Page 87 of The Rebel and the Rose
Welcome to the birthplace of Oriel Beauregard,
Blessed Saint of Destiny
On either side, dead nightguards hung from their polished bootstraps.
‘All hell,’ hissed Theo.
‘Look at the flags,’ whispered Val, quailing at the sight. ‘They’re different too.’
With great effort, Sera tore her gaze away from the corpses and settled it on the flags billowing atop the arch.The customary crest of Valterre – a rose crossed with two swords – had been altered. Gone were the steel swords of the Rayere dynasty. There was only the rose now, the stark crimson symbol gilded by the rising sun. Her thoughts turned to Fontaine’s rose, the card burning a hole in her back pocket.
No one spoke as they drew closer, and though the carriage slowed as Nadia and Caruso noticed the same gruesome sight, it didn’t trundle to a stop. They pushed forward, ducking as they passed under the arch.
The bodies swayed next to Sera’s window, close enough to see that their eyes had been gouged out, their slackened mouths carved into blood-tinged smiles.
Stifling a whimper, she drew back into the carriage, finding Val’s hand.
At the other window, Ransom’s face was like stone. ‘This is your People’s Saint,’ he said, in a cold, cold voice. ‘Is he truly better than your king?’
She looked away, doubt eating away at that quiet hope inside her.
Part III
‘To be a saint is to give yourself to the tides of fate.
Surrender, and they will carry you to shore.
Fight, and they will drown you,
Over and over again.’
CALVIN VENATOR, SAINT OF DEATH
Chapter 22Seraphine
Upon finding that all but one of the inns at Marvale were full, they had little choice but to check into the Paramour, a small inn tucked away on the eastern edge of town, which was bedecked in all manner of tassels and velvet. It seemed they were not the only ones seeking an audience with the People’s Saint, which only added to Sera’s disquiet. How many people now stood between her and the prince? And would one of them be Ransom?
The bed in Sera’s suite was red and frilled and shaped like a heart. Big enough to share with Val, and with a generous love seat for Theo to sleep on. They took their time washing and getting changed before heading downstairs for breakfast.
The Daggers joined them, and over a platter of eggs, bacon and fresh fruit, they worked out their plan, dutifully pretendingthey were all still on the same side. Since the cobbled streets of Marvale were deserted, they would spend the day scouring the town for word of the prince. It was early yet, which meant they had time to gather their wits and some new clothes while they were at it. As Nadia was quick to point out, nights in Marvale were long and loud, and the fashions here were flashier than what they were used to back in Fantome.
They would either have to adapt or stick out like sore thumbs. A prospect that was even more off-putting after having glimpsed the mangled bodies hanging from the entrance arch.
‘What would you have us dress up as then?’ asked Theo. ‘Rebels or revellers?’
‘Whatever improves that hideous brown jacket,’ Nadia said, between swigs of coffee. ‘You look like someone’s grandfather.’
Theo spluttered in mock offence. ‘I’ll have you know this jacket was a most treasured gift from your king.’ He gestured to the fading bruises along his jaw. ‘Along with these.’
‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘Just do better.’
‘Val and I will see to our new wardrobes. But only if you promise to replace that creepy coat of yours. Nothing screamsI’ve come to murder youlike an intimidating black trench coat and knife-blade stilettos.’
Nadia smirked. ‘That’s typically the idea.’
They bickered on, Val and Caruso soon joining in. All the while, Sera kept her eyes on Ransom. And Ransom kept his eyes on her.
Neither of them ate very much, picking at cold strips of bacon as the clock on the wall ticked on, moving ever closerto that fork in the road. The question that still lingered between them:
