Chapter 41 Theo
From the formal dining room in the east wing of Bellevue Castle, Theo could see for miles. Beyond the forest, farmland seemed to go on for ever, spilling into a patchwork of cornfields and vineyards that kissed the horizon.
‘Surely the view does not compare with your present company,’ drawled Andreas.
Pulling his gaze from the window, Theo looked down the dining table at the Silver-tongue Saint. ‘I’m afraid you are decidedly less bucolic.’
They were halfway through dinner: a generous spread of root vegetables, lamb shank, whipped potatoes and wine gravy.
‘Are you looking for my Strix?’ Andreas effortlessly unpicked the root of his curiosity. ‘They do not roam the fields like common hens.’
Theo stabbed a carrot with his fork. ‘Good to know.’
‘I trust your journey here was pleasant,’ said Andreas, taking a bite of his lamb. The fleshy meat spilled red juice over his lips.
Theo’s stomach turned. ‘Your soldiers were kind to escort me in one of their carriages.’ One had been waiting for him by the east gate of the city.
The prince’s serpentine smile gleamed in the candlelight. ‘I knew you’d come to me. I told Lark to watch out for you.’
‘I think it pained him not to kill me on sight.’
‘He does have a nasty habit of lashing out.’ Andreas pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid all that rot has got into his brain.’
Theo couldn’t bring himself to care. He watched the prince devour his lamb, his magic stirring all the while. Now that he had wheedled his way into Andreas’s company again, the reason for his presence here was top of mind.
Rip out his soul.
Drink it down.
Andreas watched him like he knew it, smirking as he sucked the juice off his lamb bone. Between them, twelve stiff-backed Rose-bearers watched over their meal with rigid impassivity. Poised to strike, no doubt, if he tried anything… well, murderous.
‘Did you enjoy the parade?’
‘I’ve seen better.’
‘I’m sure you’ve danced to your fair share of peasant reels up in those mountains you call home.’
‘We peasants do love to dance,’ he said, evenly. ‘Even when we’re not compelled.’
Andreas leaned back in his chair. ‘You must admit it was a clever ploy.’
‘It certainly caught me by surprise.’
As well as Tobias, who had taken an assassin’s arrow to his back. The memory rankled.
‘It’s no great skill to trick a dolt. But to catch a Versini unawares. Well…’ Andreas tipped his goblet. ‘That pleases me.’
Theo hated how the compliment stirred something primal inside him. How he sat a little straighter afterwards.
‘Your maker was lucky to survive Saints’ Day,’ Andreas went on, souring. ‘Seraphine Marchant should have struck me when she had the chance. Instead, she ran out of this castle like a dog on the heels of Ransom Hale.’
Theo was careful not to react. Dissecting a parsnip, he let the silence linger, so Andreas might fill it with something useful.
‘Or perhaps Seraphine is smarter than she lets on,’ he mused. ‘She must have figured out that killing me now will only cement her own doom.’
Theo frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Come now, Versini. Put that clever mind to work,’ he purred. ‘A saint who dies is still a saint, is he not? Even in death my compulsions will not be undone. The kingdom is already in thrall to me. Fantome is simply the last bastion of this war.’
The news landed like a slap. Craving a sup of wine, Theo fingered the rim of his goblet, debating whether to risk the possibility of mistbane.
He saw now that his plan in coming here was not only reductive but reckless.
Killing Andreas would not end their war.
Who knew how many thousands of soldiers had been compelled to kill Seraphine on sight?
Andreas’s compulsions might take years to undo, and more Lightfire than Halbracht could provide.
‘Oh dear. You’re starting to look a little unwell, Versini.’
‘It’s the shoddy lighting.’
‘I do not trust you, saint.’
‘A fact well represented by this roomful of armed soldiers,’ Theo remarked.
Andreas smirked. ‘The last man to underestimate a Versini was hanged over the Verne by his neck.’
He was talking about Hugo’s younger brother Armand, murdered by his elder and strung up as a warning to the rest of Fantome: do not mess with a Versini. Theo sipped his water, watching the prince over the rim of his glass.
‘You won’t best me,’ said Andreas, ‘so we might as well move on from that notion entirely. What would you like for your loyalty, Theo?’ His name in the prince’s mouth held an unexpected weight. ‘I’m not foolish enough to expect your co-operation for nothing.’
