Page 12 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)
In the darkest corner of the Rose and Crown, Sera sat with her three best friends eating a rib-eye steak as big as her head.
Somewhere outside, the sun was finally setting, and the taverns on Merchant’s Way were springing to life.
The promise of chaos lingered in the air, the distant thrum of patrolling cavalry adding an ominous backdrop to their dinner.
They had arrived in Fantome yesterday evening, just in time to see a flaming scarecrow king swinging from the top of Traveller’s Arch, and a pair of nightguards beating the rebel who had put it there to a bloody pulp with the hilts of their swords.
On the way to their inn, they watched six more rabble-rousers get chucked into the Verne, while fires raged all along the riverbank.
Fantome was on its knees. It was hard to tell who exactly was in control, only that danger hung thickly in the air, and that both sides were clearly frightened. Violent. Desperate.
Though Sera was eager to get in and out of the city before one of them accidentally wandered into a brawl or landed belly up in the Verne, they could not readily stroll into House Armand and request a meeting with Madame Fontaine without repercussions.
They had resolved to wait a day while Bibi sent word to her contact on the inside.
Alaina, the pastry chef there, was a long-time friend and occasional lover of hers, and, after some back and forth, had agreed to leave out a key for them tonight.
Now it was simply a matter of waiting… and then secretly ambushing Fontaine in her bedchamber.
Sera was less convinced about the second part of their plan, but Theo was sure he could talk the old Cloak around faster than she could squawk for Madame Mercure, the head of the House. Still, they’d need wine for courage, dirt cheap and watery as it was.
Returning from the bar, Theo made sure to fill their glasses to the brim.
‘Careful you don’t eat the bone, Marchant.’
She flicked a pea at him. ‘Eyes on your own plate, Branch. And I always save the bone for Pip.’
She regretted having to leave him behind this time but the atmosphere in Fantome was too volatile for a curious mutt like Pip.
He was better served back in the mountains, chasing the volatile fireworks Tobias loved experimenting with.
Yes, Halbracht was a much safer place for Pip.
Fantome was bubbling over, the flames of rebellions hissing and spreading. It wasn’t safe for any of them here.
Last night, they had retired early to sleep, and had kept to themselves all day, moving about in their hooded cloaks.
Even now, Sera couldn’t help glancing at the doorway.
It was not the nightguards or the wayward rebels that made her nerves swill.
It was the Daggers that dogged her fears.
She wasn’t foolish enough to think the Order she’d almost decimated four months ago would be so casually unconcerned with her comings and goings.
That Ransom Hale, and his second, Nadia Raine, didn’t have eyes on every entry point in the city.
But beyond her own increased wariness, there wasn’t much she could do about it.
So she polished off her steak, and with another hour or so to kill, decided to order dessert – a sinfully gooey slice of fudge cake.
She shared it with Bibi, while Val went to the bathroom and Theo brooded over his second glass of wine, no doubt thinking about their return to House Armand.
Val returned waving a copy of the Sunday penny papers about. ‘Look what I just swiped from that drunk old man over there.’
Once a Cloak, always a Cloak.
She set the newspaper down on the table, and they crowded around to read the front page.
GRAND VERSINI LIbrARY BURNS ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF FOUNDER’S DEATH
Exactly 350 years after the death of Hugo Versini, the notorious founder of the Order of Daggers, the Grand Versini Library went up in flames.
Last night, the skies over the Scholars’ Quarter burned amber, though whether the act of arson was in tribute or scorn to one of the most reviled gang leaders in recent history, one cannot know for sure.
As the fires of rebellion continue to raze the city, and vandals stalk the streets at night, the heart of Valterre has never felt further from peace.
Our beloved Aurore has been toppled, our most sacred buildings are burning and our neighbours are rioting, while the flag of Valterre hangs in tatters from every flagpole across the four quarters.
We, the people, are crying out in fear, terrified another plague of monsters will soon sweep through our streets.
Who will save us then?
Can you hear us, Your Majesty?
Do the windows of your grand palaces not rattle with the echoes of our pleas?
Does your heart not bleed for your people, and the darkness that threatens to swallow us? [ … continued on p. 3 ]
‘The Grand Versini is a pillar of this city.’ Theo sighed. ‘Corrupt, Shade-addicted founding ancestors notwithstanding. I hope they rebuild it.’
The others were stone silent, likely staring at the same thing Sera was. Not the article but the sketch beneath it. It was a portrait of Hugo Versini.
