Page 16 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

King Betrand IV of Valterre took one look at the chaos before him and barked a furious command. His personal guards drew their swords, rushing forward.

The tussle fell apart with remarkable speed.

Ransom and Caruso backed away, moving around the table with their hands raised.

Ransom looked a little worse for wear now, which made Sera feel somewhat better.

Strands of his thick black hair dipped into his eyes, and there were smudges of blood on his left cheek and on the collar of his shirt.

It was not his own.

Caruso was bright-eyed and panting, like a wolf who had just taken down a deer.

Or indeed a Dagger who had just beaten the shit out of a pair of the king’s soldiers in his own damn palace.

Not a hint of remorse on his face. Nadia slid back into her own chair with leonine grace, absently smoothing the flyaway strands of her sleek ponytail as though she hadn’t just forked Sera in the jugular.

‘What in the name of Valterre is going on in here?’ demanded the king. ‘If you insist on scrapping like a pack of stray dogs, you can take it to the streets.’

His thick black moustache twitched in anger. It matched the fullness of his beard and considerable sideburns, the rich hair there running into a mass of tumbling curls that crowned the rest of his large round head. The wig did nothing for him.

The king was portlier than his official portrait suggested, with puffed-up ruddy cheeks, deep-set grey eyes and a bulbous nose.

He was dressed formally in a black-and-gold frock coat lined in thick ermine, striped with a crimson sash that ran from his right shoulder to his left hip.

A line of seven ribbons – his ceremonial war medals – occupied the left side of his upper chest and swayed as he approached the dining table.

Four sombre-faced figures dressed in courtly attire entered behind the king, and stood behind his chair, their keen eyes assessing everything. Sera guessed by their age and finery that they were the king’s royal council of advisers. The silent quartet , as they were known in the penny papers.

‘Apologies, Your Majesty,’ said Ransom, who had the good grace to look ashamed. Or at least, fake it. ‘There was a misunderstanding in your absence.’

The king quirked a brow. ‘Of what sort?’

‘Your soldiers ran into my fist. Several times.’

Sera’s eyes widened. Had Ransom lost his mind, speaking that way to the most powerful man in—

King Bertrand chuckled. The ripples of it raised the hairs on her arms, but his amusement seemed to set everyone else in the room at ease.

Even one of his stern-faced advisers cracked a smile.

Still smarting, the brawling soldiers resumed their spots against the walls.

The king looked them over. ‘Next time, I’ll set some house rules for my prized Daggers.

I suppose you’ll tell me they deserved it, Hale. ’

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he said coldly.

The king gave Sera a once-over. ‘Did the girl run into your fist too, Ransom?’

That muscle in his jaw ticked. ‘The handiwork of your soldiers.’

The king’s eyes flashed with intrigue. He sat back in his chair, glancing between them. ‘I see.’

Sera took his utter lack of surprise at her injuries to mean he had likely ordered his soldiers to rough them up – or at the very least, didn’t tell them not to – which meant he was exactly the careless asshole she figured he was. Perhaps he deserved his own brewing rebellion.

By the murderous look on Theo’s face, she guessed he was thinking the same.

They were in dangerous territory now. They would have to tread carefully, keep the mutinous expressions from their faces, and bite their tongues until they figured out what the hell was going on here.

Returning his attention to Ransom, the king said, ‘If only Dufort could see you now. What a beast he has raised. Brawling at the Summer Palace against the king’s own guards. Arrogant and unrepentant to the last. I expect he would be pleased with his successor.’

Despite the roaring fire, the temperature in the room plummeted.

Sera shuddered.

Ransom swallowed.

The king clicked his fingers, summoning refreshments, before turning his beady eyes on Theo.

‘Here sits Cordelia Mercure’s prized Shadowsmith,’ he said, stroking his beard.

‘No longer a student of Shade but of Lightfire , it seems… Tell me, Mr Branch, or should I say Versini , was House Armand not exciting enough for you? Or are you often led astray by pretty little creatures?’

Sera fought the urge to gag. This man might well be King of Valterre but he was singularly revolting.

Theo kept his voice even. ‘I am merely a student of innovation, Your Majesty.’

The king hmm’d. ‘Just like your illustrious ancestors.’

Behind him, his quartet whispered furiously to one another.

Theo bristled, his lips pressed together so tightly, they lost their colour. Sera squeezed his knee under the table – three quick pulses: Keep it together .

