Chapter 4 Seraphine
It was not yet dawn and Pippin was growling again.
‘Hush, Pip.’ Sera turned over in bed, burying her face in her pillow.
The mutt would not be silenced. Or cajoled by the biscuit she fished blindly from her bedside table. He released a series of loud yelps then stuck his snout under the pillow.
Groaning, Sera lifted her head. ‘For such a tiny dog, you have an awfully big presence.’ She scratched behind his ears. ‘Why is every man in my life determined to defend my honour so… obtrusively?’
She didn’t need to fling her arm out to know that Ransom wasn’t beside her.
He had come to bed several hours ago, folded her into his arms and held her there, warm and tight, until she fell asleep with her head on his chest, lulled by the rhythm of his breath.
She’d hoped he’d stay until morning, but the dark made him restless, paranoia dragging him away from her long before dawn.
She hated how she was already getting used to it.
Pip snuggled into her arms. Here, at least, was some comfort. She had been missing him terribly. So much so she had almost crashed headlong into the wagon when it arrived from Halbracht yesterday morning carrying her beloved mutt.
After an urgent letter from Theo, a crate of Lightfire had been delivered at once to House Armand, the shipment (and Pip) personally escorted by Paola Versini, Theo’s aunt. Having made the considerable journey without stopping, she’d arrived half dead on her feet and been sleeping ever since.
Theo, meanwhile, had gone to work down in the cloakroom, trying to craft a weapon that could fell the Silver-tongue Saint.
Pip growled again.
‘What on earth has got—’ At the sight of the misshapen bird sitting on her windowsill, Sera jolted upright. ‘Hell’s teeth.’
On closer inspection, it appeared to be a gargoyle.
Gruesome and hulking with bat-like wings, it looked out towards the Hollows, as though daring the revellers there to look back.
Its strange composition marked it as another of Ransom’s shadowy inventions, though she didn’t recognize this particular horror from his sketchbooks.
Not that she had flicked through them recently. She didn’t need to.
These days, he cast his dark imaginings for all to see.
Sera tapped on the window. The gargoyle didn’t flinch. How many more of these unsightly creatures had he planted, like flowerpots, on the sills of House Armand? And what was it costing him to keep them there?
Sera drew the curtains with a sigh. Pippin relaxed, retreating to his spot at the end of the bed. Feeling far too awake now, she went to get dressed.
After searching the house and garden for Ransom, she started to worry. In the lower kitchen, she ran into Fabian, who was sneaking a cream bun from the pantry.
He froze with half of it in his mouth. ‘Pleash donsh shtell Mashame Merschure.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Sera darted around him to swipe one for herself. ‘A little pastry theft here and there is good practice for a Cloak.’
Grinning, he wiped a glob of cream from his chin.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Ransom?’
Fabian gulped down the rest of his mouthful. ‘Did you see his gargoyles? They’re hideous. I wish I could do that.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I bet he’s still up on the roof. I offered to keep him company but he told me to go to bed.’ He frowned at his pastry. ‘When I stuck around, he made one chase me off. It flew like a bat.’
Keeping the worry from her face, Sera ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Thanks, Fabian.’
When she climbed the stairwell to the roof a few minutes later, Ransom was exactly where Fabian said he would be. Sitting by the chimney, with his legs dangling over the edge, his head was tipped back, like he was in prayer. Dawn gilded him in soft golden light.
Sera stilled, taking in the hard edge of his jaw and the inky sweep of his thick dark hair. He was like a god in repose, adorned with an otherworldly beauty that made her heart beat harder…
And yet there was no mistaking the shadows that wreathed his arms, hugging his body like a second skin. A dark god, then, suffused with a dangerous power. A magic that was slowly eating away at him.
Her gift.
Her fault.
She had made him like this; restless, anxious, brutal.
‘Like what you see?’ In the dawn quiet, Ransom’s voice was as smooth as velvet.
Sera flushed. ‘Well, now I feel like a creep.’
He smiled at her over his shoulder, revealing a wedge of perfect white teeth.
She edged closer. ‘How did you know I was here? I’m supposed to be good at sneaking around. I was a Cloak once.’
‘A mediocre one.’ He said it like a compliment. ‘I caught your scent on the breeze. Lemon blossom in the spring… my own personal happiness.’
‘Now who’s the creep?’
He reached out to steady her as she came to sit beside him.
‘I immediately regret this,’ she said, peering over the edge, the ground dizzyingly far away.
His arm tightened around her waist. ‘I’ve got you.’
She turned into him, searching the firelight of his eyes. They burned gold so often these days, she was beginning to miss the autumnal hue that made him Bastian. ‘What are you doing up here?’
‘I can see most of the Hollows from the roof.’
‘You don’t have to keep watch, Ransom.’ Her voice was soft, beseeching. ‘Not like this. Not all the time.’
‘Someone has to.’
‘Mercure has her network of spies. You heard what she said at last night’s meeting.
