Chapter 39 Ransom

Chapter 39 Ransom

Ransom could have stood in that clearing with Seraphine all night, with nothing but the rain sliding between them, but by the time she finished her story, she was shivering so badly, she could hardly speak.

Nothing could have prepared him for her earth-shattering confession, the sickening truth that the man who had taken him in ten years ago and cared for him like a son was the same man who had terrorized his own daughter her entire life.

Seraphine was Dufort's daughter, and the rotten bastard had made a mark of her. Then he had handed that mark to Ransom, like a prize. The promise of the signet ring he wore on his left hand, and everything it stood for, because he was too much of a coward to do it himself.

The whole thing was so twisted that during the first half of Seraphine's confession, Ransom had thought the bonfire of his rage would burn him to ash. It was an effort to stay and listen rather than stalk all the way back to Hugo's Passage and slam Dufort up against the wall to bleed the same confession from him.

Ransom was dimly aware he shouldn't care this much about their connection. The depth of his Order's depravity was hardly a surprise to him. He had seen enough, doled out enough, not to be surprised by anything. Lark wouldn't have batted an eyelid at Seraphine's confession, would have killed her anyway, but then, thoughts of Seraphine Marchant didn't haunt Lark to distraction.

Lark didn't know that she was quick-witted and sharp-tongued, that she was twice as foolhardy as she was headstrong, and more soft-hearted than she would ever admit. That she was reckless and beautiful in equal measure. That she kissed like it was her last gasp on earth, and moaned like a song.

Lark hadn't pressed her up against the walls of the catacombs and let her kiss him into oblivion. And he sure as hell hadn't just bartered a decade of loyalty to Dufort for the promise of freedom glowing in her eyes.

And besides all that, Lark's father had been a good man. Ransom's father had been just like Dufort. That was the worst part. The startling realization that Dufort was the very thing Ransom had run away from all those years ago. That for all his kindness to Ransom, he was no better than the brute who had torn Ransom's family apart.

Only the sight of Seraphine trembling like a leaf before him had pulled Ransom from the tornado of his anger. Her eyes had silvered with tears, her mouth quivering as she poured the truth at his feet. At the sight of her distress, all that anger inside him buckled.

It was a relief when the Shade left him so he could hold her. It was easy to promise he would help her, that he would bring Dufort to her tomorrow night and let her finish what her mother started.

But as Ransom walked Seraphine back to House Armand and turned for the long journey home, rain-soaked and shivering, he was needled by the depth of the betrayal he had agreed to and wondered if Dufort truly was beyond reason. If the only pathway to freedom was over his dead body.

He had to find out for himself.

Back in Old Haven, Ransom stalked into Hugo's Passage like a beast on the hunt. The catacombs were largely deserted, the hour so late now that even the Cavern was empty. No sign of Dufort, which was probably a kindness of fate. If Ransom ran into the Head of the Daggers right away, he would have lost that tenuous grip on his temper. And who would that have helped? Not Seraphine, and right now, she was the only person he cared about. He wanted to make sure she was safe.

Instead, he went to Lark's room, knocked twice, got impatient and barrelled inside. Lark cursed as he leaped out of bed, completely naked. He lunged for his robe, and Ransom blinked at another muffled sound of surprise, and belatedly realized there was someone else in his friend's bed. Another blink revealed Nadia, who had pulled the sheets up to the bridge of her nose, her wide brown eyes peering out over the top.

‘Fuck— Sorry.' Ransom backed out of the room. ‘I didn't realize— I didn't know.'

‘One second.' Lark turned to mutter something to Nadia then joined Ransom in the hall, shutting the door behind him. ‘What the hell happened to you tonight?' he hissed, looking him up and down. ‘Don't tell me you went fishing for bodies in another fountain.'

Ransom frowned at the barb. ‘It's raining.'

‘No shit.'

There was an awkward stretch of silence.

‘I knew you were taking tonight off,' said Ransom, slowly. ‘But I didn't realize you two were…'

‘Living the dream?' Lark's tone was teasing but his green eyes were bright. He had been pining after Nadia for years, and now he wore the unmistakable look of a man in love.

Ransom couldn't keep the shock from his voice. ‘How long have you two been…?'

‘A few months,' said Lark, his gaze softening. ‘Best ones of my life.'

‘Right.' Ransom couldn't keep the hurt from his voice. His two best friends had been sneaking around for months and they hadn't bothered to tell him.

‘Don't look so bereft,' said Lark, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Even best friends lie to each other sometimes. I was going to tell you.'

‘When?'

‘When you came to tell me you were in love with your mark,' said Lark.