Presently, a servant arrived with a tray full of wine goblets and a platter of cured meats, fresh bread rolls and grapes, and more kinds of cheese than Sera had ever seen before.

She knew she must be hungry since she couldn’t remember the last time she ate, but as the king took a deep swig from his goblet, her stomach twisted at the blood-red wine dribbling down his beard.

Shoving a wedge of mottled blue cheese into his mouth, he twisted in his seat, settling the fullness of his attention on her.

She hated how his eyes roamed, his tongue darting out to wet his stained lips. ‘Seraphine Marchant.’ He tipped his goblet at her. ‘At last, we meet.’

She could speak. Now it was Theo’s turn to squeeze her knee.

She offered a demure smile. ‘I didn’t realize we were overdue, Your Majesty.’

‘Well, you have been busy, according to my spies.’

‘Spring is an industrious time,’ she said, coolly. ‘Just look at how busy the birds are.’

She felt his advisers’ attentions sharpen, their mirrored frowns making them look eerily similar. The room had fallen deathly quiet now, the Daggers watching their exchange like a trio of hawks.

The king took another languid sup of wine. ‘For months now, I’ve longed to meet the firebrand who saved my capital from ruin…’

There was a hardness in his eyes that belied his words. A challenge was brewing there, as though in doing something about it, she had overstepped her mark. Made him look bad.

‘As I understand it, you managed to rid our hideous plague of sewer monsters with your innovative jars of Lightfire… Or so you have been telling people.’ The king cast a knowing glance towards his nearest adviser, a pale elderly man with a long silver beard.

Sera kept her expression blank, but unease prickled under her skin.

He was a lot better versed than she’d suspected.

Then again, they had been up and down the length and breadth of Valterre spouting about Lightfire to any smuggler who would hear them.

She had been naive to think he wouldn’t hear about it – or indeed care about it.

‘The question is, what do you plan to do with your special brand of magic now?’ His voice fell to a deadly low.

‘I hear your first shipment has reached the streets of Fantome. Some of your vials have found their way into the hands of those who seek to harm me. They are using your magic to protect themselves from the consequences of their own traitorous actions.’

There was a heavy, daunting silence.

Sera’s heart thundered furiously, panic scrambling her thoughts.

This was bad. Very bad.

‘So I must ask,’ he went on, with a flat, sinister smile, ‘what else does your Order have in mind for my rioting capital? Do you count yourselves among the rebels who seek to dethrone me?’

‘No.’ The word whooshed out on a staggered breath. ‘No, of course not.’

‘We harbour no ill will towards the Crown,’ added Theo, quickly.

The king’s eyes darkened. Very slowly, he said, ‘Then why are you arming my rebels?’

Sera grasped for something to say that was not about to get them killed. ‘Lightfire is not a weapon, Your Majesty. It’s simply a way for the good people of Valterre to protect themselves from Shade. To feel safe in their own city.’

Caruso snorted.

The king’s advisers exchanged a series of bemused glances.

The king canted his head. ‘Would you prefer that your own king feels unsafe in his kingdom?’

A dangerous question.

Sera could see now how deeply the king and the Daggers were intertwined, how he relied on more than just his soldiers to keep his restless subjects in line. Ransom and his Order had their own part to play in the king’s secret undercourt, and Sera’s Order of Flames was plainly disrupting it.

All she could do now was plead ignorance.

‘I’m no rebel, Your Majesty,’ she said, firmly. ‘We only want what’s good for the kingdom.’ She swallowed. ‘And our king.’

Theo nodded emphatically. ‘We made the Lightfire to save Fantome from those monsters.’ This, at least, was true. And by the way his eyes shone with conviction, Sera hoped the king would believe it. ‘We would never knowingly move against the Crown.’

‘Bullshit,’ muttered Nadia.

The king sat back in his chair, momentarily surrendering his ire for a slab of cured ham, shoving the entire thing into his mouth in one bite. Swallowing thickly, he said, ‘Let us put your stirring convictions to the test, then. I’m sure you are wondering why I invited you here.’

Sera exchanged a side-glance with Theo. Invited was one way of putting it.

‘I have a task for you.’ He paused meaningfully, his gaze roving across the table. ‘ All of you.’

The Daggers shifted uncomfortably.

‘You are well aware of the dissent festering across my kingdom.’ The king’s expression turned grave, the high colour fading from his cheeks. ‘The fall of the Aurore has marked a change in the fortunes of this kingdom. A change that some believe was foretold by Saint Oriel one thousand years ago.’