Page 160 of The Dragon and the Dove

Fight on, and I will kill one hundred townspeople for every day that you delay.

Don’t believe me? Watch the Verne.

The choice is yours, Maker.

Andreas Mondragon Rayere

Tossing the note to her bed, Sera laid her head against the window and listened to the furious heave of her own breath. Outside, Ransom’s dragon flew again, wide and vast and as black as night, wrenching screams from every pocket of the Hollows.

Chapter 46 Ransom

Lark was here. Ransom could hear the echo of his laughter in the streets, taste the decay of his magic on the wind. This time, he would not get away. Ransom was going to rip him apart bone by bone.

Shadows cascaded across the cracked cobbles as he stalked into the heart of the Hollows, scanning every rooftop, every dark alley.

Dimly, he was aware of Caruso beside him.

He was swinging Fatebringer, the blade whistling as he struck down imaginary enemies.

‘When we find him, leave him to me,’ said Ransom.

‘I’m the one with the shiny sword.’

‘You can gut him when I’m done.’

The hurried click-clack of boot heels announced Nadia’s pursuit. Tossing a warning glare over his shoulder, Ransom said, ‘Don’t get in my way, Nadia.’

‘I’ll do whatever the hell I feel like,’ she snapped back. Stress pulled at the lines around her mouth, filled those steely brown eyes with dread.

‘You shouldn’t even be here,’ said Caruso. ‘You’re not going to enjoy it.’

But Nadia kept pace with them anyway. It almost felt like old times, the three Daggers stalking through the city with murder on their minds.

Ransom sensed the corpses before he saw them. As they neared the graveyard in the south of the Hollows, a new scent gathered on the wind – of rot and ash and wet dirt. Behind him, Nadia bent double, vomiting into a grate.

It harmed her, Lark’s magic. The power of death railed against her own: of life and bloom and springtime.

Ransom’s own magic stirred, shadows darting like adders under his skin. The beast in him wanted to be let out. To maim and kill and destroy. To make corpses of its own.

Skeletons loped onto the street, at least a dozen or so sprang from their decades-old graves, sent like soldiers to be killed again. They came for Ransom as rags and bones. He fought the first three off with ease, only for more to gather. Caruso dispatched them with glee, swinging his sword and scattering bones across the deserted street.

Unable to stomach their nearness, Nadia collapsed on a kerb to retch.

Sweat dripped down Ransom’s face as he fought his way through Lark’s macabre distraction, eager to get his hands on the Necromancer. But there was no sign of the Saint of Corpses in the graveyard or the surrounding trees.

Nadia trailed after them as they returned to the street, her arms pulled tight around her middle like she was trying to hold herself together. The minutes dragged, and still they were no closer to Lark.

‘Where’s that wily bastard hiding?’ snarled Caruso. ‘Should we start ransacking the taverns?’

Attuned to Nadia’s slowing footsteps, Ransom stopped walking. He turned on her with narrowing eyes.

Her answering glare was bright gold. ‘What?’

‘Where is he?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Bloom and decay are two sides of the same coin.’ Her magic was awake but there were no flowers in their midst. No trees or plants or crawling ivy. ‘I know you can feel him. His magic rankles yours.’