Page 10 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

Theo lowered himself down to the step. ‘We’ll keep working on the recipe. Decrease the batch size until we get it right.’

She chewed on a hangnail. It was hard not to feel impatient, to spend so long on a batch only to have it fail at the first hurdle.

If they flooded the city with exploding vials, the Daggers would laugh at them.

The king’s eye would turn on their Order, and the people of Fantome would lose trust in the Order of Flames before they even learned of their true purpose.

‘The good news is, demand is even higher than we thought,’ Theo went on.

‘Paola says rebellion is brewing in Fantome. The king is losing his grip on his people. Ever since the Aurore fell, trust in the royal family has plummeted. The people are frightened. They feel betrayed. The Iron Keep has been all but emptied and the city is crawling with overzealous nightguards. Word on Merchant’s Way is the Daggers are busier than ever.

Killing anyone who dares speak ill of the king. ’

Sera’s stomach twisted. ‘If the people are starting to revolt against him, then the rest of Valterre will soon follow.’

What did that mean for her Order’s mission? For the very fate of the kingdom?

Not for the first time, Sera felt the threads of destiny twining around her.

Theo rubbed at the dent between his brows. ‘It does beg the question… is now a good time to put a new weapon in the hands of the people of Fantome?’

‘When else but now?’ she shot back. ‘I can’t think of a better time to empower them. To give them something to fight back with. To protect themselves with.’

‘If the Daggers cede their control of the city, the people there could overthrow the king,’ said Theo.

‘I’m no monarchist, but the House of Rayere has ruled Valterre for hundreds of years.

The king’s army secures our borders from the grasping hands of Urnica and Farberg.

A kingdom needs a leader. To topple the Daggers is one thing, but to move against the king—’

‘We’re not moving against the king.’ At least not deliberately.

And what did they care for the House of Rayere, greedy and self-interested as it had always been?

‘Let the king keep his army. We’re only moving against the power of Shade.

Fantome has been in darkness for far too long. It’s time to set it free.’

Wasn’t that reasonable?

Wasn’t it about time?

Theo hummed. ‘There’s more.’

Of course there was.

Sera braced herself.

His gaze was fixed on that shining nugget in the grass. ‘Paola says there are rumours of a new revolutionary stirring in Fantome. Someone who intends to unite the people of Valterre. They’re calling him the People’s Saint.’

Sera stilled, the echo of her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

‘Many are looking to him to lead them out of rebellion. Into a new age.’ Slowly, he turned to look at her.

‘A saint ,’ she repeated weakly. ‘How absurd.’

‘Is it?’ he said quietly.

No , came a whispering from behind the door inside her.

Yes , screamed the girl that guarded it.

‘The saints are dead, Theo.’

He looked at her for a long moment, curiosity and trepidation warring in his gaze.

And there was something else there, too.

A kind of hunger that made the turquoise of his eyes shine a little brighter.

Then he said, in a whisper, ‘Haven’t you ever considered the possibility of a new age?

Haven’t you wondered about the power inside you? What it truly means ?’

Sera stared at him, waiting for that rogue dimple, a flash of teeth in the dark, but he was more serious now than she had ever seen him, carefully plucking at the thread of her own suspicions… her own fear.

No.

No .

She was the same Sera she’d always been. Wasn’t she?

Was she?

Theo went on, oblivious to the tornado spinning inside her.

‘When I was a young boy growing up in Halbracht, the elders here spoke of the Second Coming of the saints. A lasting antidote to the man-made darkness that has plagued Fantome for centuries. The darkness that began in our village… that grew from the ambitious minds of Hugo and Armand Versini.’ His lip curled over his ancestors’ names.

‘Before my grandmother died, sometimes she would sit outside and watch the clouds on restless nights. So certain that one day a storm would come, and that it would change everything. My father said it was because she ate the wild mushrooms down by the river, but my grandmother never seemed mad to me. Just… hopeful, in the way that hope can be maddening sometimes.’

‘I know that feeling,’ murmured Sera, thinking of her mother.

‘My grandmother believed in the last prophecy of Saint Oriel. The last words uttered by the Saint of Destiny on her deathbed. When she spoke of the Second Coming of the saints.’ He swept his silver hair back from his face, looking at the single golden nugget.

‘It’s only recently I’ve begun to wonder if it might be true. ’

Sera looked at her hands, so small and pale in the moonlight. Could it be true? Was it madness to even consider the possibility? She shook her head vigorously. ‘I can’t be a saint, Theo. Whatever this is… it feels like a mistake.’

‘Maybe that’s because you’re afraid of it.’

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat.

Theo was right. She was afraid, and she couldn’t seem to break the spell of that fear, to trust the magic in her veins not to hurt her.

Or the people she cared about. Because if she was a saint, she was a broken one – her magic rebelling against her.

Perhaps it had been meant for someone else, someone worthier.

‘Let’s keep trying to understand it,’ said Theo for the hundredth time. ‘We can have our sessions in the mornings before anyone else—’

‘We’ve tried . Doing breathwork with you in knee-high grass isn’t going to get us anywhere.’

Not unless he could plunge his hand inside her and rip out her fear. Shake some bravery into that little girl who trembled before the door to her magic, and the secrets that glittered therein.

‘Something vital changed for you that night on the Aurore, Sera. Something vital changed for the whole bloody kingdom.’ He couldn’t keep the bite from his voice, the frustration from curling his fists. ‘You owe it to yourself and Valterre to figure it out. You owe it to us .’

Raking her hands through her hair to keep from shoving him, she swallowed back her retort.

He was right and a part of her hated him for it.

Failure was a boulder in her stomach, and the weight of it made her feel unbearably tired suddenly.

Between the nightmares and the gnawing waking anxiety, Sera felt more at sea than ever.

Who could help her now?

Who would pull her back to shore?

Somewhere in the distance, a bird cackled, the sound just like a madwoman’s laugh. She jerked her chin up, an idea striking her like an arrow. Perhaps she didn’t have the answers. But she knew someone who might.

She turned to Theo. ‘Hear me out …’

‘Three dangerous words,’ he said warily.

‘I want to return to Fantome. I think there’s someone there who can help me figure this out.’

His face darkened. ‘You’re not seeing him, Sera. Over my dead body.’

‘Not Ransom,’ she said, punching his shoulder. Even if, secretly, recklessly, she had let herself imagine what it would be like to stalk into the heart of Old Haven and find him there.

Would he kill her?

Kiss her?

Curse her?

‘I want to go to House Armand.’

Understanding dawned across his face. ‘You want to talk to Madame Fontaine.’

‘The old crone might be halfway out of her mind and as sour as a shrivelled lemon, but she has a connection to Saint Oriel,’ said Sera. ‘You know it. Val and Bibi know it. When I was a Cloak, Fontaine knew things about me she shouldn’t have. It’s like her tarot cards were whispering to her.’

He scrubbed his jaw, mulling it over. ‘It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had. Though it is going to be fraught with untold peril.’ At her look of guilt, he summoned a grin. ‘Lucky for you that’s my favourite kind of adventure.’

She mirrored his smile. ‘Mine too.’