Ransom stared at him. Lark stared right back.

Of course Nadia had told him about the other night in the catacombs, probably sang for him like a canary the second he returned with Dufort. They had probably laughed over what a fucking idiot Ransom was.

‘It's not like that,' said Ransom weakly.

‘Whatever it is like, you better figure out a solution,' said Lark, prodding his chest. ‘Either kill her or get her out of this city. If Dufort catches wind of what you're doing with our mark, it'll be your head and hers on a big fucking platter. And I'm not about to join that dinner party. One way or another, she has to disappear.'

Just a handful of minutes ago, Ransom had been teetering on the edge of telling Lark everything – about Seraphine and Dufort, and the life-altering promise he had just made her.

But now, looking at his friend in the dimness and realizing there were things about Lark and Nadia he didn't know – trust that he clearly hadn't earned from them – he decided he would say nothing. For his sake. And for Seraphine's.

Even best friends lie to each other sometimes.

He dipped his chin. ‘Give me a few days, Lark. I'll figure it out.'

‘You'd better,' said Lark, before turning on his heel and going back to Nadia.

Ransom went to his bedroom and opened Seraphine's music box. For a long time, he sat on the edge of his bed, watching that ballerina twirl as he listened to the music of his childhood, this lullaby of freedom. He wanted it now more than ever. Not just the freedom, but the girl as well.

They already shared a lullaby. Why not a dream, too?

He slept fitfully that night, the weight of his promise to Seraphine sitting like a tombstone on his chest. He awoke after midday, emerging bleary-eyed from his bedroom to forage for food.

There was no sign of Dufort anywhere, and short of knocking on every door in the passage or scouring the seedy streets of the city, Ransom could only wait for him to come back. Hours passed in the Cavern with only a deck of cards, a tumbler of brandy and his own addled thoughts as company, until Lisette came to bother him.

‘You look even more haunted than usual,' she said, perching on the side of his armchair. ‘Are the skulls beginning to frighten you?' She fingered the tassel of his cushion. ‘Don't worry, when I become Head of the Order, I'll give this place a little sprucing up. Maybe plant a herb garden.'

When Ransom didn't bother to reply, only finished his drink and stared past her towards the door, she poked him in the shoulder. ‘What's the matter? Farmgirl swallowed your tongue?'

It was an effort not to shove her off the armrest. ‘Go back to your gossip mill, Lisette.'

‘You used to be fun,' she said, flicking him in the cheek.

‘Do you know where Dufort is?'

‘Last I saw, he was in the graveyard,' she said, evidently deciding to be helpful for once. ‘Being pensive . Meeting the king always puts him in a shit mood. I swear he's jealous of that big shiny crown.'

Ransom shot to his feet and made for the door, leaving her glowering at the back of his head. Above ground, dusk was sweeping through Fantome, the sky blooming like a fresh bruise. Though the rain had abated some time that afternoon, thunderclouds prowled overhead, the humidity so oppressive he felt like he was moving through steam.

Dufort was exactly where Lisette said he would be, perched at the far end of the graveyard, between weathered tombstones that jutted up from the earth like rotting teeth. He was sitting under a moss-eaten statue of Saint Calvin of Death, his eyes closed as though he was saying a prayer.

Dufort looked up at the sound of Ransom's footsteps and said, by way of greeting, ‘There's a storm coming.'

Yes, there is.

Ransom looked down at the Head of the Daggers and was surprised at how swiftly his rage returned. The sight of those cornflower-blue eyes staring back at him, the wheat-blonde hue of that shorn hair – it was so obvious.

He blinked slowly.

I am such an idiot.

Seraphine had inherited few of her mother's characteristics, save for that shining fleck of bronze in her eye. The rest had come from Dufort, and it was so searingly obvious to him now that he couldn't have doubted her confession even if a small part of him desperately wanted to.

‘Why do you look like you've swallowed a fucking thorn bush?' said Dufort, scrunching up his face to mock him.

‘I want to talk to you about my mark,' said Ransom without preamble.

Dufort frowned. ‘Is she dead?'

‘No.' He watched Dufort swallow, noted his fingers twitching on his lap. ‘Why do you want her dead, Gaspard?'

‘What did Hugo Versini say about curiosity, Ransom?'

‘Why do you want her dead?' Ransom said again.

Dufort scrubbed a hand across his face, so much calmer without Shade in his system. ‘I'd rather not get into it.'

‘Get into it,' said Ransom, holding his nerve. ‘Please.'

Thunder rumbled in the distance as though the saints themselves were echoing his request.

