Chapter 1 Seraphine
Seraphine Marchant was in way over her head. She had been ever since she’d fled her burning farmhouse in an attempt to evade the Dagger who’d killed her mother. Not that that had particularly gone to plan.
At least back then, the only life – and death – Sera had to worry about was her own.
When Oriel Beauregard had decided to mess with Fantome on the night of the fated storm, things had escalated…
dramatically. Sera wasn’t a saint but a maker of them.
Imbued with a power that, if used in precisely the right way and on the right kind of people, could usher her ailing kingdom into a new era of peace and prosperity.
Or… cause it to fall into ruin.
‘You’re stalling.’ Val’s voice cut through her inner spiral.
Sera glared at her best friend. In the cavern of Hugo’s Passage, Val was reclining in an armchair by the fireplace, her legs kicked up on the coffee table. Firelight gilded her violet curls and danced along her dainty nose ring. She rolled her hand. ‘With respect, please hurry the fuck up.’
Behind Val, Ransom was pacing. Though he’d promised to bite his tongue tonight, the heavy thrum of his bootsteps betrayed his disapproval.
Once a Versini, always a Versini, he’d cautioned Sera. Who knows what kind of saint Theo will turn out to be?
The kind, she hoped, that might help them win the coming war.
Andreas’s recent silence had only heightened their unease. It meant the prince was up to something; he was a snake moving in the long grass, while the kingdom held its breath.
It was almost midnight, and the catacombs were full of beasts.
Shadow hounds prowled around the cavern, guarding the doorways that led on to the four passageways, and occasionally veering close to her spot by the fireplace, likely to intimidate Theo, who was lying with his shirt open on the rug before her and making a point of ignoring them entirely.
The Shadowsmith cleared his throat. ‘Not getting any younger here, Saint-maker.’
‘Shhh. I’m concentrating.’
‘I can feel you spiralling.’
She flicked his ear. ‘You of all people don’t want me to rush this. I could kill you, you know.’
‘Doubt is the enemy of magic,’ said Anouk, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Theo, idly braiding her hair. ‘You can do this, Sera. You’ve done it before.’
Ransom was proof of that. And Lark, too. Though both had been accidents.
Lark, made on the night of the power storm atop the Aurore Tower, when Sera had slammed her hands against his chest, magic running through her like a current.
And then Ransom, only a few days ago, when he had been dead in her arms on the banks of the Verne, and she had poured her tears, her love, her magic into him.
And then, there was the other attempt…
Talisa Mondragon, the princess Sera had scoured to death at Marvale.
Of course Sera was nervous. Her magic was a living, breathing force inside her. Sometimes, she felt at one with it, and at others, it had a will of its own.
‘If you don’t get on with it, I’ll die of boredom anyway,’ said Theo.
‘Stop pressuring her,’ growled Ransom. ‘You’re lucky she’s even considering you for this.’
Theo cracked an eye open. ‘You said you’d keep him out of the Cavern tonight.’
Ransom stood over him. ‘My catacombs, my rules, Versini.’
‘Are the hounds really necessary?’ said Theo.
Ransom’s smile was a scythe. ‘Just in case you go rogue and I have to kill you.’
‘Look at you, still chomping at the bit for mindless murder,’ goaded the Shadowsmith. ‘Against all odds, I think those pets of yours have made you even more insufferable.’
‘Good.’
‘Shut up, both of you,’ snapped Anouk. Her eyes flickered gold, and the brickwork around them trembled. A measured breath stifled her magic, and the Stone Maiden went on, as though nothing had happened. ‘Just… let her focus.’
Sera pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She couldn’t settle. Couldn’t trust herself.
‘Stop thinking about Talisa,’ said Theo, softer now.
Sera couldn’t help it. Andreas had promised the Urnican princess a magical gift, not out of the kindness of his heart but in his eagerness to experiment with Sera’s new power as a Saint-maker.
Talisa had died for his curiosity.
Sera had killed her.
She hadn’t meant to, but in the moment fear and pressure and uncertainty had overwhelmed her, and instead of remaking the young princess into something more, she had burned a hole in her chest.
Too easily, Theo read the fear in her eyes. ‘Andreas forced your hand, Sera. But I’m willing. You’re willing. This is what you were meant for.’
‘You made Ransom a few days ago,’ Anouk chipped in. ‘And he turned out fine, didn’t he?’
‘Define fine,’ said Val. ‘Your Saint of Nightmares is currently making an army of giant tarantulas.’
Indeed, the bloodhounds had dissipated. Ransom stood with his back to them now, conjuring up more unsightly shadow beasts.
New creations, woven from the seams of his darkest imaginings.
Sera recognized it as a distraction from his own anxiety.
Though the giant spiders crawling across the ceiling didn’t do hers any good.
Closing her eyes once more, she reached for calm, sinking down, down, down into the weight of her own body. Away from the world around her, the domed walls and leering skulls, the skittering shadows and the icy prickle of her own fear.
Theo went quiet, mirroring the rhythm of her breath.
Magic sparked in Sera’s fingertips, that ancient divine power erupting through her. She slid her hand across Theo’s chest and laid it over his heart.
He shivered at her touch.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Cold hands.’
She could practically feel Ransom stiffen.
‘Take a walk, brother,’ Anouk hissed.
‘I’m fine right here.’
