Chapter 19 Seraphine
When Sera woke in a bed that was not her own, in a castle far from the Hollows, she could barely remember her own name. Mistbane. In those early groggy minutes, she was grateful for its potency, the lingering fumes that delayed the sharp edge of her grief.
She remembered the flight first. The monstrous bird bursting from the clouds with wings so wide she couldn’t see beyond them.
Ruby eyes like fresh blood. The soldier who’d grabbed her never said a word but she recalled with a shiver the hiss of his breath in her ear as he’d held her tight against the cold slab of his chest. They had flown deep into the night, summiting the clouds so fast the wind snatched the air from her lungs.
She’d grown dizzy then, the ground falling away too quickly, the dark devouring her sight.
It was only when her senses returned and shock sharpened into terror that she tried to fight back.
When he tipped the vial down her throat, the mistbane had been a reprieve.
She was out in a finger snap, the Appoline and all its horrors lost to her.
Sera sat up in the strange bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
A canopy shrouded her, the fine white gauze swaying in the breeze.
The next memory slid in like a knife. She remembered the clock tower where Nadia and Lisette had been waiting to greet them, then Lark stepping in from the elements with that menacing grin.
She remembered Ransom on his hands and knees crawling to her, Saintkiller stuck like a thorn in his side, stealing the life from his eyes.
Yet still he’d come to her, dragging himself across the blood-slick floor. A sob caught in her throat. She fisted her sheets and retched. The sickly aftertaste of mistbane crawled up her throat.
‘Not usually how I like to be greeted,’ crowed an unpleasantly familiar voice. ‘But given the circumstances, I won’t take it to heart.’
The canopy was pulled back by a pair of Rose-bearers, revealing an opulent bedroom fit for a king. In the middle of it stood the Silver-tongue Saint.
Prince Andreas gripped the wrought-iron footboard at the end of her bed. ‘Welcome to Bellevue Castle, Seraphine. I trust you slept well?’
‘You drugged me.’
He grinned. ‘You must feel so rested.’
The last of her senses returned with violent clarity. She snapped her chin down, recognizing her own blood-streaked gown. Thank, Oriel.
Sunlight danced across the bedroom. She had been out all night.
Andreas gestured to her ruined dress. ‘Tell me, my sorry little dove, are you ready for peace?’
Sera lunged—
And was caught mid-leap by Andreas’s soldiers.
She spat at him instead.
He jerked backwards, laughing. ‘What will you do next, bite me?’
‘If it finally shuts you up.’
He clucked his tongue. ‘Well, you’re clearly not a morning person.’
Sunlight gilded him where he stood, dancing along the gold threads of his hair. His pristine frock coat was deep blue. The clothing of a king. An emperor, perhaps. She had forgotten how tall he was, how commanding his presence could be.
‘Why am I here?’ she said, slumping back onto the bed. Better to save her strength for now. ‘We both know I’d sooner die than help you destroy this kingdom.’
A sly smile. ‘Oh, sweet little dove. I don’t need you to help me. I only need you to bleed for me.’
Her breath stuck, revulsion stiffening her spine.
She would not give her power willingly, so he had decided to try and take it from her veins.
Stepping away from her, he spoke now to his soldiers.
‘I’ll be back within the hour. Let her enjoy the full trappings of my generous lodgings, but keep her alive.
Pin her to the wall if she tries anything reckless. ’
He was gone with a swift clatter of bootsteps, leaving her alone in the cavernous bedroom with two freshly compelled Rose-bearers to watch over her. They returned to their post by the door.
Sera ghosted her hands over her dress, feeling the absence of every single weapon she had adorned herself with on the way to the Appoline. Even the pins in her hair were gone, along with her necklace of Lightfire.
Without Lightfire to jog their minds free, her pleas would have no effect on Andreas’s puppets.
Biting back her frustration, she slipped out of bed to investigate her surroundings.
The room was round, a turret so high it shared the sky with the larks.
She went to the window, glimpsing ramparts and a vast forest beyond.
A river ran to the north. More trees to the west, and to the east nothing but miles and miles of farmland.
She had never been this far west before, but she knew the castle from the maps that used to hang on her wall as a child, and the old stories of kings and queens who had married here.
