Chapter 38 Seraphine
Sera braced herself against the statue of Saint Oriel, fighting the pressure building in her chest. Bile pooled in her throat, and, with it, the taste of copper. It was an effort to concentrate on what Fontaine was saying, to focus her mind on anything beyond the ache in her lungs.
Madame Mercure and Albert approached. ‘I suppose you’ve heard that wonder boy here and his sister ripped the parade to shreds,’ said Mercure. ‘There are bodies on Merchant’s Way.’
‘Andreas’s bannermen,’ said Albert, who cut a grave figure beside her. ‘The Silver-tongue must have compelled them to keep marching no matter what.’
Ransom looked sick.
Others were gathering, the orders clustering around the altar to listen in. In among a group of older Cloaks Sera spied Val and Caruso, and Tobias looking bleary-eyed. Paola was there too, standing with the Flames, wearing the strain of today in the lines of her brow.
Anouk had her arms pulled tight around herself. ‘Terrors,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what they were calling us in the streets.’
They went on, picking through the detritus of the day, but their voices soon faded. Sera’s mind was slipping, the pressure in her chest too much to bear. Seizing the distraction, she slipped away from the altar and stumbled down the aisle into the cavernous din of the cathedral.
She had to disappear, find a quiet space to weather the after-storm of Nadia’s making, and keep Ransom from seeing just how badly it was hurting her.
She made for a side chamber, a room for candlelit prayers and solemn thought.
It was empty, and by Oriel’s mercy, housed a small bathroom.
The second Sera locked the door behind her, the retching began, her body convulsing as she folded over the sink.
There was so much blood.
Too much.
Help me, Saint Oriel.
Afterwards, she slid to the floor, and by some miracle, managed to cling on to the last shred of her consciousness.
Minutes passed, and she hauled herself up again, hastily cleaning the sink and washing the blood from her mouth.
She had been careful not to bloody her sleeves but there was nothing she could do about the burst vessels in her eyes.
When she returned to the side chamber, a prick above her hip made her pause. A new thorn settled there, like a rusty nail scraping through her marrow.
She hiked up her shirt, tracing the black ink. The vine was close to her naval now.
‘What is that?’ said a cold quiet voice.
Sera froze, snapping her chin up.
Ransom was standing in the doorway. His eyes spun gold, and the room plunged into shadow, until it was just the two of them, and fate’s vine, like a curse on her body.