Chapter 47 Ransom

Chapter 47 Ransom

Ransom spent the pearls Seraphine gave him not long after she left. He used the first one on three monsters scrapping at the far end of the west tunnel, and the second on a straggler who had made it all the way down to the crypts.

After a thorough sweep of the catacombs, he returned to the Cavern, steeling himself for what he would find there. He had seen enough bodies in the tunnels, but he knew the true horror of tonight still awaited him.

It was too quiet in the Cavern, where the metallic tang of blood mixed with the sulphuric stench of Shade. While the surviving Daggers picked through the detritus of their home, clearing aside the fallen rubble and broken furniture, Ransom walked among the dead bodies, looking for his friends. Terrified of finding them.

He knelt to inspect the body of a woman crumpled on her side, her sleek black hair gleaming in the light of an oil lamp that had somehow survived the brawl. She flopped onto her back and he loosed a breath of relief. It wasn't Nadia, but a barmaid he vaguely recognized from the Lucky Shell. Another victim of Sylvie's poisoned wine.

He searched on. Most of the dead were Daggers much older than Ransom, their bodies marked by extensive black whorls. Most of the others were dressed like dockhands, merchants and fishermen still in their seal-skinned boots. Monsters, once. Corpses now.

Just like Dufort. Ransom's thoughts returned to the moment he had found Seraphine slumped in that tunnel beside her father, both of them so pale and still he'd thought she was dead too. Crushing, bone-deep terror had lanced through him at the sight. Even now, he could still feel it gnawing at the edges of his heart. The relief when her eyelids had fluttered had been so profound he had forgotten all about Dufort's body lying six feet away.

Dufort's death had not shocked or distressed Ransom as he once imagined it would. Even now, his thoughts skipped past the dead man to Seraphine, forging her way to the Aurore with a herd of monsters at her back. He tried not to dwell on the very real possibility they might turn on her at any moment. That a rogue creature could destroy the promise of freedom they had made to each other. The promise of tomorrow, and the adventures they would find beyond the darkness of Fantome.

He worried for his friends too. He regretted brawling with Lark earlier, and was relieved that Nadia had hauled them apart. He had to find them to apologize, to explain everything.

Three Daggers carried Dufort's body into the Cavern, laying him down by the fireplace. An uncomfortable hollow yawned inside Ransom as he peered down at the Head of the Order, a man he'd once thought of as indestructible. He waited for a pang of guilt, of grief, but he felt neither.

What do you want to be, boy, brave or broken?

I want to be free . Ransom turned from the body. Now I am.

But at what cost?

Thirty-six dead Daggers so far, by Ransom's count, including those lying in the tunnels. A third of the Order destroyed in one night. His stomach twisted at the thought of Lark and Nadia, still missing. He turned on his heel, searching the faces of the figures moving around him.

Abel hobbled towards him, the lines on his face carved still deeper by worry. ‘Have you seen Collette? I've searched all the tunnels.'

Ransom shook his head, and Abel staggered on, repeating the question to everyone he passed. Another pair of Daggers drifted over. Ren, with a deep gash on his cheek and Caruso, some of whose long black hair had been ripped out at the root. ‘The Cloaks will answer for this bloodbath,' snarled Caruso.

More Daggers came until twenty or so of them were crowding around the body of Dufort, as if they were expecting him to rise from the dead and tell them what to do next.

‘The bodies,' someone said at last. ‘We need to start taking them out.'

‘Good thing we're surrounded by graveyards,' muttered Caruso.

‘Has anyone seen Lark and Nadia?' asked Ransom, but they shook their heads, pairing off to start carting out the bodies.

Ransom returned to the north passage, where he found Lisette pressed against the wall, as if she couldn't bear to go inside the Cavern. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her blonde hair was caked with blood.

‘So much death,' she murmured, holding her arms around herself. ‘Why did they come here? Why did she do this to us?'

‘It was Dufort,' said Ransom. All this death – this horror – started and ended with Dufort. ‘He's dead.'

‘Everyone is dead.' She stared past him. ‘The Order is destroyed.'

‘Have you seen Nadia? Or Lark?'

She slowly shook her head. ‘Not since he went after the girl.'