She was a long way from Fantome. Too far to run without getting caught.
But there was a village not too far north from here: Frederic’s Rest. And to the south-east the sea town of Mauranus.
Were the people there in thrall, like those in the west plains?
Or had Andreas yet to bend the east provinces to his will?
Her mind reeled. If she could just make her way across the ramparts and slip through the portcullis … she could lose herself in the trees until nightfall.
She pressed her hands against the window, assessing the height of her turret. The drop alone would kill her. And if not, something worse awaited her.
Far below her, a pair of Strix slumbered in the long grass, their great black wings cast over their heads to stave off the sunlight. If she ran, would they chase her? Tear her limb from limb with those sharp shining beaks?
Saints, help me.
She rubbed the space above her heart, feeling for that thread inside her. There was nothing but the thunder of her own fear.
How could Ransom come for her if he was dead?
How could she run to him with an army of Strix breathing down her neck?
The bedroom door swung open, jolting her away from the window. She spun around as a pair of maidservants bustled inside.
‘We’re to get you cleaned up,’ said the elder of the two, a short portly woman with a northern accent.
‘For what reason?’ she enquired.
They looked at her blankly.
Compelled. She recoiled at their nearness, but they had not come with weapons or poisons.
Rather, towels and lavender soap. A clean nightgown.
She followed them into the adjacent bathroom, where they scrubbed her hair clean.
She washed herself in a warm bath, searching all the while for a makeshift weapon.
There was nothing. Not a vase or a candlestick. Even the oil portraits were bolted to the wall.
After braiding her hair and dressing her in a plain white nightgown, the maidservants departed.
Sera paced, sending a prayer to Saint Oriel.
Do not desert me now, Saint of Destiny.
Not while the kingdom balances on the knife edge of ruin.
The old voice was silent.
Whether from mistbane or fear, Sera didn’t know.
When Andreas returned, she was sitting on the bed, trying to calm her rioting heart. The sight of Nadia, Lark and Lisette striding in after him sent her attempts at calmness up in flames. She grabbed a slipper and flung it at Lisette.
She batted it away with a saccharine smirk.
Lark chuckled.
Nadia remained stone-faced.
Sera fired the other one.
Andreas caught it, tossing it behind him. ‘So you’d rather be barefoot. Fine by me.’
‘I know what I’d like to do with my foot,’ she snarled. ‘Shove it up your arrogant—’
‘That’ll do, thank you.’ He approached the bed, removing a knife from his waistband. ‘Restrain her.’
Lark pinned her arms, while Nadia held her head straight. Her palms were slick with sweat. A crack in her otherwise cool demeanour.
‘Better that you don’t struggle,’ said Andreas. ‘I’d hate to go too deep on my first attempt.’
First attempt.
She kicked out her heels, shoving herself backwards, but Lark’s chest was an iron wall, the stench of rot filling her nostrils as he brought his cold lips to the shell of her ear.
‘Behave, Maker.’
Andreas sighed, fingering the point of his blade. ‘Wouldn’t it be so much easier if you just co-operated? Shared a little morsel of all that power in your veins? Then I wouldn’t have to bleed it from you under duress.’
‘Bleed me dry,’ she snarled. ‘It’s not going to work.’
‘You’d better pray it does, little dove. Because if it doesn’t, I’ll have no need of you after all.’
His words were sobering, and when he lowered the knife to her neck, she had no choice but to bear the cut. She had suffered worse, but the sting of metal meeting flesh sent a shudder through her soul. Her magic keened, like it knew what the Silver-tongue was trying to take from her.
‘Now,’ he said, as her blood streamed.
Rushing forward, Lisette presented a glass vial. It was cool against Sera’s skin, her blood filling it at once. She stoppered it with deliberate slowness, her grey eyes hungry as she passed it to the prince. He snatched it from her, then shooed her from the bed.
‘Go and fetch Darius.’
Lisette took off, and Andreas went to stand by the doorway, anxiously tapping his foot.
Sera bled while she watched him. The mistbane made the cut slow to heal. Blood trickled down her neck and soaked the collar of her nightgown.
