Page 162 of The Dragon and the Dove

Pinned like a moth before them, Lark made a sorry sight. It might have stirred a drop of empathy in Ransom if his skin wasn’t still cold from cradling Fabian’s corpse, if the memory of Lark casting Seraphine to the Strix at the Appoline wasn’t seared into his brain.

No, there would be no mercy for Lark Delano now. Nor savage words and empty threats. Ransom was done talking. Crossing the last sliver of space between them, he gripped Lark by the scruff of his collar. Lark looked through Ransom and in the gold glaze of his eyes there was a shadow. Not death but its reflection, as though it was both within Lark and looming over him.

They were not saints now but old friends battling on the cusp of destiny: one Death and one Dying.

Saintkiller warmed in Ransom’s grip, the killing blow so easy it almost felt like cheating. Lark was so weak now he could have snapped his neck like a twig and left him to die here in a puddle of refuse.

The Necromancer peeled his lips back, revealing the gaps in his rotten gums. ‘At least you didn’t kill Nadia.’

‘Friends don’t kill friends,’ said Ransom.

Lark canted his head. ‘What do you call this?’

‘Vengeance.’ Shadows swarmed them, blocking out the world… except for the desperate clatter of bootsteps.

Nadia’s scream rang out. ‘Ransom, wait!’

Ransom clenched his dagger as she leaped from the dark. This time, she didn’t put her hands on him. She did something much worse.

Nadia wept.

In all the years he’d known her, and with all those kills under her belt, Ransom had never seen her so undone.

‘I know it’s over,’ she said, looking between them. ‘I just want to say goodbye. Please, just let me say goodbye.’

Ransom hesitated, fighting that growing itch in his soul.

Rip him to shreds.

Take his head!

Caruso wavered. ‘What’s she going to do, scale the wall with that sorry sack of bones? She knows the odds.’ He shrugged. ‘Let her have her goodbye.’

‘Ransom.’ Nadia’s voice broke. ‘Please.’

The Necromancer began to tremble. Even at the end of his life, Lark was too proud to beg. Not that it mattered. This last whisper of kindness – this fleeting reprieve – was for Nadia.

Ransom released his collar and stood back. ‘Three minutes.’

‘And don’t you dare touch that sword,’ warned Caruso.

Nadia was past hearing them. She shoved in front of Ransom and pressed her hands to Lark’s cheeks.

He shuddered at her touch. ‘What is that?’

‘Magic,’ she whispered. ‘Bloom. Life.’

He curled his lip. To Lark it was poison.

She was poison.

Chapter 47 Nadia

Lark was so cold. His skin was ice, the hard line of his jaw a blunted blade. His eyes, the most beautiful green eyes, had lost their lustre. Or perhaps it was the way he was looking at her that felt different. For the first time since they’d met as kids at the gates of the catacombs, Nadia glimpsed revulsion in Lark’s gaze.

He knew what she had become and he hated it. Her magic wounded him, just as the nearness of his power raked claws down her soul.

The old voice hissed, Run.