Page 20 of The Dagger and the Flame
Bored of their provincial life in the mountains, the Versini brothers were eager to make something of themselves, to climb the ranks of urban high society and amass the kind of wealth their ancestors could only have dreamed of. To initiate a Second Age of Magic, and crown themselves as gods.
They brought their new magic to Fantome, to exhibit and then sell, but the people there rejected the strange darkness, rejected the brothers and turned in prayer to their saints. The Versinis were shunned by society and threatened by the royal guard, who hounded them day and night. Over time, they grew bitter, their youthful idealism twisting into resentment.
They stopped trying to sell their magic and kept it for themselves, recruiting the damned and forgotten drifters of Fantome to their guild. And so began a year-long reign of terror, where the threat of Shade hung like a thundercloud over Fantome, fuelling hundreds of thefts and murders until the brothers brought the city to its knees.
Not gods, but monsters.
The Versinis were no longer shunned, but feared. By the people and the royal guard, and even the king himself. With such fear came power. Freedom to mould the city as they liked, so long as they kept the secrets of Shade close to their chests.
Over time, Hugo and Armand carved out a vibrant underworld, where they traded crime for coin, amassing hundreds of wealthy patrons looking to thieve and murder without sullying their own hands.
They grew richer, greedier. But power brought its own problems, and as the brothers got older, they began to argue about the limits of their magic, wondering what the Shade was poisoning in the very core of themselves, and what sacrifice it required of their bodies. Armand’s guilt weighed heavy on his conscience, the pain of regret burrowing as deep as the black whorls on his skin. He no longer wished to kill for power, and to eventually give his own life for it. He wanted to live, truly and fully. But Hugo had committed wholly to the darkness, and could see no point in stopping now. To him, stealing a coin was no different from stealing a life, and indeed, it was the threat of death – ofmurder– that truly kept them in power, that kept the royal guard of Valterre from dragging them off to the gallows.
The brothers fought ceaselessly, eventually separating their followers into two different orders: the Daggers and the Cloaks, both guilds secreting themselves away to opposite sides of the city, for a while maintaining a precarious truce.
Things took a deadly turn when their sister, Lucille, a light in both their lives, and one of the brightest scholars in Fantome, tried to intervene. Ever the idealist, the youngestVersini sought to find a way to reconcile her brothers by eliminating the influence of Shade entirely, so that she might end its terrible hold over her family. Now enrolled at the prestigious Appoline University, seventeen-year-old Lucille secretly started to study the anatomy of the boneshade plant in a bid to create an antidote to it.
But the Versinis had spies in every corner of Valterre.
When Hugo found out about Lucille’s research, he flew into a rage. Fuelled by Shade and fearful of the consequences of an antidote, he hunted down his interfering sister and lashed out at her. In ten heartbeats, Lucille Versini was dead. The light in the brothers’ lives was extinguished, and the last thing that bound them to each other was gone.
When Armand crossed the Verne to avenge his sister’s death, Hugo met him on the banks of the river. In the fight that followed, Hugo proved the stronger. When it was over, he hung Armand’s body from the Bridge of Tears for ten days and ten nights, so that every Cloak, Dagger and soldier of Valterre would know exactly who ruled the city.
For a time, all was silent in the underworld of Fantome. Until, propelled by grief and a determination to preserve his legacy, Armand’s lover, Florentine, took up his mantle, and a new Cloak ascended to power. The Orders settled once more into an uneasy truce, born from a single guiding principle:You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.
In the centuries since, the Cloaks had been demanding the return of their founder’s body, but the Daggers had sworn ignorance as to Armand’s final resting place. The only grave inside the catacombs, aside from Hugo’s own, belonged toLucille. For, in his guilt, the Founder of the Daggers had built his little sister a tomb, then did for her what he could not do for himself. He made her a saint.
Unlucky number thirteen.
Not that many in Fantome recognized her piety. After all, Lucille was not magic-borne, like the original twelve saints of Fantome. She wasn’t blessed, but cursed by her brothers.
And as for the skulls – well, they were part of the furniture. When Lark and Ransom were still boys, they used to hide them in each other’s beds. The night they did it to Nadia, fresh from her first kill, she got such a fright she nearly strangled both of them with their own shadows.
‘Sleepwalking, are you?’ Dufort clicked his fingers, snapping Ransom back to the present. ‘Or am I boring you, son?’
Ransom shook his head, hating how his heart warmed at that word –son. ‘I was just thinking about the Versini brothers.’
‘Don’t tire your mind.’ Dufort crooked an eyebrow, stretching the shadow-mark that sliced through it. Black whorls crawled up his neck and across the right side of his face, like a hand reaching around to smother him. Tonight, the Head Dagger was dressed all in black, but his blue eyes were clear. ‘We have business to discuss.’
‘I know,’ said Ransom. ‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Music to my ears.’ Dufort raised his hand and a moment later, a tray was set down, bearing a metal teapot and two cups. Dufort poured the hot water, then removed a vial of Shade from his pocket. He tipped half of it into the first cup, then looked at Ransom, eyebrows raised.
‘No, thanks,’ said Ransom.
‘Suit yourself.’ Dufort shrugged, then added the rest to his own cup.
Ransom watched him drink. ‘Are you hunting tonight?’
He smirked over the rim of his cup. ‘Is that judgement I detect in your tone?’
‘I don’t know why you stomach the stuff when you don’t have to.’
Dufort licked his teeth. ‘What can I say? I’ve developed a taste for it.’
‘I’d sooner drink sewer water.’
‘Go ahead.’ Dufort’s eyes gleamed silver as the shadows invaded his body, pushing all the light to the surface. ‘Tell me about the girl.’
