Page 126 of The Dragon and the Dove

They collapsed into a chair together, and she nestled close, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.

‘You’d better not snore,’ she murmured against the shadow-mark on his neck.

He smiled against her. ‘You’d better not drool.’

‘Shut up,’ she slurred.

She fell asleep to the low rumble of his chuckle.

He held her all night long.

Part III

Wickedness, like virtue, is a matter of perspective.

Victory – however hard fought or cruelly wrought – is indisputable.

CADEL VALENTIUS, SAINT OF WARRIORS

Chapter 32 Ransom

As morning broke on Saints’ Day, Ransom took up his position on the Bridge of Tears. The dawn sky was still and war drums pounded on the wind.

‘How much longer must we wait?’ asked Anouk. At his side stood the Saint of Clay; fearsome and fearless, with her long hair braided down her back and a scowl that could shatter stone.

He looked to the skies. ‘At the first breach of the city, our flares will go up.’

The other members of their Order were stationed on every rooftop along Merchant’s Way, watching out for the first sign of Prince Andreas.

Ransom glanced over his shoulder, his nerves settling at the sight of Seraphine standing on top of the Old Chapine, the most celebrated hatmaker in Valterre. Her blonde hair streamed in the wind as she raised her chin to the paling sky.

Val and Caruso flanked her, all three of them clutching crossbows. The Order of Flames had spent their last day of freedom learning how to wield the weapons Madame Mercure’s Cloaks had stolen from the armoury, and though Sera had been more tired than usual after her most recent – and entirely impulsive – saint-making, she had outlasted all of them, practising in the garden until long after the moon rose.

On another rooftop east of the Verne, the Versinis also had their eyes on the sky. While the Shadowsmith loaded his crossbow, Paola and Tobias tunnelled inwards for their weapons. Together, the Saint of Storms and the Saint of Beasts were uniquely placed to bring down the Stargrazers of Urnica. A boon from Oriel. Perhaps to make up for the soul-eater among them.

Further north, Ransom and Anouk stood alone on the bridge, marking their first line of defence.

‘People are watching from their windows,’ said Anouk. ‘They look so frightened, Bastian.’

‘They needn’t be. The prince will try to pick us off first.’

‘I can’t wait to flatten him.’

He traced the steelfire blade in his waistband. ‘Save the killing blow for me.’

As the sun crowned the city in syrupy light, Ransom delved into the dark well of his soul. Shadows streamed, trailing down to the river.

Gulls flocked in from the harbour, shrieking as they filled the sky. The Saint of Beasts was warming up. Clouds brewed across the east bank, sinking low over the water as the Saint of Storms took up her mantle.

To the east, a silver flare went up.

Anouk stiffened. ‘Andreas has breached Hangman’s Pass.’

The Verne trembled as Anouk leaned over it, throwing her hands wide. A boulder rolled up from the river. She dragged it onto the bank. Buildings quaked in the wake of her power. A drainpipe peeled off the the Roaring Lion, while the inn next door surrendered its chimney.

‘Careful.’ Ransom’s gaze flitted back to Seraphine. Oblivious to the pillars trembling under her feet, she looked to the skies, her hand like a visor on her brow.

Still no sign of the Strix.