Ransom froze. ‘What?'

‘He took Dufort's ring,' she said in a faraway voice. ‘I suppose Nadia went after him when I told her…' She blinked herself from her stupor and glowered at Ransom. ‘This is all your fault. You should have killed that meddlesome farm bitch when you had the chance.'

But Ransom was already running. Down the north passage and out into the storm. The roar of thunder paled against the roaring in his chest. He looked to the Aurore as he ran, praying he wasn't too late to stop Lark doing whatever he was about to do.

By the time he made it to the end of Old Haven, most of the lights on the Aurore had gone out. Shadows flitted across the stone, and a flash of lightning illuminated four figures climbing up the tower. And there among them, was a rippling golden cloak.

He was not too late.

Ransom was at the Verne when the whole Aurore went up in flames, sparking like a mighty torch. For a moment, the rain stopped entirely, the thunder ceasing its tirade as though the entire sky was watching in wonder.

Ransom's heart swelled as Seraphine's grand plan came to life, the glow of Lightfire crowning the ancient monument in a shimmering halo. Such magnificence. Such unbridled incandescence. It almost made him forget Lark and Nadia.

Then the thunder roared back to life. Ransom pushed on, towards the Aurore. Lightning danced around the tower. When it struck the stone, he had to shield his eyes from the glare. He slowed, blinking the spots from his vision. When the ground shook, he mistook it for thunder.

Then the tower crumbled right before his eyes.

Flames rained down like fireworks, huge chunks of stone following in a pounding hail.

Fast, so fast his feet barely touched the cobbles, Ransom ran, his chest heaving as he finally reached Primrose Square. He saw the bodies first, knew they were the monsters Seraphine had brought here, knew her plan had come off before the tower fell. It was not the plan he was worried about.

It was the girl. It was Lark and Nadia and the memory of that fork of lightning cleaving the tower in two. He shouted Seraphine's name, sending it up to the clouds. There came no answer. He called for Lark and Nadia, stalking towards all that rock and rubble, the shattered remains of the greatest monument in Valterre.

The clouds parted, scattering the last of their rain, as if they had seen enough. The moon poured its light onto the square, and after what felt like an eternity, Ransom spotted Nadia kneeling between two broken pillars.

His chest tightened at the sound of her sobs. They were deep and guttural, as if wrenched from her soul. Her head was bowed, and as he drew nearer, climbing over broken stone and ruined earth, he saw the reason for her tears and nearly fell to his knees too.

She was cradling Lark's body in her arms.

Ransom stumbled, all thoughts eddying away. Lark's face was paler than he'd ever seen it, the rosy hue of his cheeks lost to a strange, pearly sheen. His eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. They were no longer green, but gold. Like two gleaming coins.

Grief slammed into Ransom, making his legs buckle. Lark was gone. They had fought bitterly in the Cavern, their last words to each other some of the cruellest they had ever spat. Ransom hadn't meant them, but he couldn't take them back now. There would be no more jokes. No more laughter. No more singing, no more midnight adventures, no more rooftop conversations about love and loss and all that dwelled in between. There would be no more trips home to the farm, no more butter cake and brandy, no more chickens, no more… Lark.

No more Lark.

The loss spiralled through Ransom like a tornado. He braced himself against a fallen boulder, trying to find his breath.

‘Ransom.' Nadia's voice broke on his name. He crawled to her, bringing his hand to Lark's cheek in vain hope. It was ice cold.

‘What happened?' he managed.

‘She murdered him,' said Nadia, in a cold, quiet voice. ‘Right before she brought the whole tower down.'

No. That wasn't right. ‘It was the lightning.'

‘ She was the lightning.'

He frowned.

‘ Look, ' she hissed. And he followed her gaze, to the place where Lark's shirt had been scoured from his body. There, in the centre of his chest, was a small golden handprint, perfectly outlined by the shadow-marks around it. Scar tissue etched in gold. A type of burn Ransom had never seen before. It was like the sheer force of it had plunged right through Lark's body and stopped his heart.

Ransom couldn't tear his eyes away from that handprint. He knew those small, slender fingers, the palm he had kissed that night by Saint Celiana's fountain.