Sera tunnelled inwards, reaching towards the glowing waters of her soul. Where once that unknowable power had been locked in the well of her own fear, now it was easy to find. Magic pooled before her.
Maker, it purred. It is time.
She reached for a ripple.
Take him.
Make him.
Theo sighed, tension seeping from his body as magic flowed from her like a river, bridging the chasm between their souls.
There was no telling what kind of saint he would become after tonight, but she hoped her magic would strengthen his natural skills as an artificer, just as Ransom’s gift had bloomed from his experience as both assassin and artist.
Magic crashed through her like a wave, froth spilling from her soul into Theo’s. There was a rightness to it, an easing of the pressure that had been building inside her all week.
Her magic wanted this.
Destiny demanded this.
‘Look. Her hand is glowing.’ Anouk’s voice echoed from far away.
Sera’s head began to spin.
‘Why is she swaying?’ asked Val.
Blackness crept in.
‘Something’s wrong.’ A note of worry in Ransom’s voice.
Bootsteps drew closer.
‘Leave her, Bastian.’ Anouk’s voice again. ‘It’s almost done.’
‘Anouk, move.’
‘No.’ A growl then, her hackles rising. ‘It’s too dangerous to come between them now.’
Anouk was right. The wave inside Sera was still thrashing. It was all she could do to hold on to Theo, to keep her hand pressed against his skin.
And then, at last, the tide of her magic gentled.
The making was done, though the taking continued.
She slumped forward, a moan seeping from her lips.
Ransom swore. ‘What the hell happened?’
Wrenching an eye open, Sera tried to sit up. The Cavern spun round and round, the world blurring to skull and stone, darkness and firelight – and Ransom, lunging.
He caught her before she hit the ground. Her cheek met the hard plane of his chest, the impact blunted by the warmth of his arms curling around her. He pulled her into his lap, lips soft against the shell of her ear. ‘It’s over now, spitfire. I’ve got you.’
Sera fisted her hands in his shirt and breathed him in, one laboured gasp at a time. He stroked her hair, waiting for her to come back to herself.
After what felt like an eternity, she found the strength to raise her head.
‘Theo,’ she managed. ‘Is he—’
‘Snoring like a mule.’ Anouk was kneeling over the Shadowsmith, checking the pulse in his neck. ‘He seems fine.’
‘Just leaving us all in suspense.’ Val pulled up his left eyelid. His eye rolled back in his head. ‘Still blue green. Aren’t they supposed to be all lizardy and gold now?’
Sera rubbed the spot between her brows. ‘It worked. I felt it.’ Not just the connection between them but the loss of power … There had been such a rush of weakness that for a moment it had felt as if her soul had been unspooled.
It had felt … different…
‘It might take him a bit to wake up,’ said Anouk. ‘Tiring stuff, getting made into a saint. I slept for eons after the storm struck me.’
‘At least he’s not dead.’ Val stuck her ear against his heart to be sure. ‘Should we make bets on what kind of saint he’s going to be?’
As they reeled through a raft of theories, Sera wriggled out of Ransom’s embrace. Legs trembling, she moved away from the others.
‘You’re pale,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ A paltry lie. Walking was like wading through soup. ‘Just … tired.’
More tired than she’d ever been.
His brows knitted. ‘Seraphine—’
‘I just… need a minute.’ She made for the north passage, the hot prickle of his gaze following her across the Cavern. A shadow hound misted and trotted alongside her.
‘Alone,’ she added, pointedly.
The beast drew back, chastened.
Out in the passage, Sera crashed into Tobias, who was crouched by the doorway. The younger Versini shared the same silver hair and bright aquamarine eyes as his cousin Theo. As well as his burning curiosity.
He bounced on the balls of his feet. ‘Is it over? Did it work?’
‘I thought we told you not to snoop,’ said Sera.
He threw his hands up. ‘Of course I was going to spy! Is Theo a saint now? What kind of power did he get?’
‘I don’t know yet. He’s sleeping.’
Tobias craned his neck, trying to see around her. ‘So wake him up. Blow in his face. Pour a glass of water over his—’
‘Go to bed, Tobias. You can see him in the morning.’
The boy pouted. ‘I guess now is a bad time to talk about my turn?’
Ruffling his hair, she gently nudged him towards his bedchamber. ‘Go on, before Ransom sends a monster after you. Or perhaps you’d like a giant serpent to tuck you in tonight?’
Tobias had the good sense to shudder. ‘Nah, I’m all right.’
He took off, leaving Sera alone in the north passage. Suddenly, her bedchamber felt impossibly far away. The ground tilted as she walked, the bones in the walls looming closer …
She ducked into an alcove just as a coughing fit struck. It was quick and violent, bending her double, staining her sleeve with blood. When she wiped her mouth, she found more on her fingers.
She had to get to her chamber.
Stumbling out of the alcove, she froze at an oncoming shadow. One of Ransom’s bloodhounds was patrolling the north passage.
Where shadows roamed, their master was never far behind.
Dread shot through her.
Ransom couldn’t see her like this, couldn’t know that something had gone wrong tonight. That he had been right to tell her not to do it…
He might not let her try again.
She crouched against the wall, waiting for the bloodhound to pass, then hobbled to her bedchamber to scrub herself clean.
Long after the blood was gone, the dread remained.