Chapter 5 Seraphine
Down in the cloakroom, the Versini boys were so engrossed in their work, they didn’t hear Sera’s impatient knocking, or the door slamming shut behind her.
‘Uh, hi?’ she called out.
‘Don’t bother,’ Val said from the windowsill, where she was reclining like a lazy cat. ‘They’re in their own world. I’ve been firing paper darts at them for the last hour.’
‘So that’s why you missed breakfast.’
Val shrugged. ‘I went looking for you. Found Pip all alone in your bed, so I took him instead. Honestly? Better company.’
Fair. ‘I was on the roof.’
‘Normal behaviour.’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Does your weird excursion have anything to do with the unhinged amount of gargoyles I counted on my morning walkabout?’
‘Somewhat.’ Sera wriggled onto the windowsill beside her. ‘How’s it going down here?’
‘Hard to tell…’
Twin silvered heads bowed over the workbench, which was scattered with jars of Lightfire. The rest of the gold dust sat in crates along the wall.
‘Steady. That’s too much gunpowder,’ Theo snapped at Tobias. ‘Are you trying to make this whole place explode?’
‘You said heavy-handed pour.’
‘I didn’t say dump the whole jar in!’
‘Quit sniping at me,’ grumbled Tobias, reaching for a spoon. ‘I’m trying to keep up.’
‘Not metal!’ Theo knocked his hand away. ‘You’ll ruin the compound.’
Tobias’s eyes flashed. ‘Do that again and you’re getting an anvil to the face! I don’t care if you’re older than me!’
‘My money’s on mini Versini,’ said Val under her breath.
Theo stood back from the bench. His grey shirt was soaked through with sweat, and his hair was unusually unkempt, messy silver strands plastered to his temples. When he lifted his shirt to wipe his face, Sera glimpsed the golden sheen of her handprint on his chest.
The mark of a saint.
And yet…
‘Hey,’ she said again.
Theo looked up, at last noticing his audience. Dropping his shirt, he raked his hair back from his face. ‘When did you two sneak in?’
‘A thousand years ago,’ said Val. ‘We could have blown this place up and you wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘How’s it going?’ asked Sera.
‘Good. I think.’ His smile was tight. Beckoning them over, he turned his notebook around to reveal sketches of weaponry. She jabbed a drawing of a fancy-looking longsword. ‘That looks familiar.’
‘It’s based on the sword of Saint Cadel,’ said Theo. ‘It’s in the archives at the Appoline. Cadel donated his weaponry and armour to the university after his death.’
Sera recalled reading that in one of Mama’s history books.
Cadel, Saint of Warriors, had died on the battlefield in a bloody war between Valterre and Urnica. It had taken an entire army to bring him down, but even a thousand years couldn’t diminish the tales of his prowess in battle.
‘All this talk of saints and weapons got me thinking about Fatebringer,’ said Theo. ‘Cadel’s sword is almost as legendary as him. It cut down every enemy he ever faced.’
‘Until he lost it during his final battle,’ Tobias chipped in. ‘The King of Urnica only agreed to return it as part of the peace treaty that followed. And then the stupid Appoline decided to hog it all to themselves.’
‘I don’t think it was the sword that was special,’ said Theo.
‘By all accounts, it was made of bronze and steel. Nothing divine in its making. It was the blood of its wielder that made it powerful. It worked as a conduit for the Lightfire in Cadel’s blood.
His gift, as Saint of Warriors, must have forged the connection. ’
‘So the fancy sword is useless?’ said Val.
Theo smirked. ‘It’s inspiration.’
A familiar spark of invention had flickered in his eyes.
‘A saint is difficult to kill because their blood has healing powers. The Lightfire in their veins guards them from interventions to their own fate.’ He reached for a jar of gold dust, holding it up to the light.
Magic moved in Sera’s chest, as if reaching towards an old friend.
‘Which is why I think the quickest way to kill a saint must involve Lightfire too.’
