Chapter 3 Seraphine
As the pale sun dragged itself over the city, and a chill settled in the wind, Sera stood on the doorstep to House Armand, wringing her hands. Her coat and boots, which had been pilfered that morning from a vacant house in Old Haven, were far too big for her, making her look like a vagabond.
The others didn’t look that much better, but at least they weren’t showing up in their bedclothes and bare feet.
As the sole mansion in the heart of the Hollows of east Fantome, House Armand was entirely at odds with the grimy taverns and cheap bordellos that surrounded it. It was easiest to locate in the daytime since the shadows that cloaked the manor often rippled in the sunlight.
As former Cloaks and residents of House Armand, Val and Theo stood on either side of Sera, while Ransom and the remaining thirty or so members of the Order lingered on the street.
‘I’ll do the talking,’ said Theo. ‘Mercure always liked me best.’
‘Oh, puh-lease. You’re a defector just like the rest of us,’ said Val, adjusting her ominous black trench. ‘There’ll be no open-armed welcome for you here.’
‘Mercure needs this alliance just as much as we do,’ Sera reminded them.
In fact, the Head of the Cloaks had sent a letter suggesting it last week. It had arrived via a courier, a young boy called Fabian, who had looked up at Ransom with stars in his eyes.
At the first wink of sunlight on brass, Sera lunged for the knocker. In the same breath, the door swung open, revealing Cordelia Mercure. Wearing a slim burgundy trouser suit and black leather boots, she towered over them, as beautiful and intimidating as ever.
‘Seraphine.’ A ghost of a smile. ‘I see you’ve finally tired of your catacombs.’
‘Never warmed to them,’ Sera admitted.
‘Not that it matters. They caved in this morning,’ said Theo.
Madame Mercure’s brows shot up.
‘Lark Delano pulled the dead from the walls and made the whole place collapse like a house of cards,’ said Val, parting her hands with an explosive sound. ‘It was fucking epic.’
‘Language, Valerie.’ Mercure tsked, but those manicured brows remained high. ‘Hugo’s Passage is no more? And here I thought it was going to be another bad day.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Val. ‘We’re homeless. And this ugly trench smells like rot.’
Mercure offered a bemused look as if to say, And that’s my problem?
‘You wanted an alliance,’ said Sera. ‘Well, here we are.’
‘I don’t recall inviting your entire Order to live with me,’ she said pointedly.
‘Consider it our one and only demand,’ said Sera.
Mercure cast her gaze across the garden, scanning the street. ‘I count thirty-one Daggers—’
‘Former Daggers,’ said Theo. ‘We’re the Order of Flames now.’
Mercure returned her assessing gaze to them.
There was an awkward silence.
Val broke it. ‘Madame Mercure, are you going to make us beg?’
‘I’d certainly enjoy it, Valerie,’ she said, nonplussed. ‘But we don’t have the time, do we? I’ve been waiting for you for over a week already.’
With a short huff, the Head of the Cloaks stood back, revealing the lavish entryway of House Armand. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’ Then, raising her chin, she met Ransom’s unflinching gaze. ‘All of you.’
Sera had never been inside the vault at House Armand. As the most private room in the manor, it was reserved for planning sophisticated Heists, hosting intimate dinners for the Order’s wealthiest clients or, in today’s case… a war council.
At the very back of the house, the vault offered the same opulence as the rest of the residence.
Generous bay windows looked out onto the garden, while chandeliers dripped from the high corniced ceiling.
Velvet chairs clustered around a large table that had been set with platters of pastries, fresh fruit and steaming pots of coffee.
On the nearside of the table, Sera sat alongside Val, Ransom, Anouk and Theo.
The rest of their Order, which included a disgruntled Tobias, were down in the dining room, enjoying lunch.
On the other side of the table, sat the highest-ranking Cloaks in Fantome.
Albert, the resident self-defence tutor and Mercure’s Second, Cordelia Mercure herself, and Madame Josephine Fontaine, the former Head of the Order of Cloaks, who had been glaring at Sera since the moment she sat down.
Occasionally, she broke her withering stare to hiss at Ransom, who returned her ire with cool indifference.
‘Happy families,’ said Theo.
Val snorted.
‘This blueberry compote is a dream,’ said Anouk, who had already demolished two scones.
Madame Mercure, at the head of the table, began the meeting with an announcement. ‘I’d like to run through some house rules.’
‘We already know the rules,’ said Val, reaching for her third almond tart in as many minutes. ‘I grew up here.’
‘And flouted our authority every chance you got,’ sniped Fontaine, removing a tobacco pipe from the inside pocket of her cardigan. ‘Or was it house elves who stole all my good brandy?’
Val offered a saccharine smile. ‘Must have been.’
Mercure said, ‘Rule number one. No murders under my roof.’
‘Well, obviously,’ said Anouk, around a mouthful of scone.