Nadia pressed her sleeve against it. Sera almost said thank you before remembering that dagger in Ransom’s side.
‘Get off me,’ she said, jerking in Lark’s arms.
‘I’m trying to help you,’ said Nadia.
‘Like you helped Ransom?’
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation.
A man entered, and Sera knew him at once.
In the morning light, her Urnican rider was even broader than she remembered.
And tall as hell. Like a bronze statue come to life, his skin was warmed by years of flight, his grey flinty eyes rimmed with kohl.
Without his helmet, the intricate braiding of his fine black hair was noticeable, the long strands gathered at the back of his head.
‘Darius,’ said Andreas, dipping his head in respect. ‘I trust you slept well.’
‘The mistbane helps.’ His voice was as deep as thunder.
So here was her captor.
Darius Mondragon, Prince of Urnica.
Leader of the Stargrazer Legion.
Terror of the Skies.
His eyes went right to her, then to the wound on her neck. Hunger sparked. ‘Is it done?’
Andreas held up the vial. ‘Magic in a bottle.’
So that explained his careful delivery of her last night. He wouldn’t dare spill the blood of the Saint-maker before he had a chance to taste it for himself.
Jutting out her chin, Sera summoned every ember of her rage and levelled it at the towering general. ‘I do not gift my power to you,’ she said through her teeth. ‘What you take here today, you take by force.’
His smile was beautiful and cruel. ‘Everything Urnica takes is by force.’
Lark’s chuckle raised the hairs on her arm. Andreas joined in. Nadia remained silent, her spine as stiff as the bedpost beside her.
Snatching the vial of blood from his cousin, Darius unstoppered it with his teeth and downed it in one go.
Revulsion shivered through Sera.
The silence was loud.
‘If this doesn’t go well, I’ll be tossing your body in the Frogrun River,’ Lark crooned in her ear. ‘Then when you’re good and drowned, I’ll fish out your corpse and make it dance for all the villagers.’
Nadia hissed a breath. ‘Enough.’
Darius coughed, thumping his chest. The colour drained from his face, and for a blessed moment Sera thought he was going to be sick.
‘All right, cousin?’ said Andreas, anxiously.
‘I hope it burns you from the inside out,’ Sera spat.
The Urnican frowned. ‘I feel … ill.’
‘Well, at least you’re not hurling,’ said Lark, who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.
‘It takes time,’ said Andreas, hastily. ‘The magic has to find its way into your soul, chart the waters there and see what it can add. Rest a while. Let your body do the work now.’
Darius gave an answering grunt. Tossing a parting glare at Sera, he strode from the room, coughing as he went.
Andreas went after his cousin, beckoning for Lark to follow.
To Nadia, he said, ‘Clean her up. Then meet us in the war chamber.’
‘I’ll be right there.’
The door slammed shut behind him.
‘Don’t bother,’ said Sera, scooting back on the bed. The wound was slowly knitting itself back together.
Nadia shrugged. ‘Have it your way.’
They stared at each other.
Something occurred to Sera. ‘Have you volunteered for the prince’s little experiment?’
Her lip curled. ‘What makes you think I’d want to drink your blood?’
‘Don’t you want to be a saint? Like your lover?’
Her face turned stark. She looked away, but not before Sera caught her shiver of disgust.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘He unnerves you too.’
Nadia sniffed. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You’re right,’ Sera said, her voice crisp. ‘I clearly don’t know you. I thought you were loyal. I thought you cared about Ransom.’
‘Lisette’s the one who stabbed him.’ Her hands bunched at her sides. ‘He wouldn’t stay down. He just wouldn’t stop.’
‘What did you expect? That he would let Lark toss me out into the storm? Feed me like bait to the Strix?’ Sera’s heart hammered at the memory. ‘He would crawl through hell itself to get to me. I would do the same for him.’
‘You might have to,’ Nadia said, quietly. ‘You’re a long way from home.’
‘Is he still alive?’ Hope took wing, making her rise from the bed.
There was none of it on Nadia’s face. ‘I don’t know.’
She left then.
Sera’s thoughts turned to Prince Darius waiting in his bedchamber for a kiss of fate.
She prayed it would be swift and cruel.