Chapter 24 Seraphine
Despite her attempts to evade sleep, it found Sera an hour before dawn. Oriel was waiting for her there, the saint’s face lined with worry.
There is a wrongness in fate’s tapestry, she said, urgently. You must unravel it.
We’re trying. Didn’t she know? Couldn’t she see?
Oriel’s frown only deepened. It must be you.
I’m trapped. Sera’s voice was small, lost in the strange expanse of light. Help me, Oriel.
Look to the darkness. The light winked and suddenly the saint was a hair’s breadth from her face, those wide brown eyes full of constellations. Futures of Valterre yet to be unfurled: the great and the terrible. The sky is changing, Maker. Be ready.
The saint misted but the light remained, smudged now by a distant shadow. Sera drew closer, or perhaps it was the shadow that moved. She recognized the sweep of its hair, the hard edge of its jaw.
Ransom?
The name echoed back at her.
The shadow splintered, and from within a flock of ravens came.
Sera woke in her bed with a gasp.
Outside, dawn kissed the blushing sky.
Andreas was standing at her footboard.
‘It didn’t work,’ he said, his voice crisp with disapproval, as if they were in the middle of a conversation and Sera wasn’t furiously blinking sleep from her eyes. ‘Darius is displeased.’
‘Too bad.’ She sat up, deftly moving her fingers under her pillow behind her. They brushed the vial of mistbane.
Andreas was too enraged to notice. ‘I’ve made promises to my cousin, King Rafael. I’ve made assurances to Urnica.’
‘Sainthoods, you mean.’
His lip curled. ‘Bargains.’
A mirthless scoff. ‘What will he do when he realizes you lied through your teeth?’ Her hands worked under the covers.
She unstoppered the vial and gathered the torn hem of her nightgown – a makeshift rag she had fashioned last night.
‘When he sees that you promised something that wasn’t yours to give?
’ She could guess well enough by the stark look on his face.
‘I suppose he’ll take back all those fancy Strix you borrowed. And their riders.’
Fisting the iron bars of her footboard, he pitched forward. ‘I will have your co-operation or your head, Saint-maker.’
She pretended to consider this while covertly soaking the rag with the mistbane. ‘I doubt King Rafael would be appeased by my severed head. I suppose my hair is quite fine, though. Maybe he could braid it into a royal cushion.’
Spittle foamed at the edges of his mouth. ‘You will work for me or not at all. I will ask you only once. Are you prepared to use your divine power for the good of my court?’
Fisting the wet rag, Sera moved forward. ‘I’d rather die.’
‘Guards!’ He shrieked the command, and the Rose-bearers standing by the door jolted into action. ‘Take her head.’
They moved as one, stomping across the room. She steeled her courage, forced herself to wait.
Swords sang as they were unsheathed.
Andreas stood back, fuming.
They raised their blades.
She screamed, ‘WAIT!’
‘STOP!’ he commanded.
Their swords froze mid-strike.
‘Well?’ he growled.
‘I’ll do it,’ she cried, making her bottom lip tremble. ‘Please, Andreas. I don’t want to die.’
His smirk curled. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
That thread in her chest jerked. Her eyes flew to the window. Morning had come, but the day was losing its lustre.
The sky is changing.
Be ready.
‘You will make Darius at once,’ said Andreas. ‘The prince is on his way here as we speak. To retrieve your head, or your blessing.’
‘All right,’ she whispered, crawling towards the end of her bed. ‘But first, there’s something you should know.’
He frowned, leaning over the footboard. ‘Speak it. Quickly.’
Behind him, his soldiers’ swords made a large shining X. Their arms trembled as they awaited their next command.
A slant of shadow moved across the floor.
Look to the dark.
Ransom was close. She could feel the cool brush of his magic, like an apprentice nearing its master. The rag was leaking through her fingers.
‘Look, Andreas.’ Sera held up her free hand. Her fingers wiggled, catching the waning light. ‘This is the hand of the Saint-maker of Valterre.’
He followed it like a distractible cat.
She struck with her other, jamming the rag deep into his open mouth. His eyes shot wide as she held it there. He choked a breath, inhaling a lungful of fumes.
Behind him, his Rose-bearers were stone-faced where they stood, suspended by his last command.
Sera surged forward, shoving the rag down his throat, ensuring every drop went to work.
He swung blindly. She jerked backwards, and he came at her again.
His hips slammed against the footboard and he pitched forward, falling face first onto the bed.