But Mercure was looking at Ransom.
‘Noted,’ he said evenly.
‘No fighting, cheating, stealing or general betrayal,’ she went on.
‘Hear that, Versini?’ remarked Ransom.
‘What about unfounded fits of paranoia?’ parried Theo.
Sera pinched the bridge of her nose.
‘Or how about childish sniping during important house meetings?’ said Anouk, tossing a berry at both of them.
‘Enough!’ Fontaine banged her cane on the table. ‘Our kingdom is heading for a violent war. The things I’ve seen would keep you all up at night.’ A shudder tore through her. ‘If this room contains the best and brightest soldiers our kingdom has to offer, then we’re well and truly screwed.’
Sera blinked.
Val scowled.
‘Tell us how you really feel,’ muttered Theo.
Anouk whispered, ‘I love her.’
And in a low, worried voice, Ransom said, ‘What have you seen?’
‘I saw the Strix.’
A snap of silence, then. Cold and foreboding as the look in the old soothsayer’s eyes.
Sera stiffened, her mind reeling back to the history books that used to line Mama’s bookshelves.
The sketches of ominous black birds roosting along the cliffs of Urnica.
Each body as large as a house, with a metallic beak and knife-sharp talons.
A wingspan so wide it snatched the sunlight.
Tail feathers as red as their eyes. Red as blood.
The Strix were legendary. Stories of their brutality had seeped through the continent of Arthos for centuries, finding their way into lore.
Yet despite their reputation, there were no recent accounts of the terrifying war mounts.
They had not been glimpsed in Sera’s lifetime, or seen in the skies beyond Urnica for almost a hundred years.
‘Where?’ she breathed now.
‘Above the Western Ridge.’
The mountain range that separated Valterre and Urnica.
‘When?’ said Theo.
Fontaine blew out a ring of smoke. ‘Only Oriel knows.’
It was just a vision. Not yet certain. But there was no one foolish enough at that table to doubt the old soothsayer.
‘Prince Andreas has travelled to Urnica to beseech his cousin, King Rafael, to aid his bid for Valterre. No doubt they have struck a deal,’ said Mercure.
‘But my spies have informed me that Andreas has amassed his own forces on home soil, too. No more stray mercenaries or jaded rebels but Valterran soldiers. Legions of them.’ She knitted her hands, the strain of her jaw betraying her anxiety.
‘The dead king’s forces answer to the Silver-tongue Saint. ’
‘Compelled,’ guessed Theo.
A grave nod. ‘They are known now as the Rose-bearers of Valterre.’
‘How many has he enthralled?’ asked Ransom.
‘Thousands.’ The word sucked all the air out of the room. ‘Enough to fill this city.’
Enough to bring Fantome to its knees.
Sera looked around the table. Seven grim faces peered back at her.
‘Combined, the Cloaks and Flames make less than two hundred,’ said Val. They were no army. Certainly not one that could contend with the Strix of Urnica or indeed thousands of foot soldiers. ‘Those are some shitty odds.’
‘Only if you neglect to count the Saint-maker,’ said Fontaine, puffing a ring of smoke directly at Sera. ‘The question is, what do you count for, Seraphine?’
All heads turned in her direction.
Sera was plagued by a growing uncertainty. What was her magic truly worth if she couldn’t yet rely on it? How many saints could she make? Had Ransom been a fluke? Lark, a terrible mistake? What had happened when she tried to make Theo?
‘What about me?’ Anouk jumped in. ‘I could level this whole building if I felt like it.’
‘Talk to me when you can level the sky, little Stone Maiden,’ said Fontaine. ‘A single Strix would eat a twiglet like you for breakfast. All it takes is a command from their rider.’
‘And Ransom?’ said Val. ‘He can kill hundreds of soldiers with those monsters of his.’
‘And what of those who are already dead?’ challenged Fontaine.
Lark and his necromancing power over corpses.
Val frowned, conceding, ‘That is a complication.’
A grimace broke Albert’s steely composure. ‘Wherever there’s a graveyard in Valterre, an army lies in wait.’
‘And then, of course, there are the commonfolk of this kingdom,’ Madame Mercure went on. ‘Anyone without the protection of Lightfire can be turned to Prince Andreas’s cause. Such is the sway of his power.’
‘Sitting ducks,’ muttered Albert. ‘This truly is a war we cannot win.’
‘Then there won’t be a war,’ said Sera, refusing to succumb to the souring mood.
She gripped her knife. ‘We don’t have to fight ten thousand soldiers.
Or topple the Strix from our skies. We won’t have to battle the dead, or our own people trapped under the Silver-tongue’s compulsion.
We just have to cut off the head of the snake.
Once Prince Andreas is dead, his soldiers will fall out of compulsion.
Without a foothold in Valterre, King Raphael will be forced to retreat. ’