Page 100 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘All right,’ she whispered, crawling towards the end of her bed. ‘But first, there’s something you should know.’

He frowned, leaning over the footboard. ‘Speak it. Quickly.’

Behind him, his soldiers’ swords made a large shining X. Their arms trembled as they awaited their next command.

A slant of shadow moved across the floor.

Look to the dark.

Ransom was close. She could feel the cool brush of his magic, like an apprentice nearing its master. The rag was leaking through her fingers.

‘Look, Andreas.’ Sera held up her free hand. Her fingers wiggled, catching the waning light. ‘This is the hand of the Saint-maker of Valterre.’

He followed it like a distractible cat.

She struck with her other, jamming the rag deep into his open mouth. His eyes shot wide as she held it there. He choked a breath, inhaling a lungful of fumes.

Behind him, his Rose-bearers were stone-faced where they stood, suspended by his last command.

Sera surged forward, shoving the rag down his throat, ensuring every drop went to work. He swung blindly. She jerked backwards, and he came at her again. His hips slammed against the footboard and he pitched forward, falling face first onto the bed. The rag hung limp in his mouth. He groaned, trying to lift his head. It might as well have been a cinder block.

Shadows smothered the castle windows, snatching the sunlight. Darkness crawled over them, as footsteps plodded down the hallway.

Sera jumped off the bed just as a figure appeared in the doorway.

Darius Mondragon took one look at the scene before him and reached for the sword at his belt. Sera was already running. Yanking a sword from a frozen Rose-bearer’s hand, she flung it at the Urnican prince.

The blade cut into his right side. Not hard enough to cause a mortal wound, but it roused his fear well enough. Sword hand falling, he snapped his chin down to inspect the wound.

She darted around him, slipping into the hallway before he could catch her. Andreas, rousing, shouted after her.

Sera was already gone, sprinting so fast down the hall her feet barely touched the carpet.

Darkness chased her, plunging the castle into night. It kissed her feet, urging her on.

The Saint of Nightmares was here.

Her Ransom had come.

The tightening in her chest confirmed it. Without a map of the castle, she had only their thread to guide her. She followed it like a rope, charging down one corridor after another, searching for a stairwell. Andreas’s garbled orders echoed throughout the castle and soon the clatter of bootsteps filled the halls.

Sera found the stairwell and nearly hurled herself down it. The stone was rough and winding beneath her bare feet, a curse hissing from her as she turned her ankle on the bottom step. On the lower floor, she slipped inside an alcove, holding her breath as a pair of soldiers stomped past.

Onwards she crept, slipping in and out of alcoves, hiding behind suits of armour, as the corridors thrummed with panicked soldiers. A cool breeze stirred the hair around her face. She followed it down a vaulted corridor, stopping to pull a ceremonial axe from the wall.

Southwards then, through a grand entryway hung with gruesome war tapestries, where the outside world beckoned. It was as black as midnight. In her torn nightgown and bare feet she was far too conspicuous in the open foyer and was spotted at once.

Rose-bearers converged on her, drawing their weapons.

She raised her own, swinging her axe at the first of them and sending his sword flying into a priceless vase. The explosion bought her a fleeting reprieve. She made five steps towards the door before swinging again. And again. And again. Her arm grew tired and her feet bled. The soldiers thickened, crowding the doorway. Ten steps to freedom, but it might as well have been a hundred miles away.

Beyond a sea of Andreas’s toy soldiers, the entrance to Bellevue Castle yawned like a dark mouth.

Shadows spilled inside, moving like tentacles. Soldiers screamed, scrabbling away from the encroaching dark. Others fell where they stood, too slow to react.

Chaos reigned, and Sera didn’t squander a second of it. She flung her axe, clearing a path ahead, then threw herself into the darkness. It peeled away from her, like oil on water. She made it outside, the shadows encircling her as she found a rogue slant of sunlight. It kissed her cheeks and chased the goosebumps from her arms.

She waded onwards into the unending dark, the thread so taut it felt like a fishing hook in her chest. At the outer wall the portcullis was unmanned. The Rose-bearers there had been chased from their post. Gritting her teeth, she turned the winch, the metal cranking as it lifted.