Page 69 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘Who can know for sure? The kingdom is teetering on the cusp of this new age. We are at the beginning of change, not the outcome of it. We must wait for the dice to settle.’ The provost passed a hand over his beard, tugging at the wiry strands. ‘Although there is one thing I am sure of. There is a difference between power and goodness. One does not beget the other.’
‘Perhaps it depends on the gift,’ reasoned Theo. He was careful not to look at Sera now, as though afraid even a glance would cast her in a glow of sudden suspicion. ‘Is there a way to know what powers will present themselves in this new Age of Saints?’
‘Not so,’ said the provost, who had plainly considered it at great length. ‘I believe the gifts will act on the person as they did during the first age. We know that Alisa, Saint of the sick, was a nurse before the storm struck. Her gift of healing seemed to be the most natural outcome. Maurius had been a sailor, so he knew the ways of the wind long before his magic enabled him to corral it. And Caddel was a venerated soldier in the royal army before his true prowess in war manifested. Calvin grew up with a mother who practised seances, so to commune with the dead was no great stretch for him. And Saint Oriel, of course, was prone to daydreaming, even as a child… There is no telling how precisely power will manifest before the magic itself settles. It is the alchemy of the soul and the divine that decides it. Just as before.’
Sera’s breath was coming sharp and fast, curiosity piling ahundred more questions on her tongue. About the saints of old, and the ones still to come. Fontaine’s tarot cards were like lead in her pocket. A part of her wanted to draw them out and wave them in the provost’s face, beg him to examine them just as closely, to tell her what she had become in that storm – or who she was supposed to be – but the Daggers were coming their way, clearly growing impatient.
So, too, was the provost. He seemed to snap back into himself, stepping away from their conversation and stiffening his shoulders. ‘I believe your search is at an end,’ he announced to all of them. ‘I’ll show you out.’
Chapter 16Ransom
As they left the lower chamber of the Appoline library, with nothing to show for their journey but more bad blood, Versini made a point of walking between Nadia and Seraphine, lest one of them decide to kill the other. Again. Despite his ongoing disdain for the Shadowsmith, Ransom appreciated his foresight.
As they wound their way back through the halls of the Appoline, scholars watched them from the shadows, peering out from behind statues and pillars. Still carting that black cat around with him, Caruso pretended to lunge at one every so often.
Eventually, they were shooed out of the front door, the provost offering a stilted goodbye as the gatekeepers peeled far away from them. Ransom was halfway down the pathwhen he realized Seraphine was not with them. She had lagged behind, her golden hair just visible through the crack in the front door.
Retracing his steps, he silently stepped into the shadows on the other side.
She was standing in the foyer with the provost, her voice low and edged with concern. Despite his obvious disgust for the Daggers, the old scholar seemed to have taken a shine to Seraphine. He was standing with his arms folded and head bent, listening intently.
‘… that it’s troubling me,’ she was saying. ‘It feels like it’s all happening so quickly.’
He hmm’d in agreement. ‘Such is the nature of great change. It is the after that will decide the fate of the kingdom.’
‘Provost, is there such a thing as a bad saint?’ she said, in a small nervous voice.
The scholar scrubbed his jaw. Seraphine wrung her hands as she awaited his answer, her anxiety so palpable it made Ransom’s heart thrum.
‘That I do not know,’ the provost admitted, with a heavy shrug. ‘But I will admit that it is my greatest fear.’
‘Mine too.’ Seraphine’s voice was so quiet Ransom had to lean in to hear her. He stood now with one foot in the doorway and one foot out, the gatekeepers’ curious gazes boring into his back.
‘Although some of my best scholars would argue that goodness, or indeed badness, is a matter of perspective,’ the provost reasoned. ‘The saints of old were not without fault, Seraphine. They were human long before they wereblessed. But what they shared with each other was an implicit understanding, a bond born out of the uniqueness of their circumstances, despite the differences in their gifts. The pull to each other was always stronger than the pull of ambition, but of course, with all power, the temptation formoreis always there…’ He trailed off. ‘In that way, I don’t believe we can judge Andreas until the rest of the saints reveal themselves. However many there may be this time around.’
‘I admit I’m curious about the other saints,’ she said, so very carefully. ‘I wonder whether they will find their way to the prince.’
She was fishing.
And damn if it wasn’t working.
The provost looked at her, his hawkish eyes narrowing. Ransom wondered if he could glimpse the fire in her, if all those decades he’d spent researching the saints of Valterre had prepared him for a moment like this. To look beyond what was most obvious, to the hidden truth therein.
Seraphine turned her face up to him, like she was willing him to see her. To trust her.
Unease needled Ransom. He had to fight the urge to stalk inside and pull her away from the provost, to keep her from unravelling the greatest – and most dangerous – secret of her life to a man who owed her no loyalty. But then, Seraphine was cleverer than Ransom was, cunning in a way that often caught him off guard. Perhaps she had a plan even now, a deeper reason for this hushed conversation.
And then the provost spoke again, and Ransom almost laughed at how easily she had snared him.
‘If they werereallycurious, they could always look for him in the town of Marvale.’
So the wily old bastard knew exactly where Andreas was – he had known this whole time.
‘Marvale,’ echoed Seraphine, a hitch of excitement in her voice. ‘That’s where Oriel Beauregard was born.’
The provost nodded. ‘Andreas believes the other saints will find him there. That is his greatest hope.’
She pressed a hand to her heart, like she was storing the information there. ‘Thank you, Provost Ambrose.’ She sounded sincere… almostrelieved.
