Page 166 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to be without her,’ he confessed. ‘The thought of it… it makes me feral.’

‘You’re not a monster, Bastian.’

Not yet.

But he was close.

Too close.

‘We’re meant to protect this city. We’re meant to save this kingdom.’

But why would I want to? hissed the bitterness inside him. What good is a new kingdom if she has to die for it?

Ransom turned from the edge before he did something he’d regret. ‘I’m losing my grip on myself, Anouk. The dark in me, it’s vicious. Impetuous. Angry. More and more, I feel that way too. Like I want to tear down the world just to keep it from hurting the people I love. I don’t know how to change that. I don’t know if I can.’

Anouk drifted with him, neatly sidestepping the stream of shadows that followed. ‘I understand. When I get into a temper, I get this itch to—’

‘Level a building?’

‘Sometimes.’ A sheepish smile. ‘But I know that’s not all I’m good for. I’m a Saint of Clay. I can tear things down, but I can rebuild things too. I didn’t know that at first. When I came to after the storm, everyone at the priory was terrified of me. Mother Madeline called me an abomination. But I knew the force inside me was good. That there must be more to it – more to me – than just… mindless destruction. All magic is a gift. You just have to find the goodness in it.’

‘She is the goodness in me, Anouk.’

‘Like hell she is.’ Their mother’s frown returned to her lips. ‘You can sulk and brood all you like, rail against Oriel and curse every single saint of old, but do not lie to me, brother. Do not lie to yourself.’

His own anger flared. Jaw twitching. Fingers curling. Shadows spilling.

Kill, kill, kill.

Darkness spilled over the roof, creeping towards that baying crowd.

Craft the dragon.

Set it loose.

‘Do you remember when we were little?’ Anouk’s voice pulled him back to her. ‘How we used to hide under your bed when Papa came home steaming drunk from the tavern? You made up fairy tales to try and distract me.’ Her smile was small, a secret shared between just the two of them. ‘You created worlds far kinder than our own.’

‘I remember.’

His shadows stilled.

‘You’d grab the oil lamp and a journal from your bedside table and sketch out all kinds of silly creatures until we were both snorting with laughter.’

Slowly, the darkness spooled, crawling back to his feet like a chastened dog.

‘You were always good at that, finding colour in the grey. Casting light in the dark.’

His heart was a boulder in his chest. ‘What’s your point?’

‘You’re an artist, Bastian. In your soul, that’s what you’ve always been. Your beasts … your dragon is … impressively terrifying.’ Her smile was crooked. ‘But what about hope? What about beauty?’

‘There’s no beauty in war, sister.’

There’s no beauty in me.

She reached for his hand. It was so small, so soft, inside his own. ‘We have known war all our lives, Bastian. It lived under our roof for many years. It wore our father’s face, echoed in our mother’s cries. You were the one who protected me from it.’

His shoulders slackened, the beast inside him quietening at her words.