Chapter 10 Seraphine #2
It had occurred to Sera over dinner as they passed Saintkiller between them, marvelling at the gleaming steelfire, that from here on out they couldn’t skulk about in the shadows.
They were saints, and she a Maker of them. They were bound by their magic – and destiny – to serve the people of Valterre.
To protect the kingdom from violent grasping hands.
It was time to stand up and be counted. To be known.
Destiny demanded it of them.
You are our last hope, Saint-maker.
The scholar’s words had been echoing in her head all evening, along with the anguish on his face as he’d died choking on his own blood.
The kingdom was rudderless, their last champion hanging from the clock tower at the Appoline.
Now, more than ever, Valterre needed a leader.
It needed hope.
Through the Order of Flames, Sera wanted to offer that to them. To pledge her allegiance to the kingdom and make a promise that not all saints of this new age were rotten.
Otherwise, how would they know who to trust?
Ransom lowered himself onto the bed beside her. Slow, careful, like he was trying not to disturb her.
He leaned in, warm breath on the shell of her ear as he read over her shoulder.
Pip shoved between them, clambering into his lap.
He chuckled, scratching the sweet spot behind his ears. ‘Knew I’d grow on you eventually.’
‘You have that effect on people,’ she murmured.
‘Is that right?’ He hummed, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Heat crawled up her neck. ‘Let me concentrate,’ she pleaded.
‘As you like, spitfire.’
Sera finished her letter under great duress and read it aloud. With his head on her shoulder, they pored over it together, tweaking it until it sounded just right.
Night fell, and the world went quiet.
After wrangling a treat for himself, Pip took off on his evening walkabout. They were alone then. Sera tucked the letter into her bedside table. When she turned back, Ransom had that look on his face again.
A mix of fear and regret.
‘I almost lost you today, Sera.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘Fate has other plans for us.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because you’re here. I’m here.’ She hooked her finger around his. ‘Against all odds.’
He chewed on his lip, disquieted.
‘You’re anxious.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about it. How it could have gone.’
She didn’t want to think about it any more.
Tugging at the collar of his shirt, she pulled him close, ghosting her lips against his. ‘Come to bed, Ransom.’
His shoulders went slack as he kissed her, soft and slow, like he was savouring the taste of her.
The brush of his tongue was tentative at first, a question. An ache. She answered it with her own, tugging him down onto the bed.
He slid his hands under her chemise, casting a trail of goosebumps.
She palmed him through his trousers, found him straining for her.
He groaned into her mouth. ‘My Seraphine.’
She was a lit flame, every nerve ending inside her firing at his touch.
He angled his knee between her legs, just right, and trailed his lips down her neck. Nipped at the soft skin of her shoulder.
She slid her hands into his hair, begging for more.
The world moved in a blur as they undressed each other, desire making them frenzied. Soon, there was nothing but skin between them, breath gasping, bodies slick as they came together on her bed.
She tipped her head back, parting her legs as he knelt over her.
His magic glowed under his skin, responding to her nearness.
Her need.
Shadows pooled, spanning the walls like the wings of an avenging angel. The dark made the gold of his eyes shine even brighter, made her feel like she was the only thing in his world.
‘I’m here,’ she whispered, bowing up to meet his lips. ‘I’m yours.’
‘Always.’ He claimed her mouth, stole her breath. ‘Always.’
Her own magic unspooled, that force inside her rejoicing as he moved on top of her.
Fisting his hair, she listened to him murmur her name in her ear, the rightness of their joining like a song in her heart.
It was heady, heaven. Soft and slow at first, then deeper, faster, both urgent, groaning. Desire tangled with magic, and love bloomed, as hot and bright as the Lightfire in their blood.
And as he dropped his hand, bringing her towards an earth-shattering crescendo, she cried out, ‘Bastian!’
It was so perfect that Seraphine forgot every nagging anxiety, the terror of today falling away until she collapsed, boneless, in the warm cradle of his arms.
Afterwards, they lay together in contented silence, his breath feathering her collarbone as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.
Spent.
Sleeping, for the first time in days.
She held him there, willing the moment to last, but when midnight came, he stirred against her, as though the beast in his soul was keening to be let out.
Sitting up in bed, she raked the tangled hair from her face and watched him get dressed in a slant of moonlight.
She studied the hard lines of his shoulders as he put on his trousers, the swell of his biceps as he fastened his shirt, the black whorls across his smooth olive skin disappearing with each button.
Sensing her watching him, he looked over his shoulder. A smile softened the edge of his jaw. ‘You look like a painting, Seraphine.’
‘So paint me.’
‘Some day.’
The darkness gathered at his ankles and crawled up his legs, until he wore it like a second skin. He paused in the doorway, like he was allowing himself one last look at her.
She flung a pillow at him. ‘I told you, I’m not going anywhere.’
‘You’d better not,’ he said, teeth winking in the dark. ‘I still have to take you to the ball.’
‘When you see me in my dress, you’ll fall to your knees, Dagger.’
‘Already there, spitfire.’
Sera was blushing long after the door closed.
Later still, when the rest of House Armand was asleep, Sera crept downstairs to the cloakroom. The door was ajar. When she slipped inside, Theo was sitting on the window ledge. His forehead was pressed against the glass, his eyes on the faraway moon.
It might have been peaceful, were it not for the desperate look on his face. Sera had never seen worry like that.
‘Hey.’
Their eyes. Tonight, she stared a little harder, looking for threads of gold. Some sign of sainthood.
Seeming to notice her scrutiny, he slid off the windowsill and busied himself at his workbench. ‘What are you doing here so late?’
‘I need a favour.’
Retrieving two empty mugs, he set them down between them. ‘Please don’t say more steelfire. If I have to hammer any more blades tonight, my shoulder will fall off.’
‘Actually, I need a flag.’
He frowned as he went to fill the kettle. ‘What kind of flag?’
She spoke to his back. ‘Something that sings of peace. Of hope.’
While he made tea, she told him about her letter, and what she intended to do with it. A flag would be something for the people of Valterre to rally behind.
With tea and biscuits to bolster them, they went to work, their heads bent over Theo’s journal as he sketched a design. Then they sat side by side, cutting and sewing, until the sun came up.
As the sky cleared over the streets of Fantome, and the morning bells rang out across the city, Sera and the Order of Flames left the Hollows and travelled north along Merchant’s Way. There were three main entry points to the city, not including the sea lapping against the south harbour.
To the west, beyond the village of Everell, stood Wayfarer’s Gate.
And in the east, Hangman’s Pass guarded the outgoing roads.
Traveller’s Arch, a towering pale-stone structure, stood at the crown of the city in the north, marking its busiest entryway.
Beyond it, arched the outgoing stone bridge and the long road to the plains, a route travelled by thousands of merchant traders and farmers every single day.
The construction of the arch had been overseen by the saints over a thousand years ago, and since then had always flown the royal flag of Valterre.
Until the Silver-tongue Saint and his followers had set it alight.
It was here that Sera and her friends gathered. The grand arch stood upon a mosaic in the shape of a sprawling twelve-point star: a tribute to the saints of old, the twelve custodians of the city of Fantome and the sum of what they represented:
Light.
Hope.