Chapter 61 Seraphine
Sera fell back into the world like a feather listing to the ground. Back into her body, back to the man who held her in his trembling arms. When she opened her eyes, Ransom was looking down at her.
He blinked, tears streaming down his face. ‘Is this real?’ he whispered. ‘Are you real?’
She cupped his jaw. ‘I’m here, Ransom. I’m here.’
He turned, pressing a kiss into her palm. Hot tears streamed over her fingers, his mouth trembling against her skin. Slowly, reverently, he dropped his hand and traced the skin above her heart. ‘Gone,’ he murmured. ‘They’re all gone.’
The thorns.
The cost.
She knew. Her magic was gone too. There was a lightness in her. A deep, welcome silence. She gave a wet cough, pushing the dust from her lungs. ‘Theo took it. He took it all. He’s gone.’
Ransom’s stark expression told her he already knew.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his gaze flicking past her shoulder.
He helped her to sit up, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she turned to look upon Theo’s body. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack. He looked peaceful, as though he was sleeping despite the blood in his hair, the crusted wound in his neck.
Grief welled. Helpless and aching, Sera reached for his hand. It was as cold as stone. She curled it in her own and lifted it to her lips, ghosting a kiss across his knuckles. Those clever hands. That clever mind.
When she drew back, she saw the thorns around his wrist. Her thorns.
They cuffed him, trailing all the way down his forearm, disappearing under the torn sleeve of his shirt.
She traced the ink with her finger, knowing her friend was gone from her.
Here lay the vessel, but his soul, that bright unknowable force made of the oldest and truest of magic of all, was in the heavens now.
‘He was good.’ Ransom’s voice was quiet. ‘He was good and I never saw it.’
‘He didn’t need you to see it,’ said Sera. ‘It was never about that for Theo.’
The glory. The greatness.
Theo might have been a Versini but he was nothing like Hugo and Armand. He was good right down to his bones. The best of his bloodline and the best of Valterre. She would make sure every person in the kingdom knew it.
When she looked up, the others were watching her. The saints of Fantome made a ring around the fallen arch, as silent as statues in their grief:
Anouk, Saint of Clay.
Caruso, Saint of Warriors.
Nadia, Saint of Spring.
Paola, Saint of Storms.
Tobias, Saint of Beasts.
Valerie, Saint of Truth.
Bastian, Saint of Light.
And then there was Seraphine…
Unblessed. Unmade.
Ordinary.
Saved by Theo, Saint of Souls.
As evening fell and the city returned to itself, Tobias and Paola carried Theo’s body from the rubble.
Mercure came in her carriage to take his body home to House Armand one last time.
Ransom helped Sera to her feet, his arm strong and sure around her waist as they joined their Order and followed the Shadowsmith through the city.
For a long while they were quiet.
The city held its own vigil. Townsfolk came to carry off their dead, while others looked out over the quietening river, like they might find some solace there. The Rose-bearers laid down their weapons and picked up their fallen brethren, shouldering them through the darkening streets.
As they came to the end of Merchant’s Way and turned east towards the Hollows, Ransom bent his head towards Sera and murmured, ‘Look up.’
Sera, who had been in a daze for some time, tipped her head back just as a new creature took flight. Its glittering wings lit up the falling night, casting Lightfire over the mourning city. All across the four quarters of Fantome, people looked up at the message in the sky.
Not a dragon but a dove.
An ending to the pain and misery that had come before it.
A promise for all that lay ahead.
Peace.
Hope.
Freedom.
As the dove soared, it grew and grew, the last rays of sunset sparking off its wings until for a moment it looked like the entire city was shining.