Page 83 of The Dagger and the Flame
‘The Deceiver,’ said Madame Fontaine.
Sera stared at the card.Well, shit.
Fontaine continued shuffling. ‘I knew your mother, you know. We had dealings many years ago when I was the head of this Order and she was a woman not much older than you.’
Sera didn’t tear her gaze from the card. Was it meant to be her, or Mama?
The old woman wheezed a dusty laugh. ‘Sylvie never could sit still, even back then. She refused to settle for the lot she was given in life. Was always reaching for something greater. Darker.’ She looked up at Sera. ‘When you go looking for trouble, trouble will find you first.’
‘Funny thing for a Cloak to say,’ remarked Sera. ‘Isn’t all trouble the same?’
‘No.’ The word was flat.
Sera avoided Fontaine’s milky gaze, but she could feel it prickling the side of her cheek. It stirred unease inside her, and she got the sense that the longer she lingered here in the library, the more the old woman would pry, and Sera didn’t want to tell her about her search for Lightfire. About Mama’s note, or what she knew of the monsters of Fantome. She didn’t trust the old crone. And it was clear the old crone didn’t trust her.
‘I need to take Pip for a walk,’ she said, crouching to fish him out from under the chair. ‘He ate way too much bacon at breakfast.’
Madame Fontaine kept shuffling. ‘I knew your father too.’
Sera stilled. Then stood up, very slowly. She should have left then, run from those words the way she and Mama had tried to run from the man, but curiosity turned her feet to lead.
Fontaine hummed, her hands still working through the cards.
‘He came to me some years before you were born. A street urchin with quick fingers, who wanted a better life. A richer life. He begged to be a Cloak.’ Her lips twisted, the memory sour in her mouth. ‘I turned him away.’
Sera was surprised by her flash of anger. It reminded her of the night she had come here begging for sanctuary, only to have the same door slammed in her face. ‘Why?’
‘For the same reason I turned you away.’ Fontaine smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Just suspicion, laced withwariness. ‘Only this time it wasn’t up to me. You are no Cloak, Seraphine Marchant. Not in your heart.’
‘You don’t know me,’ protested Sara.
Fontaine cocked her head. ‘Do you know yourself yet?’ Her fingers moved, quicker and quicker. ‘You have an air of destiny about you.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ said Sera, at the scowl in her voice.
Fontaine didn’t answer. She closed her eyes, frowning. Another card jumped. She let it flutter to the floor, where it landed face up. It was an old man in a reaping cloak, carrying a scythe.
‘The Grim,’ she said, with a grunt. ‘Death lurks around the corner.’
‘Whose death?’ said Sera before she could help herself.
Madame Fontaine set the cards down. Perhaps it was Sera’s imagination but she thought the old crone looked afraid. ‘We will find out.’
Sera hugged Pippin closer, making for the door before another card jumped out bearing Mama’s face or Dufort’s scowl.
Fontaine’s parting words followed her out into the corridor. ‘You’d better replace that brandy, girl.’
Chapter 31Ransom
Ransom sat on a wall in the Hollows, feeling like a prize fool. He had come here again, like a moth drawn to a flame, and she was asleep. Of course she was asleep. What did he expect? A face at the window, a hand waving to him? The clatter of her footsteps as she ran down the garden path and flung her arms around him, eager to unpick the events of last night and confide in him the secrets of Lightfire?
No. But he had come anyway. To know that she was safe, and to warn her about Lark, who he knew would eagerly rise to the challenge of killing her. The only reason Lark hadn’t already tried was because he had gone with Dufort to Bellevue Castle in east Valterre. They had left that morning, after the Head Dagger was summoned by the king himself. It seemedtheir troubling monster problem, and the rising state of alarm in Fantome, had finally drawn the king’s attention.
If Dufort hadn’t been so angry at Ransom, he would have chosen him for company, but he had taken Lark instead, which sent a very particular message to Ransom:Step up or fuck off.
It had not had the desired effect. Ransom was glad to be rid of both of them, even if it was only for a couple of days.
He waited for an agonizing hour outside House Armand then turned for home. Just as a paper dart came floating overhead. He leaped to catch it, his heart beating hard as he read that messy, looping script.
