Page 102 of The Dragon and the Dove

Paola huffed. ‘Get on the fucking horse, Hale. No one likes a martyr.’

Her tone brooked no argument. There wasn’t time, anyway. Ransom leaped onto the back of the horse and they turned, retreating into the forest as Andreas’s foot soldiers breached the treeline.

On and on they rode, the horse bearing them well. Before long, the thrum of bootsteps faded and silence settled over them. Leaves rustled as they went, sunlight dappling the forest floor.

When they reached the southern treeline, Sera started to breathe a little easier. The land climbed and they went with it, plodding towards a verdant patchwork of farmland.

When the field they were approaching fell into shadow, she thought, at first, it was Ransom’s magic returning to him.

The clouds wailed, drawing their gazes skywards.

A Strix circled overhead, its rider on wing. It came right at them, low enough that she could make out his gold-maned helmet.

Darius Mondragon.

Paola cursed, pulling on the reins. Bolt reared up, then jerked to the left. An arrow flew, hitting the dirt beside them.

Rising from the saddle, Ransom released a raft of shadows. They misted into ravens and flew for the Strix. But not fast enough. Another arrow came. Sera ducked, flinching as it grazed her shoulder.

Ransom’s ravens swarmed the Strix, drawing a wounded cry.

With a raging bellow, Darius rose to his haunches, pulling his mount away from death’s flock. The Strix was fast – faster than Ransom’s shadows – but it was injured and afraid now.

He chased the beast across the sky, holding fast until distance weakened his magic and his ravens splintered. The Strix continued its retreat. Injured by its brush with death, it dipped to the left, surrendering its height as it disappeared into the trees.

Too late, Sera noticed the horse had come to a stop. There was a weight on her back that hadn’t been there before.

Then a low ragged gasp in her ear.

She turned in the saddle, catching the same look of dread in Ransom’s eyes.

He was staring at the arrow jutting out of Paola’s chest.

The arrow that had been meant for Sera.

Blood pooled across Paola’s shirt, warm and fast and sticky. She listed to the side, a wet groan bubbling through her lips.

Ransom caught her before she fell, pulling her back against his chest. His eyes were wide. Panicked. Here was a man well-versed in death who knew so little about saving lives. He looked to Sera. ‘What now?’

She grabbed the reins, determination firing through her veins. ‘Leave the arrow, but staunch the wound. Talk to her. We have to keep her awake.’

He went to work, obeying her at once.

Urging the horse into a canter, Sera’s eyes darted, searching for shelter. There. A flash of red to the west. A barn not far from here.

Sending a silent prayer to Saint Oriel, she rode like hell towards it.

Chapter 25 Ransom

In an old storage barn ten miles from Bellevue Castle, Paola Versini lay bleeding on a bed of hay. Seraphine knelt at her side, plugging the wound underneath her collarbone. A mortal blow.

Ransom stood guard at the door, his attention flitting between the sky and the scene before him. ‘She’s not going to make it, Sera.’

There was so much blood the ground was stained red. Her face was stark, her dying breath bubbling on her lips. The arrow had struck too deep.

Sera shook her head. ‘I can save her. I saved you.’

‘With sainthood.’