Page 120 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘Well, that’s not strictly true,’ remarked Lark.
She glared at him. ‘You don’t count.’
‘I’ll help you,’ said Andreas, unerringly calm, like they were talking about making a pot of raspberry jam, and not completely rethreading the tapestry of someone’s soul. ‘Talisa has volunteered herself for the experiment.’
Sera spluttered a refusal, even as her magic gathered new heat, the fire inside her licking at her bones. Crooning to her.
Maker, the time has come.
‘You’re mad. You’re both mad.’
She tried to step back again, but this time Theo stopped her, laying a bracing hand on her back. ‘You could try it,’ he said quietly. ‘What’s the harm?’
She turned to stare at him. ‘I could hurt her. I could hurt myself.’
‘Or worse. You could turn a Mondragon princess into a powerful weapon,’ hissed Val. ‘Who knows what kind of magic she’ll end up with if it works?’
‘We can all hear you, just so you know,’ said Lark drolly. ‘Sound carries in these old mills.’
Sera turned back to Andreas. ‘The saints belong to Valterre. They are part of this kingdom.’ She looked pointedly at Talisa. ‘Not Urnica.’
‘Then try me,’ said Theo, coming forward. ‘Use me.’
‘No,’ said Andreas, beating Sera to her own refusal. It was one thing to harm a foreign royal, but another to risk the life of her best friend.
‘It has to be Talisa,’ said the prince. ‘I have chosen Talisa.’
‘Why?’ pressed Val. ‘Because she’s under your thumb?’
Those golden eyes flashed. ‘Careful, Valerie. We are all allies here.’ He turned on Sera, a challenge in his voice. ‘Are we not?’
No, whispered her intuition. Her allies were the Daggers, and the Daggers were gone. She was starting to wonder what had caused them to flee so suddenly. If perhaps the prince had had a hand in their disappearance. After all, without Ransom and the others, their position here had weakened. If they tried to run, Lark could raise every corpse in Marvale. As a maker of saints, Sera had no true power of her own.
‘It’s Sera’s magic,’ said Theo. ‘That makes it her choice.’
Andreas’s frown was a sharp, twisting thing. Gone in a blink was the handsome affable saint he had pretended to be last night, replaced in the harsh light of day by a spoilt, petulantprince. ‘Just as it is my choice to help you rescue your friend, Bibi.’ With a heavy sigh, he looked at her the way Mama used to whenever she fed Pippin under the dinner table or tracked mud in through the backdoor. ‘Tell me, Seraphine, why would I share the gift of my magic with you when you won’t do the same for me?’
Sera’s heart sank.
Here was the deal: a new saint for her friend’s freedom. An experiment that could go horribly wrong in ten different ways for a life that meant as much to her as her own. Even Val was silent now, chewing up her bottom lip.
With the Daggers long gone, Seraphine could see no other way but this. ‘You win, Andreas. Blackmail it is.’
‘A saint of charms has no need of blackmail, Seraphine. This is simply a negotiation. I want to help you,’ he said, adopting an earnestness that tried to loosen the knot in her chest. ‘I want us to help each other.’
‘AndIwant to become a saint!’ Talisa clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Steeling herself, Sera rolled her shoulders back and welcomed the molten flood of her magic. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said to the prince and his cousin. To herself. And her own magic.
It trilled in answer.
As the afternoon sun dragged itself over Marvale and the streets swelled with bleary-eyed townsfolk, Sera knelt on the floor of the deserted mill, trying to look like she knew what she was doing. Andreas was on his knees beside her, the sleeves of his fine silk shirt rolled up to his elbows. The otherssat in armchairs around them, a rapt audience for whatever came next.
Andreas had summoned his mercenaries. Armed with impressive long swords that had likely once belonged to the king’s soldiers and terrifying grimaces honed by years of brutal warfare, and later incarceration, they patrolled the outer walls of the mill, as well as either side of the only entryway. It was for their own privacy, the prince had assured them, and even despite the sincerity of his tone, Sera couldn’t help but think these men were there as much to keep them in as to keep curious onlookers out.
Dressed in a long white linen dress and with her feet bare, Talisa lay on the rug below her. Her pale hair fanned out like a halo around her head, a purposeful pose that had made Sera’s eyes roll so far back in her head she momentarily lost sight. The Mondragon princess was so eager for her sainthood, she probably would have swallowed a bowlful of worms if Sera asked her to.
It was that hunger that gave her pause. What was the measure of this spoilt royal from Urnica who seemed to have little personality to recommend her besides the utter adoration of her cousin?