Again, his magic stirred. ‘What are you offering?’
‘A crown, for starters.’
His brows shot up. ‘I wasn’t aware you liked to share.’
‘A man should never feast alone.’ He wagged his knife at him. ‘Once I claim Valterre, the entire continent of Arthos will fall. I will make you a ruler. Grant you a kingdom of your own.’
Theo set down his fork. Of all the things he had been expecting…
Andreas chuckled. ‘Did you think that I would stop at Valterre? When I can so easily command the loyalty of whomever I choose?’
‘Except for the saints.’
‘The saints of Valterre will soon be dead. And so you must choose. Do you wish for a throne, or a grave?’
Theo hesitated, though the voice inside him was all too eager to answer. ‘I find it hard to believe you would share power.’
The prince canted his head. ‘How do you think I’ve allied the Urnican Stargrazers to my cause? There will be rewards enough for everyone when the war here is won.’
Oh, how the heat inside him grew, the ache of his own desire making him squirm in his seat. He hated Andreas but he craved what he offered. Theo’s own world, his own freedom, his own crown.
‘You like that,’ said the prince leeringly.
Theo could not deny it. ‘And if I don’t believe you?’
‘Then eat my soul.’
He choked on his water.
The prince’s laughter echoed around the room.
The Rose-bearers looked on, stone-faced.
‘Did you really think I don’t know what you are?
That my Necromancer would forget to tell me what you did to him at the Appoline?
How you reached into his soul and fisted the very root of his magic.
How close you had come to cleaving it from his body. ’
Theo pressed his lips together. There went the last vestiges of his clever plan, the secret he had carried with him to the east plains. Andreas knew exactly what he was.
‘Do you deny it, Soul-eater?’
‘I do not.’
‘Is that not why you’ve come here?’ he went on, skewering him. ‘To gobble up my soul?’
Theo gripped his goblet until his fingers ached. ‘I won’t pretend it hasn’t crossed my mind.’
‘Perhaps the thought may take flight now that you know what’s on offer.’
Perhaps it is worth consideration, purred the old voice.
Andreas pushed his chair back, tossing his napkin onto his plate. ‘There is another soul you could devour. A finer bounty than this one. One that would further our cause.’
Our cause.
Our kingdom.
Our empire.
Theo had never dreamed of such things. Power, unlike anything even Hugo Versini had fathomed. There was part of him – something old and dark and covetous – that yearned for it. And, saints help him, the prince saw it. He tasted his desperation like fine wine, and smiled as he drank it down.
‘You mean Seraphine,’ said Theo.
‘To eat the soul of another is to claim their power for your own, is it not?’ Andreas’s eyes flickered gold, avarice skimming his every word. ‘Think of the magic you could bestow with a power like that. The army we could make. An undefeatable force.’
Theo looked to the window to hide the revulsion on his face. Even with an empire dangled like a jewel over his head, the thought of moving against Sera – of hurting one of his own – raked claws down his soul.
The floorboards creaked as Andreas rounded the table. ‘You were made to take. To devour. Like Armand and Hugo. Is there another power better suited to an artificer such as yourself? Are you not the true Maker among your Order?’
Yes! cried the old voice. You, alone, are the most powerful!
Those honeyed words took root, made all the more dangerous because there was no magic in them. Only truth.
‘Sera is well cosseted in the Hollows,’ he said, stiffly. ‘She has a ring of saints around her.’
‘I will draw her out.’
The old voice purred.
‘How?’
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Trust must be earned.’
‘So tell me how to earn it.’ There was a note of desperation in his voice. In his heart.
Andreas leaned over him, so close now Theo could smell the wine on his breath.
Candlelight danced along the wheat-blond strands of his hair, his eyes wide and wanting.
It occurred to Theo that he could strike now.
Take his meat knife and plunge it into the prince’s heart, or, cleaner still, use his hand and rip the soul right out of his chest. But then he would be ripping away the destiny Andreas had promised.
Do not dare! hissed the old voice.
Theo hesitated. And hated himself for it.
Andreas peeled his lips back. ‘A good start.’
Theo downed the rest of his water to quench the terrible heat within. He was better than this. He had to be better than this. Stronger than his greed. Deeper than his ambition.
No, crooned the old voice. You are not.
