Page 40 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘Andreas had a fall on the night of the great storm,’ the king went on. ‘According to his fellow scholars at the Appoline, he climbed the clock-tower that night and got struck by lightning. Somehow, he survived the ordeal. When he awoke on the lawn, his eyes were glowing.’ The king drew a long breath, casting his eyes back to his advisers. ‘Shortly after, Andreas surrendered his royal title. He now styles himself as a saint.’
Sera had gone perfectly still. She swore she knew that memory – the sound of a bell chiming, the poker-hot shriek of lightning running through her bones. A falling tower. A fading clock face. She had dreamed it over and over again. She hadfeltit.
She reached for Theo’s hands under the table.
He squeezed her fingers four times.
Don’t. Say. A. Word.
‘My advisers believe that Andreas is the first saint of the second coming,’ added the king, with great derision. ‘Blessed with the fortitude and charisma of a natural leader, or so rumours abound.’
‘A true prince charming,’ remarked Nadia.
The Silver-tongue.
Fontaine’s tarot card danced in Seraphine’s head. Her heartgalloped, heat rushing through her blood. Open talk of the saints was drawing her magic out, like it wanted to listen in or claim a role for itself.
Please behave.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she blew out a careful breath.
Please, please, please.
‘Seraphine.’
She looked up at the sound of Ransom’s voice. His brows were drawn low, his lips parted. ‘Are you all right?’
A hush had come over the room.
The king cocked his head. ‘You do look hideously pale.’
Sera reached for a lie, something to chase off the suspicion she was bringing down upon herself, but her mind kept snagging on that word:saint.
She and Andreas were the same.
Not only was she not alone in this new destiny, but fate had tossed the identity of another right into her lap. Someone who was not afraid to embrace their new powers.
She swallowed, quickly looking away. ‘It’s just… a lot to take in.’
Ransom was silent then. Sera didn’t dare look at him again. Did he remember their goodbye at Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral all those months ago? How her magic had sparked at his touch? Did he know she was different now too?
‘So it’s really true, then?’ said Caruso. ‘About the saints coming again?’
‘The truth is immaterial.’ The king’s face was stark, his words holding a chilling finality. ‘Anyone who seeks to overthrow the Crown will meet the sharp end of Valterre’s sword.’ He laid hishands flat on the table, glancing from one side to the other. ‘Which leads me neatly to the matter at hand. I want you to hunt down my nephew and bring me his dead body.’
Chapter 10Ransom
Ransom had been expecting the king’s request from the moment he arrived at the Summer Palace. He was, after all, a trained assassin. The best in Fantome, with an entire Order under his thumb. It’s why he’d brought Nadia and Caruso. If the king wanted something done – and that something waspersonal– then Ransom was taking two of his best Daggers with him.
He had not, however, been expecting to come face to face with Seraphine Marchant. As he’d sat drumming his fingers in that sweltering, overwrought dining room, he hadn’t been thinking about her at all. For once.
When the door swung open, he’d pitched forward in his seat, as though tugged by some invisible force between them. The sight of the troublesome spitfire bound and trembling likea prisoner on her way to the gallows, kindled in him a rage so quick and violent his mind had emptied entirely.
When the guard yanked the sack off her head, revealing a gruesome patchwork of cuts and bruises across her bloodless face, a roar of fury gathered in his chest. He fought it with every ounce of his control, even as his fingers itched for the Shade he had surrendered upon his arrival.
He had been doingsowell.
Until he saw the bruises on her neck.