Perhaps that's why Dufort gave in. ‘Sylvie was working on something that could destroy everything our Order stands for. A kind of magic that can take the very core of our power and nullify it. Nullify us. She had been meddling from afar for years, and I suppose the fool in me let her get away with it.' He paused, a flicker of some unchartered emotion passing behind his eyes. Nostalgia… Or perhaps it was the remnants of love. He blinked the moment away. ‘But Lightfire…' His lip curled. ‘No. I could not abide it.'

Ransom was so surprised Dufort knew the name of Sylvie's magic that his eyebrows shot up.

‘Destructive stuff, Lightfire ,' he went on, spitting the word. ‘Mark my words, Ransom, if it ever got out, it would be our undoing.'

Ransom had to work to keep his face neutral. ‘What does any of that have to do with the girl?'

Dufort looked away. ‘The girl holds her mother's secrets. She has to go too. The longer she stays at House Armand with Mercure, the more danger we're in.'

Ransom let the silence swell, giving Dufort the chance to fill it with the confession he had come for. That Seraphine Marchant was his daughter, that the thought of killing her filled him with guilt, or inspired even the slightest hesitation. Dufort conceded nothing.

‘What if she left Fantome?' said Ransom, because he had to know if there was another way to free her. If Dufort could be reasonable, just this once, he could save his own life. ‘What if she took those secrets and disappeared?'

‘Then you would find yourself in a world of trouble.' Dufort's gaze sharpened as he rose from his seat. ‘I need you to show me you can take care of this. Storm that damn house and drag her out by her cloak if you have to, but get it done. And do it fast .'

Go to hell.

Ransom slumped against a tombstone, swallowing his anger.

Dufort sighed as he returned his gaze to the statue of Saint Calvin, searching for a face beneath the skein of moss. ‘The bravest of us carve out our own path in life, Bastian. Once we choose our destiny, there is no other way. There is no going back.'

Ransom grimaced at his words. They were not true – they could not be true. There were always other paths, other choices. Dufort had chosen his destiny for him at ten years old and now Ransom wanted a different one. He wanted to choose for himself.

‘Wrangle that wayward conscience of yours, boy. We have graver matters to worry about.' Dufort turned for the gate, beckoning for Ransom to follow. ‘The king is growing concerned about our little monster problem. If I don't get them out of this city, he'll send ten thousand soldiers to sweep the streets with all the brute force the royal purse can buy. His nightguards are already a nuisance. I don't want any more soldiers sniffing about in my city.'

Another growl of thunder tore through the night, and far across the Verne, the clock tower chimed eight.

They paused at the gate. Dufort sighed. ‘I know what they say about me in the catacombs, you know. That all the Shade has eaten through my heart. I am not so far gone that I can't sense your restlessness.' He laid a heavy hand on Ransom's shoulder. ‘You've been unhappy these past few months. I can see it. I have always been able to see it. Don't think that I've been content to watch you struggle, son. That I haven't thought to do something about it.'

Ransom frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘When I was at Bellevue Castle, I spoke to the king about your family. Your mother, Gisele. Your sister, Anouk. I know how much you've been missing them.'

Ransom's heart stuttered in his chest. ‘You… spoke to the king about me ?'

‘The smallest of asks,' said Dufort, with a wave of dismissal. ‘He's put his best scouts on the case. Scattered them across the country like a fistful of marbles. There is nothing hidden in Valterre that cannot be found by the Crown.' He rolled back on his heels, offering a smile of lazy confidence. ‘When we find them, you can bring them home, Bastian. Buy them a house and fill it with riches. Put all that coin you've earned to good use, perhaps remind yourself of the blessings this Order has given you. The blessings that I have given you.'

Ransom's throat tightened. ‘How long?' he managed. ‘How long until you hear back?'

Dufort shrugged. ‘A week, maybe two? Stay close to me. When I hear something, you'll be the first to know.'

Ransom nodded, hope like a fist in his throat. He couldn't stop his eyes from misting over.

‘It's a gift,' said Dufort as he nudged him through the gate, keeping that hand on his shoulder. ‘You're not supposed to blubber.'

As the air crackled with the beginnings of a storm, Ransom looked up at the menacing lights of the Aurore and thought of Seraphine somewhere across the city, readying herself for battle.

It was too soon. Too soon to move against Dufort, too soon to slam shut that precious door to Ransom's past. He was so close now, closer than he'd ever been. He had to find out where his family was or the mystery of it would kill him. The almost knowing would drive him to ruin.

As thunder rolled across the darkening sky, he stalked from the graveyard and into the heart of the storm, hoping he was not too late.