Fuck.

How had she done it?

And where the hell was she now?

‘Ransom.' Nadia's voice again, pulling him back. He looked up at her, and nearly wept at the broken expression on her face. Her brown eyes were glassy and tear tracks smeared the dust on her cheeks. ‘This is all her fault.'

‘No.' His own voice was small. ‘There must have been…' he trailed off. A reason? A mistake? He looked around, searching the mounds of rubble, but Seraphine was long gone. She had fled, and despite Nadia's fury, and the body of his best friend lying here beside him, Ransom was relieved she had escaped. ‘She was just trying to survive.'

‘ Survive? ' Nadia shoved him. ‘Wake up. That girl dragged an army of monsters into Old Haven. She ransacked our home, killed our friends and murdered our leader. And you let her do it.'

Ransom was shaking his head. No, that wasn't what had happened. Nadia was twisting it.

‘Dufort is dead. The Order is in ruins. Lark is gone .' Her voice cracked. She bowed her head, her hair making a shroud around Lark's face. ‘Lark is gone. And you still won't admit it. You still can't see how dangerous she is.'

‘She didn't mean for any of this… It got out of hand…' Seraphine was a fighter. She would have fought tooth and nail to get out of here alive, ripped the whole tower down to do it. Lark had come after her – tried to kill her.

Ransom raked the sodden hair from his face, his gaze flitting to that golden handprint. Or maybe he was a fool, after all. Maybe he had just sold out his Order for a chance to taste the sun. And the sun had burned him. Burned them all.

Nadia raised her head. ‘Everything that happened tonight is because of her. Everything . She destroyed our home. She destroyed our family. Our best friend. My—my—' She surrendered a small whimper. ‘She's taken everything from us and you're so lust-blind, you're sitting here beside your dead best friend defending her.' Another sob burst out, pouring from her like a scream. ‘Look at me . Look at him . And then tell me it was worth it.'

Ransom's heart clenched as he looked at Nadia, then at his brother in her lap. Those eerie golden eyes. ‘I didn't want this, Nadia.'

She gave a broken sigh. The light in her eyes had gone out and she was looking at Ransom as though he had extinguished it. He had. All of this horror and pain wasn't because of Seraphine. It was because of him. Because he had gone soft for her. Because he had lied to his friends about his intentions and kept the truth about Seraphine – about the monsters and the Lightfire and Dufort – from them until they had no choice but to take matters into their own hands. Until they thought they had to save him from himself.

‘I'm sorry.' He reached for her. ‘Nadia, I'm so sorry.'

‘I can't breathe,' she whispered. ‘How can I ever breathe again?'

He curled his arm around her and she buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. Silent tears streamed down Ransom's face as he held her in his arms, Lark lying silently between them.

After a long while, Nadia pulled away again. She held up Dufort's ring, the skull gleaming in the moonlight. ‘You have to make this right.' She pressed it into his hand. ‘I swear to every blessed saint and dead Dagger in Fantome that if you don't kill her I will. I'll hunt that bitch to the far-flung corners of Valterre, to the end of my days, and when I catch her, I'll scour a handprint on her chest and hang her body from the Bridge of Tears, so every damn Cloak in Fantome knows what happens when you fuck with the Daggers.'

She stared hard at him, hatred burning in her eyes. Ransom knew she meant every word. She would take that ring and make herself a reluctant leader, take the king's ear along with it and use his scouts to find Seraphine if it came to it. There was nothing Nadia wouldn't do to avenge her lover, to avenge her family.

And if Ransom walked away now, she would hunt him too. With the scorned might of a deadly Order, and the king himself.

But if he stayed… He stared at that ring in the palm of his hand and knew every terrible thing it symbolized. If he stayed and took that ring for his own, he would be able to stand between Seraphine and the Order of Daggers. Not just a leader, but a shield.

Only then, would she truly be free.

And he had promised her freedom, hadn't he?

‘Do you hear me?' said Nadia.

Ransom nodded. Slowly, so achingly slowly, he closed his fist around the ring.

He stood up and, with Nadia's help, he lifted his friend from the rubble of the Aurore and carried Lark's body home.