Page 130 of The Dagger and the Flame
‘The Daggers are going to come back stronger than before,’ said Theo, following her gaze.
‘And crueller,’ muttered Val.
Bibi sighed. ‘The city is as good as lost.’
‘No,’ said Sera. Perhaps it was Mama speaking through her, or the grand design of Saint Oriel herself, but the plan came to her so easily she felt it must have been at the back of her mind all along. ‘We know their weakness now.’ She could still feel it, the secret she had yet to unravel, crackling under her skin. ‘Let’s go away from here. To think and plan.Create. And when we’re ready, we’ll give the Daggers something to run from. We’ll remake this city with Lightfire. And when we’re done, everyone in Fantome will know the true meaning of freedom.’
Including the Dagger who had just banished her. She was not done saving him.
Theo cocked his head. ‘Are you suggesting what I think you are…?’
‘A new Order,’ said Sera. When Val snorted, she turned on her. ‘Why not us?’
Theo stood a little taller, the light in his eyes kindling like the fire in her belly. ‘The Order of Flames.’
‘Now, that’s an idea I can get behind,’ said Bibi.
‘All right, then,’ Val relented, after a beat. ‘We’ve taken so much from this city for so long, maybe it’s time we finally gave something back.’
Even Pippin lifted his head, sniffing at the idea, like he approved of it, too.
As the sun rose over Fantome, the four founding members of the Order of Flames turned from the rubble and ruin of their city and went, side by side, into the unchartered wilds beyond.
Chapter 49Ransom
Ransom climbed on to the rooftops to watch Seraphine go. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help counting every step she took away from him, as if they were his own heartbeats running out.
It had taken every ounce of his self-control to push her away, to kiss only her palm and not the gentle curve of her cheek, the graceful column of her neck, that soft, smart mouth. For a moment, he had thought about sweeping her into his arms and damning it all. Damning them both.
He could not risk it. He could not risk her.
So, he had let her go, surrendering his first and final chance of freedom. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, knowing where the alternative would lead them. An Order run by a vengeful Nadia, or worse, a cold-blooded, calculating Lisette.The king’s ear turned to her every whim, and Seraphine Marchant still running. Always running.
When she passed beyond his sight, under the towering stone arch that marked the exit from the city, out into the untamed reaches beyond, Ransom knew she was gone for good. No longer his spitfire, but a ghost like Mama and Anouk.
As the sun rose above the rooftops, crowning the city in syrupy golden light, he turned for the Hollows. The shadows came with him, and when they lagged, he downed another vial of Shade, welcoming the shiver that scoured away his grief. For Lark. For Seraphine. For the dream they had shared. The one he had sheared in half.
House Armand was silent as a tomb, save for the old woman sitting in the garden. Fontaine was perched on a windowsill, idly smoking a pipe, as though she was expecting him. When he came, dragging the darkness with him, and stood looking at her through the gate, she didn’t even blink.
‘You don’t usually make such a spectacle of your arrival,’ she remarked, by way of greeting. ‘No paper darts today?’
‘Dufort is dead.’
No inkling of surprise graced her wrinkled face. ‘By whose hand?’
‘Sylvie Marchant’s.’
It was the truest answer. The monsters were her creation after all.
Fontaine gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘So, the lion has been slain at last. And here comes his cub, seeking comfort.’ She blew a ring of smoke at him. ‘The girl is long gone.’
Ransom’s voice was as cold as the Shade in his bones. ‘The girl is no longer welcome in my city.’
‘So, you have finally surrendered your fascination with her.’ A slow-curling smirk shifted the crevices in her face. ‘I suppose fire is only mesmerizing until it burns you.’
He ignored the taunt, despite the unnerving awareness of those pale, milky eyes. ‘I have a message for Cordelia Mercure.’
Fontaine glared at him through another ring of smoke. ‘Then speak it, Bastian.’