The rag hung limp in his mouth. He groaned, trying to lift his head.
It might as well have been a cinder block.
Shadows smothered the castle windows, snatching the sunlight. Darkness crawled over them, as footsteps plodded down the hallway.
Sera jumped off the bed just as a figure appeared in the doorway.
Darius Mondragon took one look at the scene before him and reached for the sword at his belt. Sera was already running. Yanking a sword from a frozen Rose-bearer’s hand, she flung it at the Urnican prince.
The blade cut into his right side. Not hard enough to cause a mortal wound, but it roused his fear well enough. Sword hand falling, he snapped his chin down to inspect the wound.
She darted around him, slipping into the hallway before he could catch her. Andreas, rousing, shouted after her.
Sera was already gone, sprinting so fast down the hall her feet barely touched the carpet.
Darkness chased her, plunging the castle into night. It kissed her feet, urging her on.
The Saint of Nightmares was here.
Her Ransom had come.
The tightening in her chest confirmed it.
Without a map of the castle, she had only their thread to guide her.
She followed it like a rope, charging down one corridor after another, searching for a stairwell.
Andreas’s garbled orders echoed throughout the castle and soon the clatter of bootsteps filled the halls.
Sera found the stairwell and nearly hurled herself down it. The stone was rough and winding beneath her bare feet, a curse hissing from her as she turned her ankle on the bottom step. On the lower floor, she slipped inside an alcove, holding her breath as a pair of soldiers stomped past.
Onwards she crept, slipping in and out of alcoves, hiding behind suits of armour, as the corridors thrummed with panicked soldiers. A cool breeze stirred the hair around her face. She followed it down a vaulted corridor, stopping to pull a ceremonial axe from the wall.
Southwards then, through a grand entryway hung with gruesome war tapestries, where the outside world beckoned. It was as black as midnight. In her torn nightgown and bare feet she was far too conspicuous in the open foyer and was spotted at once.
Rose-bearers converged on her, drawing their weapons.
She raised her own, swinging her axe at the first of them and sending his sword flying into a priceless vase.
The explosion bought her a fleeting reprieve.
She made five steps towards the door before swinging again.
And again. And again. Her arm grew tired and her feet bled.
The soldiers thickened, crowding the doorway.
Ten steps to freedom, but it might as well have been a hundred miles away.
Beyond a sea of Andreas’s toy soldiers, the entrance to Bellevue Castle yawned like a dark mouth.
Shadows spilled inside, moving like tentacles. Soldiers screamed, scrabbling away from the encroaching dark. Others fell where they stood, too slow to react.
Chaos reigned, and Sera didn’t squander a second of it.
She flung her axe, clearing a path ahead, then threw herself into the darkness.
It peeled away from her, like oil on water.
She made it outside, the shadows encircling her as she found a rogue slant of sunlight.
It kissed her cheeks and chased the goosebumps from her arms.
She waded onwards into the unending dark, the thread so taut it felt like a fishing hook in her chest. At the outer wall the portcullis was unmanned. The Rose-bearers there had been chased from their post. Gritting her teeth, she turned the winch, the metal cranking as it lifted.
A gap ground open. She hurled herself underneath just as Andreas arrived, staggering through Ransom’s shadows like it was nothing but a dense fog.
He screamed her name but she didn’t look back. His fury turned to desperation so wild and thoughtless that he sent his own soldiers into death’s shadows. Over and over again. They fell in a heap, choking as their eyes turned black.
Clear of the grounds, Sera ran headlong into the blackness. It continued to yield for her, like a stream breaking around a rock.
In the distance, Ransom appeared. He ploughed towards the castle, a god of night and death and monsters, with eyes like burning coals.
He saw her and stopped. The darkness stilled. Tears streaked her face as she ran to him, hard stone turning to grass under her feet. The last time she’d seen him he was crawling to her on his hands and knees. Slipping in his own blood.
Here he stood, towering and furious, with life and rage pulsing through him like starlight. Soldiers swarmed the battlements, sending out a fleet of arrows. They skewered the ground as she ran but without the light to guide them, it was only guesswork.
He opened his arms for her, the dark billowing at his back.
It had never looked so beautiful. She collapsed into his embrace.
He swung her away from the next volley, putting his back between her and the castle.
His breath was hot and fast against the shell of her ear. ‘Spitfire,’ he murmured. ‘I have you.’
She gripped his arms. ‘I knew you’d come.’
He slid his hands through her hair, brushing his nose against hers. ‘Death’s hand could not stop me.’
