Chapter 40 Seraphine
TWIN TERRORS: BEWARE THE DRAGON AND THE STONE DEMON
The throne of Valterre is up for grabs, and the saints are ravenous to claim it. Indeed, this new crop of so-called Blessed Ones are a far cry from their forebears.
Take heed, and beware the Silver-tongue’s promises, the Order of Flames warned us. But it was not the Silver-tongue Saint who dragged terror through the streets on Saints’ Day.
While the prince’s soldiers, carrying banners of peace, danced merrily down Merchant’s Way, the Order of Flames showed their true nature. As the Dove’s Song rose above the city, a fearsome dragon blotted our sky. A thing of shadow and death, with wings so wide they snatched the sunlight.
This murderous weapon was brewed by the former Head of the Order of Daggers Ransom Hale. He sits at the right-hand side of Seraphine Marchant, self-confessed Saint-maker and Head of the Order of Flames.
She, who once saved this city with Lightfire.
She, who promised it would never fall into darkness again.
She, who looked on with impassivity as his dragon swooped down on the innocent folk of this kingdom.
And at his side marched a Stone Demon, who brought with her an army of golems dredged from our river. Blank-eyed giants who, under the direction of their gleeful mistress, tore down the taverns and shopfronts that have stood proudly along Merchant’s Way for centuries.
I ask you now, Order of Flames, where has your gift of Lightfire gone? Your promises of protection and peace? Where is the goodness that once streamed from the hearts of our Blessed Saints? Is this chaos the fault of our new Chosen Ones or the Maker herself?
Perhaps it is poison, and not Lightfire, that runs in her veins.
To the good and fair folk of Fantome, I ask you this: who will revolt against these Saints of Terror? Who will defend—
‘You can stop reading now, Madame Mercure.’ Ransom’s voice was curt. He stood with his back to the drawing room, staring out at the Hollows. Rain lashed against the windows, adding to the souring mood.
‘Gleeful?!’ fumed Anouk, snatching the morning’s penny papers from her and flinging them into the fire. ‘I was not acting gleeful!’
‘And I wasn’t being impassive,’ Sera protested. ‘I was being attacked! By Lisette!’
‘Bloody sensationalism,’ muttered Val, who was slumped in an armchair by the fireplace.
‘On the contrary, Valerie,’ cautioned Mercure. ‘This is the voice of fear.’
It had been two days since the massacre on Merchant’s Way. The streets of Fantome had been deserted ever since. The city was as quiet as a tomb.
Well, except for the Hollows.
They jolted as another egg cracked against the windowpane. The yolk ran, smearing with the rain.
Ransom was the only one who didn’t flinch. He remained utterly still, keeping a tight hold on all that lethal magic.
Tobias stomped over to the window. ‘One more splat, and I’m setting all the rats I can find on them.’
Caruso, who was reclining on the carpet by Val’s feet, barked a laugh. ‘That’s it, little Versini. It’s nothing a festering plague won’t cure!’
Val kicked him in the shoulder.
Paola yanked Tobias back from the window. ‘They’ve come here looking for a villain, Tobias. Don’t give them one.’
‘Brew your storm,’ said Ransom, looking down on the baying crowd. ‘The rain is not enough to scatter them.’
‘Fools,’ remarked Caruso. ‘If they’re so afraid of the Big Bad Dragon, why are they going out of their way to taunt him?’
‘Because they’re reckless.’ Sera had awoken at dawn to an egg cracking against her window.
Then the splat of a cabbage. After that…
all manner of refuse had come flying. The only reason their protestors hadn’t breached the property line was because of the pack of bloodhounds sitting in the garden.
Ransom’s magic, ever straining on that leash.
They had lost the good will of the people of Fantome, and Sera couldn’t blame them.
If Oriel hadn’t tapped her on the shoulder, she’d be on the other side of that garden wall, flinging pumpkins and flowerpots too.
She understood why they were gathering here, despite the power behind these walls, why they were making it known that they were done living in terror, that they would not go down easy.
And despite being the target of their rotten fruit, it sparked in her a secret kernel of hope. ‘And because they’re brave.’
Ransom turned from the window. ‘Seraphine’s right. When Andreas comes to claim this city, that bravery is going to count for something.’
Caruso hmm’d. ‘I thought this stupid house was meant to be invisible.’
‘The paint is peeling,’ said Albert, coming to assess the swelling crowd. ‘We’ve run out of Shade.’
‘And Shadowsmiths,’ said Mercure pointedly.
Silence, then. Theo’s absence loomed like a shadow of its own.
‘He’ll come back to us,’ said Sera. She knew Theo. She knew his heart. If he had willingly crossed that trench on Merchant’s Way, then there must have been a good reason for it.
‘If only to devour our souls,’ muttered Ransom. ‘He has plainly sold his loyalty to a higher bidder.’
‘No,’ said Val, siding with Sera. ‘I refuse to believe it.’
‘Then he’ll come for you first and dine on your naivety,’ said Ransom.
The tension thickened, the fire crackling in the uneasy quiet.
‘There is a way to know for sure,’ Fontaine piped up from her rocking chair, where she had been quietly nursing a tumbler of brandy.
Every head swung in her direction.
‘How?’ said Val.
‘That depends on you, Saint of Truth. Are you ready to stretch the limits of your power?’
Val shot forward in her seat. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to get Theo back.’
The soothsayer frowned. ‘That part, I’m afraid, is not down to us.’