Page 56 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘They’re so sharp,’ said Anouk, stroking one.

‘Which reminds me.’ Theo shook out his satchel, and they swooped on the spoils, arming themselves with steelfire. As they donned their cloaks and returned to the carriage, hope took wing in Sera’s chest.

Ransom held out his hand. ‘Ready, spitfire?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said, taking it.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. ‘Let’s give him hell.’

The Silver-tongue’s banners greeted them as they turned onto the grand driveway of the Appoline University.

At the official guard post, the prince’s golden rose flew alongside the black-and-red star of Urnica.

The banner underneath read:

Welcome, Neighbours, to the Ball of Saints

Drink, and be merry!

Curling her lip, Val said, ‘Oh, we’ll be merry – just as soon as you’re choking on your own blood.’

Anouk pouted. ‘I hope I don’t get any on my dress. I’ve never owned anything so fine.’

‘Hoods up,’ Theo reminded them as they approached the guard post. It was thronged with Rose-bearers. Ransom’s shadows moved like smoke, and he absorbed them just in time to evade the passing inspection.

Swords drawn and eyes glazed, the prince’s soldiers rounded the carriage, peering inside the windows. The coachmen played their part well, posing as delivery men of a case of fine brandy for the prince’s esteemed guests.

After a tense moment, the gates groaned open and they continued along the last quarter-mile of the tree-lined drive. String music wafted through the night air, joining with the excited chatter of Urnican delegates come to dance with the Silver-tongue Saint.

In the falling dark, the Appoline looked like a moody oil painting, the bonfires in the outer courtyard casting a warm glow across the ivy-clad stonework.

As they approached the final pair of black gates, the oak trees leaned over them as though they were conducting their own inspection. Sera sniffed. There was smoke on the wind.

Ransom stiffened in his seat. ‘What are they burning?’

Val stuck her head out of the window, craning to see through the iron bars. ‘Books,’ she said, drawing back. ‘He’s made pyres of all the books!’

Anouk’s horrified gasp drew Sera’s attention to the other window. Knuckles white along the ledge, she was staring up at a raft of dark blue flags, hanging from the overhead branches.

Only—

No. Sera’s stomach turned.

Not flags.

Robes.

The scholars of the Appoline were hanging from the trees.

Chapter 12 Ransom

The dead scholars didn’t surprise Ransom.

After a decade of assassinations, he had seen – and caused – more than his fair share of dead bodies. Waded through endless pools of blood, washed pitchers of it off his hands. Downed hundreds of vials of Shade, and after, had come home to sleep amidst skeletons.

Murder never rattled him.

But occasionally it found a novel way to enrage him.