Theo made to turn the page, but Val’s hand shot out to stop him. ‘Not so fast. We are obviously going to have to talk about this.’
Feigning ignorance, he simply said, ‘What?’
‘Eh, the fact you look exactly like your ancestor Hugo?’ She glanced at Bibi. ‘How did we never know this? Seriously, how ?’
In his portrait, Hugo was standing on the front steps of the Grand Versini.
Though he was clearly several years older than Theo, he had the same light hair and keen eyes, a hard-edged jaw and lips that curved as though he was about to tell a joke.
It was uncanny. Unnerving. If there weren’t hundreds of years between them, they could have been twins.
‘It’s not exactly something I brag about,’ said Theo, turning the paper over. ‘Thankfully, Armand was far vainer than his older brother. There aren’t many portraits of Hugo floating about and that’s how I like it.’
It belatedly occurred to Sera that while she had grown up hearing horror stories of Hugo Versini’s ruthless grip on the underworld, she had never seen his face before.
They knew Armand well enough. His portrait hung in the dining room at House Armand, his tousled dark hair and expressive brown eyes making him seem handsome. And more than that – human.
‘Good thing you’ve kept your hood up tonight,’ said Bibi, sneaking the paper towards her to take another peek. ‘The last thing we need is for the people of Fantome to think Hugo Versini has risen from the dead. Things are bad enough here already.’
Theo frowned. ‘It’s not that uncanny, is it?’
They exchanged a bemused look.
‘It’s not like he was ugly,’ reasoned Sera. ‘There’s no need to be so upset about it.’
‘I don’t want anything to do with him.’ Theo took another generous slug of wine before slamming the glass down.
‘I hate him. Who he was, and what he did to the city. To our family. Our legacy. Every time I look in the mirror, I have to see his face. It’s like some kind of cruel joke.
’ Lips twisting, his voice quietened as he glanced away.
‘And what if it’s worse than that? What if I share more with Hugo Versini than the slope of his nose and the shade of his hair? ’
Sera frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, what if the same darkness that moved inside him lives in me too?’
Sera’s frown deepened. Of course Theo was ambitious.
He was quick and clever, a natural-born artificer with a whirring mind and a desire to leave his mark on the kingdom.
They were all ambitious. They had vats of Lightfire, a brand-new Order and a missing Aurore Tower to prove it.
But that didn’t make them bad-minded or dangerous.
It made them hungry for change.
And change was good.
Wasn’t it?
‘That’s not how it works, Theo. You are not destined to become Hugo Versini, just as I am not going to become my father.’
‘I don’t even know who my father is,’ Val was quick to point out. ‘So, if you ask me, we all get a clean slate.’
Bibi clinked her glass. ‘It’s not about what’s in your blood. It’s about what drives your spirit. We make our own choices. Carve our own paths.’
Sera smiled. ‘For the better.’
‘For the better,’ the others echoed.
To Theo, she added, ‘And don’t worry, if you start showing signs of moral decay, I’ll knock some sense into you.’
He managed a smile. ‘Thank the saints for good friends.’
‘And big schemes.’ Val drained her glass. ‘Speaking of, I believe it’s about time for a little breaking and entering.’
They set out for House Armand as the clock tower above the Marlowe struck nine, making their way there on foot. The Hollows was more alive than Seraphine had ever seen it, revellers spilling out of every tavern and bordello, where they crowded the streets, singing and dancing and vomiting.
‘Rebellion abounds in the north and south quarters but everyone still parties in the Hollows,’ mused Theo as they crept along the shadowed streets.
‘The folk here never really had anything to root for. What do they care about who rules Valterre?’ said Val. ‘It’s not like the king ever cared about us.’
When the streetlamps winked out and the midnight ruckus died away, Sera knew they were getting close. She drew her cloak tighter, trying to stave off the sudden chill. Nerves fisted her stomach, a rush of her anxiety stoking the magic inside her.
‘Careful,’ hissed Bibi. ‘Your eyes are glowing.’
Of all the inconvenient times… Closing her eyes and counting out her breaths, Sera shoved her magic down. Not now. Go away .
Up ahead, the ivy that hugged the invisible facade of House Armand flickered into view. Moonlight danced along the yellowed leaves, tracing the contours of the towering manor house. According to her note, Alaina had left a key under a flowerpot in the back garden.
‘Which one is it?’ hissed Val as they slipped through the front gate.