Chapter 10 Seraphine #3
No longer able to rely on the Appoline Press, Val and Anouk had gone earlier that morning to a small printing house in east Fantome. Afterwards, Mercure and her Cloaks had gone to work, delivering the Proclamation of the Saints to every household in the city.
Sera pinned it to Traveller’s Arch, too, so that every passing traveller would read it and carry the news throughout the kingdom.
TO THE GOOD FOLK OF VALTERRE
In the wake of King Bertrand IV’s death, a new evil has risen through the royal ranks.
Prince Andreas Mondragon Rayere, the Silver-tongue Saint, seeks to take our kingdom for his own, to banish our free thought and our free will, and make us kneel at his feet.
It is true the magic in his blood is new and deep and powerful. But it is not unconquerable.
There is other magic at work in Valterre.
It flows in the veins of noble saints.
We, who vow to protect this city.
We, who vow to defeat the Silver-tongue Saint.
We, who vow to defend the freedom of this land and its people.
Stow your fear. Put your trust in us.
Light will bloom and peace will reign once more.
We will see to it.
We promise you.
I promise you.
Yours,
Seraphine Marchant, the Saint-maker of Fantome, and the Order of Flames
One by one, the others came forth and signed their names under hers.
Ransom Hale, Saint of Nightmares.
Anouk Hale, Saint of Clay.
Valerie Doe, Saint of Truth.
Then Theo Branch. Tobias Versini. Paola Versini. And Fabian, who had sneaked out after them and brought his own pen.
So keen was he to be counted among the defenders of this city and the new Order of Flames, it seemed only fair to let him sign it too.
As they gathered at the arch, Ransom cast out his shadows, summoning a ring of hounds to sit outside the twelve-point star. Like Sera, he was keenly aware of the dayguards patrolling nearby, knuckles white around the hilts of their swords.
‘Just try it,’ taunted Anouk, stepping back after signing her name. ‘Ransom will swallow you all whole.’
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ said Val, narrowing her eyes at the soldiers in their midst. ‘Not without their puppetmaster.’
Andreas was still at the Appoline, preparing for tomorrow night’s ball.
‘They’re just here to intimidate us,’ said Theo, calmly. ‘To keep the people of Fantome in line.’
‘It’s working,’ said Paola uneasily. ‘The streets are so quiet.’
Sera studied the soldiers. Rose-bearers now.
They wore the Silver-tongue’s symbol – a single golden rose – emblazoned on their blue uniforms. Gone were the crossed swords that used to mark the king’s crest. Andreas had done away with the blades.
The flower alone was meant to be a symbol of peace.
Of purity.
Just another of the Silver-tongue’s pretty lies.
The soldiers’ eyes had the same eerie glaze. She wondered what Andreas had commanded of them, and whether they would report what they were witnessing here back to the prince.
She hoped they would.
As a cloud moved in front of the sun, Theo removed the flag from his satchel, and passed it to her.
Sera looked up, assessing the height of the arch.
It was a fair climb, and quite a fall, but she had scaled a lot of barns in her youth and had once teetered along the Aurore Tower in the midst of a thunderstorm.
‘I can do it,’ said Ransom, summoning a rope of shadow.
She shook her head. ‘It should be me.’
Shoving the flag into the waistband of her trousers, Sera climbed the arch. The others watched her ascend, Ransom moving directly underneath her in case she fell.
But she was not going to fall.
The rock was solid beneath her hands, the grooves deep enough to catch her feet. Determination fired her core, pushing her higher, faster.
She reached the top, dragging herself onto the cool stone. She was greeted by an empty flagpole and the sun peeking through the clouds, as though the saints themselves were watching.
Unfurling the flag, she stood over her Order, grinning as they beheld the design: a white dove soaring across an amber sky.
It was a symbol that needed no explanation, for it sang of hope and peace and brighter days ahead.
Under the eyes of the Silver-tongue’s spies, she planted her flag.
The wind picked up, rippling the material until it looked as if the dove was taking flight.
A good omen.
Or a message, perhaps, from Oriel herself.
Val whooped, clapping her hands, and the others joined in.
Sera began to laugh.
The last of the clouds misted and the sun returned, gilding Sera where she stood above the City of Fantome.
She tilted her chin to the sky – and froze.
Laughter died in her throat at what she glimpsed to the west. Enormous dark shadows vaulted over the horizon, staining the sky like ink.
A flock of monsters Sera had only ever glimpsed in books and nightmares.
Wide scythe-like wings that snatched away the sunlight.
War cries echoing in the wind.
Sera gripped the flagpole as a terrible shiver tore through her.
Down below, the others stilled, turning their horror-struck faces to the western skies.
They knew, all of them, what it meant.
The Strix were here.