Chapter 45 Seraphine
Sera woke to a howl of laughter. It was late morning, and she was alone in bed, listening to a commotion in the back garden. By the sound of it, Caruso was up. Her magic was awake too, and curious about its newest making. Had last night been a grave mistake or a stroke of divine luck?
She was sluggish getting dressed, and breathless from the new pain in her chest. Ignoring her aching body, she made her way downstairs. When she arrived in the back garden, a small crowd had gathered around Nadia and Caruso, who appeared to be having an argument.
All the rose bushes were dead.
Or rather, decapitated.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out the source of their destruction, since Caruso was casually swinging a giant sword around. That, and Nadia was shouting at him. ‘Destructive brute! Do you know how long those took me?’
‘Relax, green fingers. Just make more.’
Nadia snatched up a rose and fired it at his face.
He chewed up the petals and spat them out, laughing.
Slipping into the gap between Paola and Val, who were watching the exchange with rapt attention, Sera asked, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Battle of the saints.’ Val pointed to Tobias who was skulking under a nearby tree. ‘He’s the one who took the heads off the roses. Caruso wanted to see how many petals he could slice off before they hit the ground, so he got Tobias to toss them up in the air.’
That explained the carpet of petals. And the withering look on Nadia’s face.
‘What’s with the sword?’ asked Paola.
Val smirked. ‘It’s Fatebringer. Looks like Sera made another Cadel last night.’
‘No way,’ said Anouk, pushing her way through. ‘Caruso Dantes, the maddest egg in Fantome, is Saint of Warriors?’
Sera nearly choked on her own shock. She had hoped his gift would be useful, or at least something not flagrantly unhinged… but this…
This was a boon.
A gift from Saint Oriel on the eve of war.
As though he could sense her reeling, Caruso turned to wink at her. ‘Told you it’d be worth your while, Maker.’
The thorn on her chest prickled in agreement.
Nadia shoved Caruso aside and stomped towards Sera. ‘You said the saints aren’t made for war!’ she hissed, raising her finger.
‘Well, not all of them.’
‘Then why the hell does he get to be the second reincarnation of Saint Cadel, while I grow daisies all day long?’
‘Maybe Oriel decided you needed a little break from all the senseless killing,’ said Anouk, brightly. ‘I think it’s quite lovely, in fact.’
Nadia turned on her. ‘Easy for you to say, Stone Maiden. You’ve got the best gift of all.’
‘And Fantome hates me for it.’
‘Who cares?’
‘I care,’ said Anouk.
At a sudden tug in her chest Sera became aware of Ransom’s presence.
Her attention drifted skywards. A shadow marked his outline on the edge of the roof.
Despite the scene Caruso was causing, she could tell Ransom’s eyes were on her, watching how she moved, and whether she bore the pain of last night’s making as plainly as the thorns on her body.
What did it matter anyway? The deed was done, and she had a warrior to show for it. Another strike against Andreas.
Val hooked her pinkie around Sera’s. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘For trusting him.’
‘I did it for you, Val.’
‘I know.’
‘He did it for you.’
Her lips flickered. ‘I know.’
‘You love him, don’t you?’
‘Pfft. I tolerate him.’
She was saved from a bout of merciless teasing by Madame Mercure, who appeared in a bluster, throwing open the back door of House Armand and sticking her head out. ‘Come, Seraphine. There’s trouble out front.’
Sera went at once, expecting to find another crowd of protestors – more angry chants and rotten fruit, torches and pitchforks and flying eggs – but the street outside House Armand was deserted.
Except for a lone figure waiting by the gate.
His head was bowed, as though in prayer, but she knew him by the narrow slope of his shoulders and that unruly mop of black hair.
Venturing out onto the doorstep, Sera called to him. ‘Fabian?’
Without raising his head, the boy pushed the gate open and shuffled into the garden.
A terrible coldness stole through Sera.
A hand closed around her wrist. ‘Stay where you are,’ hissed Val. ‘Let him come to us.’
Others crowded the door frame, Cloaks and Flames peering curiously into the garden.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Tobias.
‘Something’s wrong,’ whispered Anouk.
‘Something’s rotting,’ said Nadia, with a violent shudder. ‘I can feel it.’
When Fabian reached the steps of House Armand, he began to sway.
‘Fabian?’ said Sera. ‘Can you hear me?’
There was a kerfuffle behind her as Ransom arrived, shoving his way through. Stepping around Sera, he gripped the boy’s shoulders and said in a low urgent voice, ‘Fabian, look at me.’
The boy jerked his head up, revealing a mottled grey face and wide blank eyes. The bruising on his neck suggested it had been snapped.
Fabian was dead.
It was his corpse that stood now at the doorway to House Armand.
Sobs erupted in the hallway but Ransom remained utterly silent. It was not fear but rage that made him tremble.
Fabian went limp in his arms.
A quiet horror consumed Sera as she watched Ransom sink onto the doorstep, cradling the dead boy’s head in his lap. She came to her knees beside him, brushing the hair from Fabian’s eyes. ‘Rest well, Fabian.’
Gently, so very gently, Ransom laid the dead boy down. He stood then, turning his gaze to the Hollows. His eyes shone gold, and shadows cascaded from the roof with such force that they turned the day to night.
‘Lark Delano.’ He clenched the name between his teeth. And then he was marching, cursing, spitting, dragging the dark after him as he cut through the garden.
Gripping his sword, Caruso went after him.
Nadia ran after Caruso, all three former Daggers spilling out of House Armand in search of the Necromancer who had sent a dead boy to their door.
Anouk tried to go after them, but Fontaine caught her by her braid. ‘This is not your fight, girl.’
‘I can’t just stand here and do nothing!’
‘Then make yourself useful,’ snapped the soothsayer. ‘Help us bury the boy.’
Her words spurred the others into action. They lifted Fabian’s body from the doorstep, and carried him inside. No one noticed the note slipping from Fabian’s slackened grip. It landed on the doorstep beside Sera.
It was pale blue, and stamped with a golden seal that bore the outline of a rose. On the front, looping script said, Seraphine Marchant.
She picked it up and shoved it into her pocket before following the others inside.
It was another hour before Sera could slip away unnoticed.
Fabian’s body was in the basement by then, laid out in clean clothes with flowers on his chest, and a blanket pulled over him like he was sleeping.
Tobias and Paola kept vigil at his side while Albert and a handful of Cloaks dug a grave in a quiet corner of the back garden beneath the willows.
In the privacy of her bedroom Sera tore open the blue note.
Dearest dove,
I hope this message finds you grieving.
Much like your young compatriot Fabian, Halbracht has fallen. Your stores of Lightfire have been destroyed, and your smugglers, along with the rest of Valterre, belong to me.
Their fate now lies in your hands.
Tomorrow, at sunrise, come alone to Traveller’s Arch.
Give yourself up, and the kingdom will know peace.
Fight on, and I will kill one hundred townspeople for every day that you delay.
Don’t believe me? Watch the Verne.
The choice is yours, Maker.
Andreas Mondragon Rayere
Tossing the note to her bed, Sera laid her head against the window and listened to the furious heave of her own breath. Outside, Ransom’s dragon flew again, wide and vast and as black as night, wrenching screams from every pocket of the Hollows.