Page 55 of The Dragon and the Dove

Theo was watching her from across the carriage. ‘You were thrashing in your sleep.’

‘Are you feeling well?’ said Ransom.

There was such a fog in her head, but it had been there for weeks now. A constant she was getting used to. ‘I’m fine. Any sign of the Strix?’

Theo shook his head, returning his gaze to the window. ‘Skies are too cloudy.’

‘Good.’

Ransom kept his eyes on her. She could almost feel him taking in every detail: her mussed hair, the stripe of drool on her chin, the smudges under her eyes.

She shot him an admonishing look. ‘Relax.’

He flopped back in his seat, muttering, ‘A foreign concept.’

Soon, the spires of the Appoline appeared on the dark horizon. Sera’s stomach churned, anticipation curdling into nerves as Ransom nudged his sister awake.

Theo flicked Val on the nose.

They groaned in unison.

Time to get dressed.

Ransom couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Sera. Not since she’d emerged from the abandoned cattle shed a half-mile from the Appoline, wearing a floor-length gown of gossamer silver. Her white bodice cinched tightly at her waist, skirts tumbling to the ground in a spill of satin. Her heart-shaped neckline was pinned with white feathers that rose to a high collar around her neck. Pearlescent combs swept her blonde hair back from her face, leaving behind just a few artful waves, and her eyes were rimmed with silver glitter to better blend with her mask: a slender canvas of snowy feathers.

Tonight, she was a dove.

A fitting symbol.

A taunt to the Silver-tongue Saint.

‘Seraphine.’ It seemed to be the only word Ransom was capable of conjuring. He shook his head, languidly dragging his gaze over every part of her. ‘I must have strayed into a dream.’

She was experiencing a similar out-of-body sensation. That, and the urge to drag him behind the cattle shed for a heated moment alone.

He was a study of menacing beauty, clad in a suit the same ink black of his tousled hair, with lapels adorned with onyx gemstones. His shirt collar was crisp and low, pinned together with a silver talon that echoed the lining of his waistcoat. His sharp-toed boots were high and black, made from the same leather as his eye mask.

The shadows that clung to him were wings of his own making.

Not a dove but a raven.

The reckoning that would come before peace.

In her sleek indigo gown and metallic mask of green-and-blue feathers, Anouk looked like a beautiful preening peacock.

Val, meanwhile, had chosen a slinky black dress that sparkled as she moved. And a matching mask pinned with fine silver whiskers. An alley cat on the prowl.

Theo, who was the last to emerge, wore a suit of deep green satin, and a serpentine mask wrought with shimmering scales.

Ransom huffed a laugh. ‘Suits you, Versini.’

‘Says the angel of death.’

‘Raven, actually.’

‘Oh, you’re raving, all right.’

‘Everyone, shut up and compliment me,’ said Val, giving an elaborate twirl. ‘I made the whiskers myself.’