Page 128 of The Dragon and the Dove

It was exactly like Andreas, and yet not at all what they were expecting.

There was no sign of the Silver-tongue.

Just his puppets dancing merrily along.

Ransom’s gaze roved across the rooftops. Their flares forgotten, their fellow Order members had moved to the edges of their buildings to get a closer look at the spectacle. As the parade wound its way down Merchant’s Way, townsfolk gathered to watch, emerging from the lanes and side alleys that led to the inner quarters of the city, while merchants stuck their heads out of shops and taverns, craning to see where the music was coming from.

Onwards the parade danced, moving ever closer to the Bridge of Tears. Not a soul there cared about the storm gathering overhead, the golems lumbering along the bank or the menacing black dragon straining to kill them all.

Soon, the streets were lined with onlookers.

They began to dance too.

Ransom watched with mounting unease. Fed by his fear, his magic grew restless. The dragon opened its wings, stirring a dark wind.

The music stopped. The minstrels lowered their pipes and fiddles, and the parade drew to a jarring halt.

A lone guitar strummed.

The sound reverberated in the sudden quiet. The bannermen parted. From within, a figure emerged, his face hidden by the brim of a wide black hat stuck with a white feather.

Even the wind stilled, as if in curiosity.

The musician sang, the voice striking Ransom like a slap.

Lark.

The Saint of Corpses was dressed like a travelling minstrel, the brim of his hat expertly concealing his skeletal face. His shirt hung loose to hide the thinness of his arms, his belted trousers tucked into worn brown boots. His voice, as smooth as honey and as familiar to Ransom as his own, echoed through the streets as he ambled onwards, strumming that beat-up guitar.

And the song he’d chosen, those soaring words … called for peace.

Panic sparked, fast and violent. They had been outwitted. Their power was useless here. Their plan was useless.

The parade was a distraction. A cover for something else.

But what?

The bridge shook as Anouk stumbled down from the railings, her gold eyes wrought with horror. ‘What do we do now?’

Ransom barely heard her.

His shadows reeled, death rising at his back as fear gnawed through his control. It snapped and his magic erupted in all its dreadful glory.

The dragon took flight.

Fantome trembled in its shadow.

Chapter 33 Seraphine

When the lone guitarist strummed his first note, Sera’s stomach turned. On the edge of the Old Chapine, she sank into a crouch, straining to see beneath his hat.

Val stood behind her, her crossbow hanging limply by her side. ‘Shit.’

‘Holy fucking Delano, that sonorous bastard,’ said Caruso, grabbing the back of Val’s coat. ‘I told you not to stand so close to the edge.’

She shook him off. ‘Why is the Saint of Corpses serenading our city?’

Worse than that. Lark was singing Saint Celiana’s song of peace.