‘We’ve tried coating our blades in Lightfire, but they won’t hold,’ said Tobias.
‘Which means we’ll have to forge our own blade,’ said Theo. ‘Heat the steel until molten and then mix in a compound of Lightfire, before hammering it into shape. Magic must reside in the heart of the weapon.’
‘You’re going to need a hell of a lot of heat,’ said Val, looking around the room. ‘Or better yet, an entire forge.’
‘I know a blacksmith at the south end of the Hollows,’ said Theo.
‘Of course you do,’ said Sera. Her travelled to the remaining jars of Lightfire. ‘What about the rest of it?’
‘We’re making protections for the Orders under this roof.
’ A sobering yet necessary endeavour. Sera had worn Lightfire when she first came to House Armand, in a necklace, gifted to her from Mama.
After the Aurore fell, Theo had made more of it for the others, small talismans of protection against the Daggers’ Shade, and later the compulsions of the Silver-tongue Saint.
‘We don’t have enough to protect the city. But we’re working on a dilutant.’
Absently, he rubbed his chest and Sera knew he was thinking of her handprint there, the magic that continued to elude him.
He turned to sharpen his pencil. She stepped in close, dropping her voice so the others wouldn’t overhear. ‘Do you want to try again? I’m ready to give it another go.’
‘With me?’ He gave her an odd look.
It hadn’t been her intention in coming down here, but suddenly it didn’t seem like the worst idea to finish what they’d started four nights ago.
‘Maybe the catacombs were the wrong setting. All those shadows and rotting skulls. Decades of Shade practically seeping through the walls. No wonder it didn’t work the way it’s supposed to.
’ She swallowed, feeling strangely nervous.
‘But House Armand is different. It’s familiar and warm and—’
‘Sera, no.’
She blinked.
‘Once was enough.’
‘But it hasn’t worked yet.’
‘Exactly.’
It felt like a barb. She was offering him a second chance at power, and he was throwing it back in her face.
‘But you wanted it so badly before.’
‘It doesn’t want me.’
‘That’s not how it works, Theo.’
‘Leave it.’ His tone was clipped, crisp and so unlike him that Sera took a step back. ‘We tried. We failed.’ He waved the idea away. ‘Just… try someone else.’
Tobias slid into the space between them. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear…’
Val yanked him back. ‘No a chance, little Versini. I’m next.’
Val’s eagerness surprised Sera. Ever since they’d discovered the truth about her power, Val had never once seemed to covet it for herself. After what had happened to Bibi in the king’s ballroom, Val was afraid of magic. All magic.
‘Are you sure?’ said Sera.
‘Does it matter?’ Val replied. ‘You’re going to make someone else, aren’t you?
You have to. That’s your divine calling.
And since the rest of you are all doing something—’ She gestured to the scattered knives, the sketches on the bench, the glimmering jars of Lightfire.
Then further afield to where Anouk was probably still stacking and unstacking stones in the back garden.
‘I might as well try and make myself useful. So I volunteer for sainthood. Or failure. Whatever my lot is.’
‘But you don’t trust magic,’ said Sera carefully.
It was Theo who answered. ‘That’s probably as good a reason as any to give it to her.’
Val didn’t deny Sera’s claim. And if she was frightened, she didn’t show it. Instead, she flicked her curls, her brown eyes turning fierce. ‘Andreas murdered my oldest friend in front of me. If he’s coming for us, I want to be ready to rip that snake’s tongue from his mouth and shove it up his—’
‘I’m convinced,’ said Sera.
‘This is really unfair,’ groused Tobias. ‘I said it first.’
Val stuck out of her tongue. Then she grabbed Sera’s hand, pressing a measure of confidence into her palm. ‘Don’t worry. This time, you’re going to nail it.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Because I am utterly perfect in every way.’
With a rush of guilt, Sera looked to Theo but the Shadowsmith had turned away, busying himself at his workbench as though the conversation had nothing to do with him at all.