Page 57 of The Dragon and the Dove

Seraphine retched, clapping a hand over her mouth, while Val cycled through a litany of swear words. The carriage trembled from the awakening of Anouk’s rage, while Versini went dangerously silent.

The implication was as unsettling as the bodies hanging over them. Andreas Mondragon Rayere was burning the books of the Appoline, and hanging their keepers by their necks.

He was destroying the very history of the kingdom so he could rewrite his own.

‘He’s not content with addling the minds of his people. He has to screw with our heritage too,’ hissed Seraphine.

The carriage shook.

‘No,’ groaned Anouk, squeezing her eyes shut.

The gravel of the driveway split as his sister’s magic burst from her like a sneeze.

‘Easy,’ said Ransom, grabbing her hand. ‘Breathe, Anouk. Remember what we practised.’

She inhaled through her teeth. ‘It’s so awful. I hate him. I hate him. I hate—’

The carriage jolted. The coachmen cried out.

‘Easy, stone-slinger!’ said Val, grabbing her by the shoulders. ‘If you put a hole in the driveway, we’ll never get inside.’

‘I’m t-t-trying,’ Anouk eked out.

The shaking was getting worse.

‘Let’s get out,’ said Sera, urgently gathering the skirts of her dress.

‘Don’t look up,’ warned Ransom.

They slipped out of the carriage and into the night’s shadows. They would have to tread carefully now. No more accidental outbursts or golden gleaming eyes to give them away.

Breathing steadily through her nose, Anouk did her best to ignore the bodies as they passed under the trees.

Once through the gates, the pyres were harder to ignore, the fires banking both sides of the outer courtyard. All those burning books, all that wasted knowledge … This was murder of a darker, more insidious kind. And yet, they were the only ones who seemed appalled by it.

Andreas’s guests glided through the gates in their finery, smiling and chatting among themselves, as though the fires were simply there to gild their costumes.

‘This is strange,’ said Seraphine uneasily.

‘That man over there is warming his hands on a stack of encyclopaedias,’ fumed Val. ‘I should shove him into the flames.’

‘Good thing you’re not the Stone Maiden,’ muttered Anouk, clenching her jaw so tightly she was beginning to sweat.

Gone were the revered gatekeepers of the Appoline, who once carried donated weapons from Saint Cadel himself. They had been replaced by stiff-backed Rose-bearers, who marched up and down like wind-up toys.

It was impossible to know which revellers had come from Urnica. Costumed as they were for the ball, even the keenest of eyes would struggle to divine the faces in their midst. As they swept through the courtyard, Ransom spotted a myriad of costumes, including jackals and foxes and stags and bears.

The halls of the Appoline thrummed with merry music, the air thick with the scent of mead. They discarded their cloaks in a dark corner before following the crowd to the library.

His heart thundered as Seraphine reached for his hand. She was always the most beautiful creature in any room, but tonight she was a vision. The kind he used to dream about in the catacombs.

Despite his own finery, he felt like a devil beside her. Unworthy of the warmth that filled her eyes as she turned to look up at him. ‘You seem pained, Ransom.’

He caressed a feather at the edge of her mask. ‘Why is it that whenever I look at you, I am always acutely aware of the weight of my heart?’

She delighted him by laughing. ‘Why does imminent murder always bring out the poet in you?’

‘I suppose it makes me philosophical.’