Page 98 of The Dragon and the Dove

He shrugged. ‘Lark told me it was most valuable thing in the Appoline.’

‘So, what, you just stole it for me?’

‘You’re a thief. I figured you’d appreciate the effort.’

Saints help her, she did. ‘You really are mad.’

‘You always liked that about me.’

‘Shut up. I don’t like you at all.’

His smirk was feral. ‘If you say so, kitten.’

What an unholy pain in the ass. But an asset, too. He was right about that. And he had that menacing way about him, the kind that would do well in war. At the very least, she should let him plead his case to the others.

‘Keep your sword. We operate a finders keepers policy at House Armand.’ And besides, it was more than half her size. She’d probably tip over just from lifting it. Indulging herself with one last withering glare, she turned on her heel and marched back towards the house.

When he didn’t follow her, she stopped on the front steps and said, with mounting impatience, ‘Well? Are you coming or not, Wolfy?’

He bolted after her, that manic grin returning full force.

When the door shut behind them, she faced him once more. ‘One more truth before I find you a room for the night.’

He gripped his sword, waiting.

‘Did you see us hiding in the quad? When the Strix came for us?’

He had stormed through the dark to send it away, and she had been wondering about it ever since.

Caruso blinked, surprised by the question. ‘Of course I saw you,’ he said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Truth.

‘Right. Good.’ She turned from him and plodded up the stairs.

‘I always see you,’ he said, quieter, following her.

Truth.

She walked on, relieved he couldn’t see the smile breaking on her lips.

Chapter 24 Seraphine

Despite her attempts to evade sleep, it found Sera an hour before dawn. Oriel was waiting for her there, the saint’s face lined with worry.

There is a wrongness in fate’s tapestry, she said, urgently. You must unravel it.

We’re trying. Didn’t she know? Couldn’t she see?

Oriel’s frown only deepened. It must be you.

I’m trapped. Sera’s voice was small, lost in the strange expanse of light. Help me, Oriel.

Look to the darkness. The light winked and suddenly the saint was a hair’s breadth from her face, those wide brown eyes full of constellations. Futures of Valterre yet to be unfurled: the great and the terrible. The sky is changing, Maker. Be ready.

The saint misted but the light remained, smudged now by a distant shadow. Sera drew closer, or perhaps it was the shadow that moved. She recognized the sweep of its hair, the hard edge of its jaw.

Ransom?