Page 179 of The Dragon and the Dove

He stared right back.

Blood roared in his ears as he tried to make sense of what the hell was happening, but Versini was speaking to him, his voice low and urgent. ‘We can’t kill him,’ he said, as the prince jerked in his grip. ‘Not before he’s unmade.’ He angled his chin towards Seraphine. ‘She has to do it.’

Shock washed over Ransom, the world falling away until there remained only one unassailable truth: Versini knew. He had known all along the threat that Andreas posed, even in death. He knew his compulsions would outlast him if he died a saint. And he cared.

Versini cared, and he had brought Andreas here, to her, to end it the right way.

Swallowing the shards of his own broken pride, Ransom said, ‘How long can you keep him like that?’

‘Not long.’

Ransom was already running. He lunged at the prince. They hit the ground together, and he struck, fast and savage, driving his sword into the slim gap under his breastplate. Skewering him like a stuck pig.

Andreas arched off the cobbles, screaming. Ransom shoved his fist into his mouth, choking his next command. Versini left him to his vengeance, moving towards Seraphine.

Ransom’s hackles rose as the soul-eater disappeared from his sight, but his hands were full of Andreas and that blade in his side wasn’t working fast enough.

Patience, he reminded himself.

He must first be unmade.

Then he would rip the bastard apart. He withdrew the sword with a sucking pop.

Andreas fought back, kicking and swinging as Ransom gripped him by his hair, pummelling the prince with a fury that loosened the knot in his chest. When a shadow moved overhead, Ransom paid it no heed, thinking it was his own dragon.

Until it roared.

He snapped his chin up as Darius Mondragon dived over the northern hills. His mount skimmed the bridge, knocking soldiers into the river as it charged headlong towards Ransom. The Strix opened its metal beak, releasing a fetid wind that pushed the hair back from his face.

Mondragon roared as the Strix slammed into Ransom.

By the time his dragon fell from the sky in tatters, Ransom was already out cold.

Chapter 54 Caruso

Caruso Dantes had one hell of a headache. After being shucked like a piece of corn by that bastard soul-eater, he lay, discarded in a pile of feathers, trying to remember how to use his hands.

So I can take that bastard’s shiny silver head and lob it into the Verne.

He had been winning too. Merrily beating that smarmy prick to within an inch of his life until the soul-eater managed to get his thieving hands on his neck. His magic had stormed Caruso like a tornado, unseating every inch of his power.

Apart from the obvious onslaught of pain, it was embarrassing.

As Ransom leaped on Andreas like a wild animal and Versini ran to Seraphine, Caruso tapped impatient fingers on the cobbles, willing his strength to return. He hated to miss out on a fight.

So too, it seemed, did his magic. It returned with a vengeance, the heat of his power like a hot poker to his spine. He arched to his feet and swiped up Fatebringer just as a Strix came like a bullet from the north and ploughed right through Ransom.

The Saint of Nightmares hit the arch like a sack of grain and crumpled to the ground.

All hell.

When the dust cleared, Caruso was still standing. The murder bird was still alive, if a little dazed. Its rider, Darius Mondragon, rose to his haunches to assess the damage.

Still pissed about his run-in with Versini, Caruso lifted his sword and levelled it at the Urnican prince. ‘You’ll do.’

Mondragon made a worthy foe. Strong as an ox and tall as two, with a whip and a sword and a belt full of throwing knives. But Caruso himself was a throwing blade honed by Oriel. A creature who moved at twice the speed of an ordinary warrior, and still found the time to enjoy it.

He tackled Mondragon in his saddle, binding his arms with his own riding whip before he ever landed a blow.