep of black hair and a giant goofy face. A little nick in the centre of his smile marked the scar on Ransom's lip. Something inside him glowed, warm and bright, and he knew if there was a mirror before him now, he'd find himself with that same goofy smile on his face. He wrote back.

You spent way too much time on my hair. And why is my head so massive?

He paced, waiting for her reply.

I know, right? I've been asking myself that since we first met.

Seraphine and that smart mouth. He tried not to think about claiming it.

Tell me your proposition.

He wanted to ask her to come outside and tell him to his face. To give him one stolen minute in the dark, but he was afraid of scaring her off.

Meet me at Our Sacred Saints' Cathedral tomorrow at dusk, and you'll find out.

He hated how his heart swooped, how easily she yanked it with her invisible string. If only she knew how desperately he wanted to say yes. To yell it at her window and wake every Cloak in House Armand.

I'll think about it.

He told himself there would be no reply, but he lingered another minute anyway, running to catch it when it came floating over the hedge.

It's a date.

Ruthless. She was teasing him. Tilting the whole damn game, and raising two fingers to Dufort. And he liked her even more for it. So much so that he folded the note to keep it. He turned away from her, grinning like that goofy stick man all the way back home.