Page 84 of The Dagger and the Flame
I thought our little game was over…
He reached for the pen he had stolen from the nearest brothel on that first night she had written to him, and scribbled his reply.
There are other players in the game now. You need to be careful.
He sent it back on a gusting shadow, sipping just enough Shade to do so and still keep his wits about him. There was a gap in her curtains, her face there peering out, trying to find him in the dark. He watched her write her reply.
I thought I was being careful.
He barked a laugh.
There is nothing careful about you, Seraphine.
He heard her answering laugh on the wind, and wished he could bottle it. That dart came again, veering too far to the left this time. He saved it from an open drain, scuffing his boots in the dive.
In the spirit of recklessness, I have a proposition for you, Ransom. Answer ‘Yes’ and see the outcome below (artist’s rendering)…
He stared at the sketch underneath her words. A woefully out-of-proportion stick man, with a generous sweep of black hair and a giant goofy face. A little nick in the centre of his smile marked the scar on Ransom’s lip. Something inside him glowed, warm and bright, and he knew if there was a mirror before him now, he’d find himself with that same goofy smile on his face. He wrote back.
You spent way too much time on my hair. And why is my head so massive?
He paced, waiting for her reply.
I know, right? I’ve been asking myself that since we first met.
Seraphine and that smart mouth. He tried not to think about claiming it.
Tell me your proposition.
He wanted to ask her to come outside and tell him to his face. To give him one stolen minute in the dark, but he was afraid of scaring her off.
Meet me at Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral tomorrow at dusk, and you’ll find out.
He hated how his heart swooped, how easily she yanked it with her invisible string. If only she knew how desperately he wanted to say yes. To yell it at her window and wake every Cloak in House Armand.
I’ll think about it.
He told himself there would be no reply, but he lingered another minute anyway, running to catch it when it came floating over the hedge.
It’s a date.
Ruthless. She was teasing him. Tilting the whole damn game, and raising two fingers to Dufort. And he liked her even more for it. So much so that he folded the note to keep it. He turned away from her, grinning like that goofy stick man all the way back home.
Chapter 32Seraphine
Sera wore her cloak as she walked across the river to the Saints’ Quarter, with Ransom’s warning still swirling in her head. She didn’t know who the other players in the game were – or how many more Daggers Dufort had assigned to kill her – but she sure as hell didn’t want to find out the hard way.
It was late afternoon when she set out from House Armand, the pale autumn sun gilding the city rooftops in soft amber light. There was a crispness to the air that made her draw her cloak tighter as she crunched through the leaf-strewn streets. Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral towered over the sleepy streets of west Fantome, formidable in its beauty. It was a remarkable feat of architecture, with a grand limestone façade and two rows of flying buttresses guarded by stern-faced gargoyles.
The church boasted twelve stained-glass windows at the front alone, one for each of the twelve original saints of Valterre. Seraphine peered up at them as she approached, catching the misted gaze of Saint Celiana, who had been painted on a floating seashell, playing a harp. In the window next to her, Maurius, Saint of Travellers and Seafarers, stood at the bow of a wooden ship, casting a fierce wind that blew the sails taut. Beside him stood a young, weeping Maud, Saint of Lost Hope, once worshipped for her ability to take on the sadness of others and unburden them of their worldly cares. She had been rendered with her shawl pulled tight around herself, her crystalline tears glistening in the dying sunlight.
Sera had never been inside Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral before. Mama used to joke that if they ever set foot inside it, the revered saints of Valterre would sniff out the Shade on the pads of their fingers and send them up in flames.
That joke was no longer funny to Sera.
A push on the large oak doors revealed the dimly lit sanctuary within. Puddles of blue and red and yellow light danced along the marble floors, while hundreds of candles flickered in the alcoves. The beauty of this place took Sera’s breath away, and for a moment, she stood under the gazes of the saints and wished she was worthy of their attention. Wished she was a different sort of girl, from a different sort of life, where visiting a cathedral like this wouldn’t set her teeth on edge.
You have an air of destiny about you.