As rage simmered into relief, his shadows faltered. Exhaustion tugged at him, his eyes shedding their golden sheen.
A shriek scorched the sky.
The Strix were taking wing.
They made for the cover of the trees. Arrows whistled past, chasing their every step. Once bracketed by a thicket of branches, they stopped to gather their breath. Sera’s feet were badly cut.
Ransom knelt to inspect them, but she drew back. ‘We have to keep moving. Andreas’s soldiers will come on foot.’
He stood, ghosting his hands up her arms. ‘How did you lose him in the first place?’
‘Mistbane.’ She gestured to her torn hem. ‘I soaked a rag and shoved it into his mouth.’
His eyes glimmered with pride. ‘That gives us an advantage. I doubt he’ll be able to string more than a few words together.’
But for how long?
The sound of a snapping twig made them look up. Sera tensed, suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was in her torn nightgown, her aching feet caked in dirt and blood. ‘I need a weapon.’
‘I’m your weapon,’ he said, pulling her close.
A figure appeared through the trees.
Sera didn’t know the horse but she recognized its rider. ‘Paola?’
‘You were supposed to flee,’ said Ransom.
‘Too damn loyal for my own good,’ Paola sighed. ‘Just as well, since you’ve got a whole army on your asses. Get up here before a Strix decides to eat poor Bolt for breakfast.’
Wasting no time, Ransom gripped Sera’s waist and hoisted her onto the grey horse. She scooted forward, occupying the sliver of space in front of Paola.
He stood back. ‘Go on ahead. I’ll follow.’
‘You’ll ride with us or you’ll die in this forest,’ said Paola, patting the space behind her. ‘Bolt can bear you.’
‘We’ll lose speed.’
‘Better than losing you,’ said Sera. ‘I’m not going through that again.’
He wavered, looking back the way they’d come. Shouts reached them through the trees, the drumbeat of bootsteps drawing closer.
Paola huffed. ‘Get on the fucking horse, Hale. No one likes a martyr.’
Her tone brooked no argument. There wasn’t time, anyway. Ransom leaped onto the back of the horse and they turned, retreating into the forest as Andreas’s foot soldiers breached the treeline.
On and on they rode, the horse bearing them well. Before long, the thrum of bootsteps faded and silence settled over them. Leaves rustled as they went, sunlight dappling the forest floor.
When they reached the southern treeline, Sera started to breathe a little easier. The land climbed and they went with it, plodding towards a verdant patchwork of farmland.
When the field they were approaching fell into shadow, she thought, at first, it was Ransom’s magic returning to him.
The clouds wailed, drawing their gazes skywards.
A Strix circled overhead, its rider on wing. It came right at them, low enough that she could make out his gold-maned helmet.
Darius Mondragon.
Paola cursed, pulling on the reins. Bolt reared up, then jerked to the left. An arrow flew, hitting the dirt beside them.
Rising from the saddle, Ransom released a raft of shadows. They misted into ravens and flew for the Strix. But not fast enough. Another arrow came. Sera ducked, flinching as it grazed her shoulder.
Ransom’s ravens swarmed the Strix, drawing a wounded cry.
With a raging bellow, Darius rose to his haunches, pulling his mount away from death’s flock. The Strix was fast – faster than Ransom’s shadows – but it was injured and afraid now.
He chased the beast across the sky, holding fast until distance weakened his magic and his ravens splintered. The Strix continued its retreat. Injured by its brush with death, it dipped to the left, surrendering its height as it disappeared into the trees.
Too late, Sera noticed the horse had come to a stop. There was a weight on her back that hadn’t been there before.
Then a low ragged gasp in her ear.
She turned in the saddle, catching the same look of dread in Ransom’s eyes.
He was staring at the arrow jutting out of Paola’s chest.
The arrow that had been meant for Sera.
Blood pooled across Paola’s shirt, warm and fast and sticky. She listed to the side, a wet groan bubbling through her lips.
Ransom caught her before she fell, pulling her back against his chest. His eyes were wide. Panicked. Here was a man well-versed in death who knew so little about saving lives. He looked to Sera. ‘What now?’
She grabbed the reins, determination firing through her veins. ‘Leave the arrow, but staunch the wound. Talk to her. We have to keep her awake.’
He went to work, obeying her at once.
Urging the horse into a canter, Sera’s eyes darted, searching for shelter. There. A flash of red to the west. A barn not far from here.
Sending a silent prayer to Saint Oriel, she rode like hell towards it.