Page 131 of The Dagger and the Flame
He frowned. How the hell did she know his name? Whatelsedid she know about him?
‘The monsters of Fantome are dead. The truce between our Orders is over. Tell your Cloaks to stay out of my way. If I catch one sniffing around Old Haven or sticking their nose in Dagger business, I’ll kill them on sight.’
Her gaze flitted to the ring on his left hand. ‘So, you have bartered your soul for the promise of power.’
His anger flared. Shade licked at his ribcage, dulling its heat. ‘It wasn’t worth much to begin with.’
A dry wheeze of laughter. ‘And what of your bleeding heart?’
He didn’t answer. His heart was lost to him, one piece of it buried with Lark in Old Haven, the other three scattered far beyond Fantome.
He turned from the gate.
‘You know, she never was a true Cloak,’ Fontaine called after him. ‘Seraphine Marchant is something else entirely.’
He hated how her name went through him like sunlight. Too slowly, Shade licked it away. ‘Whatever she was, it doesn’t matter any more.’
‘On the contrary, Bastian. I think it matters now, more than ever.’ He shook off her words and walked on, even as they floated after him. ‘The strands of destiny are not yet done with you.’
When he glanced over his shoulder, the old crone was gone, his shadows cresting as though to wash her warning away.
But it lingered, long after that.
Chapter 50Seraphine
Seraphine and her friends travelled north through the plains, where vineyards and cornfields soaked up the sun’s warmth, and onwards through a scattering of outlying villages that gave way to the Pinetops.
They went first on foot, and then by wagon, all four of them nestling into the wooden bed. Pippin slumbered between them, occasionally raising his bleary head to watch the flickering city lights get further away. Sera watched them, too, feeling a dull ache in her heart. She tried not to think of Ransom but as night swept in and her eyelids grew heavy, her thoughts betrayed her. She was haunted by the agony in his eyes, and that final press of his lips against her palm.Seraphine, go.
She turned those final moments over in her mind, trying to bury the feelings that came with them. She knew whenthey met again, he would not be able to show her the same kindness. They were enemies now, and one day soon, they would be rivals vying for control of the same city.
The travellers stopped to sleep in the first village they came to after the moon rose, exchanging coin for a room at the cheapest inn, where they ate their fill before bed. On the first night, in a fit of what felt now like utter wildness, they had decided to journey all the way to Halbracht, the ancient village that had birthed the Versini children and their obsession with magic. Shade, and later, Lightfire.
To four sleep-addled people drunk on cheap tavern wine, it had seemed like a grandly exciting idea, but by the fourth day, when Seraphine’s back was aching and the hot sun had scalded her shoulders, she began to wonder if Halbracht was a dream beyond their grasp.
But despite their sunburnt sobriety, Theo remained sure of their destination, and, lacking an alternative, they let themselves be led by his confidence. Onwards they travelled, into the Pinetops, until the wagon could not withstand the terrain and they had to continue on foot. Pippin led them through the sloping hills, higher and higher, until the Silvercrest Mountains loomed on the horizon, and they heard the distant roar of the Hellerbend river. Sera’s heart lifted as she glimpsed magnificent hawks swooping high above them, as if to draw them onwards.
‘We’re almost there,’ Theo called, over his shoulder.
Val swiped a sweaty curl from her eye. ‘What are you, a human compass? How the hell do you know that?’
Bibi was too out of breath to offer her usual optimism. ButTheo was sure-footed and smiling as he said, ‘We’re an hour out. Maybe less.’
For some reason, they all chose to believe him. And as it happened, the Shadowsmith was right. After another hour or so of trekking, Pippin caught a new scent, his tail wagging as he darted ahead.
Overhead, the jagged peaks of the Silvercrests rose to pierce the low-hanging clouds, and the travellers came at last to a narrow pass. A gate blocked their passage, its spires glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun.
A wooden signpost stood before the gate. It read:
Halbracht
Visitors unwelcome
Val dropped her rucksack with a groan. ‘Well, it was fun while it lasted. Except I can’t feel my ass and I smell like a sewer.’
Sera scowled at the sign while Pippin relieved himself against its foot.
Bibi slumped onto a nearby rock. ‘Who wants to try sweet-talking our way in?’