‘There is, of course, another test you must pass before I allow you to remain in this castle.’ Andreas pulled back, the moment dissolving just as quickly as it had come. Nodding to his guards at the door, he said, ‘Bring in the boy.’
Theo turned at the sound of footsteps. His heart gave a deep dreadful thud at the sight of Fabian shuffling into the dining toom. The boy’s owlish eyes were wide. His shirt was torn and his trousers were covered in dirt.
‘I assume you know him, considering he followed you here,’ said Andreas.
Theo stared at the boy. ‘Why?’
‘Ransom asked me to keep an eye on you.’
Not for the first time, Theo cursed Hale to hell.
‘Perceptive one, your Saint of Nightmares,’ remarked Andreas. ‘Shame he’s so incorruptible.’ He smirked. ‘Unlike you, Versini.’
Theo’s mouth was too dry to respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Fabian.
‘Here is your test of loyalty,’ said the Silver-tongue. ‘Kill the boy.’
Fabian’s throat bobbed, his hands fisting at his sides. It was not enough to hide their trembling.
‘No,’ said Theo at once.
Andreas clicked his fingers, and every sword in the room slid from its sheath. ‘Then I’ll kill you both.’
Theo shot to his feet. ‘Wait.’
Andreas raised a hand, pinning his soldiers in place.
Theo’s soul thrashed, at odds now with his heart. He couldn’t kill the boy. It was inconceivable, unconscionable.
He’s already marked, said the old voice.
Why not gain something from it?
It would require the surrendering of every last moral fibre, severing his connection to the Order of Flames in one clean blow. They would hate him. And he would deserve it.
But then you would be free.
Free to claim your destiny.
Free to wear the crown you deserve.
‘How would you like to do it?’ said Andreas. ‘You could devour his soul. Mortal as he is, I’m sure it would go down easy.’
It would be quick.
It would be clean.
Nausea plumed. Theo gripped the back of his chair, trying to find a way out of this hell.
‘He was right about you,’ said Fabian in a small voice. ‘You’re just like Hugo Versini.’
Quiet words for such a crushing blow.
Theo flinched.
‘Give him a sword.’ Andreas had returned to his seat and was refilling his goblet. A sword was shoved into Theo’s hand and the chair removed until he stood across from Fabian, with nothing but steel between them.
‘I don’t want to kill you,’ he said.
‘But you will,’ said Fabian, holding his gaze. Theo was struck by how like Hale he was – as stubborn as a mule. The boy refused to cower, even as he trembled. ‘So get on with it.’
Andreas crowed with laughter. ‘You heard him, Versini! Get on with it!’
One strike to secure your future.
Has greatness ever cost so little?
And still, he stalled.
‘Versini,’ growled the prince.
The Rose-bearers closed in just as the door to the dining room blew open. Lark marched inside in such a rage he knocked a guard to the floor.
‘Give me a Strix now!’ he screamed. Theo stumbled back from the Necromancer as he stalked down the table, upending a candelabra.
It clattered to the floor and a Rose-bearer rushed in to stamp out the flames.
‘They killed Nadia and took her body!’ He released a roar of fury.
‘Give me a Strix, Andreas! I’m going to rip House Armand down, brick by brick, and take all their fucking heads! ’
Andreas glared at the Necromancer. ‘You are interrupting something important, Lark.’
Lark stopped and looked around. ‘What?’ he spat, locking eyes with Theo. ‘Eating souls, are you?’
‘We’re just about to kill this boy,’ said Andreas.
Lark frowned, noticing Fabian for the first time. His eyes narrowed. ‘One of Hale’s, I take it.’
Fabian lifted his chin. ‘Yes.’
Lark was across the room in four strides.
There was a violent snap.
Fabian flopped to the floor.
He stared, unseeing, at the chandelier.
Dead.
Bile crawled up Theo’s throat. He pricked his finger on the blade of his sword to divert his horror, while Lark returned to his tantrum, slamming his fist through a window.
Sighing, Andreas slumped in his chair. ‘You see why I need you, Versini?’ He spoke as though Lark wasn’t there. ‘A little sanity around here wouldn’t go amiss.’
Theo was too sick to respond.
Tossing aside his sword, he grabbed his goblet and drained his wine, welcoming the possibility of poison.