Andreas is in west Valterre.’ Having only recently returned from Urnica, the prince was days away from Fantome.
They had time, still, to craft their weapon.
To plan their attack. ‘The mansion is freshly cloaked in Shade. Theo has made sure of it. If someone tries to break in, we’ll know. ’
‘I thought that back in the catacombs. Until Lark—’
‘Had a thousand skeletons to play with,’ she reminded him. ‘House Armand is made of hardwood and overpriced marble. No bones. No skulls.’
He looked away, a dent forming between his brows.
‘And don’t forget we have Pip. A small but mighty foe.’
No smile. He was not in the mood for teasing.
‘Ransom.’ She pressed her finger to his jaw, gently turning him back to her. ‘Come back to bed.’
He brushed his nose against hers. ‘Not yet, spitfire.’
‘When?’ she huffed.
He sighed against her lips. ‘When this is all over.’
Her own mood began to turn, worry giving way to frustration. ‘Magic has its own hunger. Be careful what it takes from you.’
‘I told you not to worry about me.’
‘Tell the sun not to rise while you’re at it.’ She scowled at him. ‘All I do is worry about you. I have plans for us, Ransom. Grand, beautiful, far-reaching plans. The last thing we need is for you to burn out before they even begin.’
His eyes dimmed, a corner of his lip curling. ‘I’d like to hear these plans.’
‘Put your beasts away. Come back to bed. I’ll tell you all about them.’
‘Ruthless negotiator,’ he said, stealing a kiss.
But his shadows remained.
‘I’m worried about you.’ She traced the seam of his trousers, trying to ignore the cold lick of his magic. ‘You’ve only been like this for a fortnight and your creations are already getting darker. Vaster. More terrifying.’
He looked past her towards the Hollows. ‘That’s the idea, Seraphine.’
She pressed on. ‘I don’t want to worry about where your magic ends and you begin.’ His shadows drew closer, making her think of pain and sadness. Death always lingering at their backs. ‘It’s in everything.’
Your gaze.
Your mood.
Our mornings and our nights.
He gave a measured sigh. ‘For years I watched my mother suffer because of my father’s volatile moods. His cruel heavy fists. That violence… it ate away at me. I hated that I couldn’t protect her. That I couldn’t protect Anouk.’
He leaned in, filling her world with the gold of his eyes. And yet it was darkness that peered out at her, unflinching, unyielding.
‘I don’t want to feel that powerless ever again, Sera. Not with you. If this is the kind of saint destiny wishes me to be, then let me become it. I’d rather welcome the dark as my ally, than watch it take away the people I love.’
His words hung like a thundercloud between them. Heavy and dark and filled with pain. She wanted to protest, to say that he was so much more than his gift, that there could be light within the shadows, but she didn’t know if that was true.
He kissed her frown, peppermint on his breath. She parted her lips and his tongue swept in, desire consuming her until there was only the warmth of his hands sliding through her hair and the vital hunger of his kiss.
This was what he needed. A love that felt primal and feverish, a thread sewn so deeply between their souls that it was stronger even than magic. Than darkness.
Not words, but touch.
‘Come to bed,’ she begged against his mouth.
He kissed her again, hard. Pulled her onto his lap, let her feel the growing strength of his desire.
Perched on the knife edge of a fatal drop, she ground into him, wrenching a moan from deep in his chest. She chased it with her own. He fisted her hair, shivering as she ripped his collar open and slid her hands across his bare chest.
Tipping her head back with a gentle tug, he worked his mouth down the column of her neck, kissing the hollow of her throat. The world spun away, frustration drowning in pleasure, desire feasting on fear.
A bird cried on the wind.
Tensing, Ransom jerked his chin up.
‘It’s a raven,’ she said, half breathless. ‘Just a raven.’
There was time. They had time.
But he was already pulling back from her, gently removing her hands from his chest.
Ghosting his lips across her fingers, he said, ‘Go back inside. I’ll find you later.’
The chill nipped at her arms as she stood. She folded them tight. ‘I’ll be busy later. I’m going to try another making today.’
His frown was swift. ‘It’s only been three days since Versini. You’ve barely recovered.’
‘Four days.’ Four days too many, according to Fontaine. ‘I’m fine, Ransom. I’m ready.’
And it’s not like she had a choice. Her magic was constantly prodding at her, that strange old voice hissing at her in her sleep.
It is time, Maker.
Destiny’s hand was heavy on her shoulder.
She was done waiting for Theo’s magic to present itself.
‘You don’t know what it’s taking from you,’ said Ransom.
‘Probably the same as what your magic is taking from you,’ she shot back.
His frown deepened. ‘I liked it better when we were kissing.’
‘Me too.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘I want to be there.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, turning from him. ‘And for hell’s sake, get rid of that gargoyle on my windowsill.’
She felt his eyes on her back as she left, but they soon shifted to the black birds gliding on the wind.