Page 17 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

Behind him, his quartet dipped their heads in perfect unison, wariness alighting on their withered faces.

‘In their fear and ignorance, the people of Valterre are holding me accountable for this act of divinity. In the wake of those monsters, and the destruction of their great symbol of light, they believe my time as king is at an end. That they need a different leader.’ He barked a mirthless laugh.

‘Simple minds will reach for simple explanations, but I have done nothing these past few months to earn such flagrant, violent ungratefulness.’

Perhaps that’s the problem , thought Sera.

The king hadn’t shown his face once in Fantome since the monsters had ripped through it, or even issued a letter of strength and solidarity to his people.

Not before or after the Aurore fell. He had willingly neglected the chaos in the capital, letting the wave of paranoia swell, and only cared about it now that the tide was finally reaching him in his castle.

It was an effort to keep these thoughts from her face, but she did her best, pressing her lips together until her teeth bit into them.

‘There is an agitator, of course. Every uprising needs a leader. Someone to seize upon their terror and whip them into a fury that cannot be contained by force alone.’

Not that he hadn’t tried, evidently.

The king steepled his hands, bringing them to his lips. ‘I cannot quell the flames of rebellion if I do not first fell the dragon.’

‘Who is the dragon?’ asked Sera, carefully.

It was Ransom who answered. ‘The People’s Saint.’

The king grimaced. ‘The insurgent in question is my wayward nephew Prince Andreas Rayere.’ He drummed his fingers along the table, adding a percussion to the rising wave of his anger.

‘The ungrateful bastard son of my late brother, Hector. Regrettably, Andreas’s mother is a first cousin of Rafael Mondragon. ’

‘As in… the newly crowned King of Urnica?’ said Theo.

‘Very astute, Versini,’ remarked the king drolly. ‘Someone is keeping up with their penny papers.’

Sera noted the subtle change of atmosphere.

No longer was the king leering at them with veiled threats and insidious questions.

Rather, he was holding court with them, betraying his frustrations as though they were an extension of his trusted quartet and not two warring factions who had been scrapping like hyenas in the dirt not thirty minutes ago.

‘So your nephew has ties to Mondragon’s court,’ said Nadia.

The king gave an affirming grunt. ‘A court that already has designs on conquering my kingdom.’

That much Sera knew. As neighbouring kingdoms and long-standing rivals, Valterre and Urnica shared a long and bloodied history.

In recent decades, they had been enjoying a rare spate of hard-fought peace, but Sera knew from the maps that once papered the walls of her old bedroom, there was nutrient-rich land in the south-west of this kingdom that had, centuries ago, belonged to Urnica.

Land that the new Mondragon king no doubt intended to reclaim.

King Rafael was young and thirsty, more brutal than his predecessor, and by all accounts, eager to make a name for himself on the wider continent.

‘So war is coming to Valterre,’ said Ransom darkly.

‘War is already here,’ murmured Sera.

Fury simmered in the Dagger’s gaze, casting the rest of the room and its occupants in sudden shadow. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of them, trading silent accusations across the table. Oh yes, war had been here all winter. It thrummed between them even now.

She looked away, biting her lip to focus her thoughts. Dutifully ignoring the hard line of his jaw and the careless sweep of his dark hair, the white scar that bisected his lip and the memory of how she had once licked it.

Something far greater than their enmity was quickly coming to the fore. Something urgent and vital and growing by the day – an uprising that could change everything.

‘Do you understand my concern?’ The king’s question jolted her from her thoughts.

Theo answered. ‘Valterre has a formidable army, but if war comes to our kingdom, you are better off using those forces along our borders. With your eyes on Urnica, it will make it difficult to defend Valterre from within… From this People’s Saint, and whatever power he possesses.

Not to mention whatever deal he may strike with his cousin, Mondragon. ’

The king tipped his goblet in answer. ‘You were right,’ he remarked to his advisers. ‘It is indeed gratifying to watch a Versini mind at work.’

‘So this Andreas has to go,’ said Ransom, coolly.

‘Why do you need those two?’ Caruso jutted his thumb in Sera’s direction. ‘This is clearly a task for the Daggers.’

The advisers canted their heads, watching through hooded gazes as the king no doubt parroted what they had discussed in private before now.

‘All magic in this kingdom answers to the King of Valterre,’ he said, pointedly.

‘That goes for Shade and Lightfire. The Daggers have a seasoned reputation for finding and killing enemies of the Crown. But the two people sitting across from you destroyed an army of monsters never before seen in Fantome with a kind of new magic that rivals the very power of Shade.’ Peeling his lips back in challenge, he looked now to Sera.

‘If there is to be a new Order in my kingdom, it will bend the knee to me.’

It was not hard to miss the implied or else …

‘The Flames are not to be trusted,’ said Nadia quickly. ‘Seraphine Marchant is no innocent.’

The king gave a dismissive flick of his wrist. ‘I don’t concern myself with matters of morality, Dagger. Only victory.’

He ignored their burgeoning looks of discomfort.

‘Andreas has always been a battle-shy bookworm who can barely hoist a sword, let alone wield one. He sequestered himself at the Appoline for the better part of the last decade, kissing the feet of our dead saints and forsaking his destiny on the battlefield. Indeed, he did not even deign to make the journey home to honour his father upon his death. No, there is no true blood of Valterre in that boy’s veins.

Andreas was born an Urnica turncoat and coward. ’

The king tapped his goblet, and a servant scurried to refill it.

‘It seems that as of recently Andreas has acquired not just a measure of actual personality, but the kind of influence that can sway even hardened battle-worn prisoners to his cause. Which is, as you may have guessed, overthrowing me .’

‘ Alas ,’ said Sera under her breath.

Ransom shot her a warning look.

‘Andreas had a fall on the night of the great storm,’ the king went on.

‘According to his fellow scholars at the Appoline, he climbed the clock-tower that night and got struck by lightning. Somehow, he survived the ordeal. When he awoke on the lawn, his eyes were glowing.’ The king drew a long breath, casting his eyes back to his advisers.

‘Shortly after, Andreas surrendered his royal title. He now styles himself as a saint.’

Sera had gone perfectly still. She swore she knew that memory – the sound of a bell chiming, the poker-hot shriek of lightning running through her bones. A falling tower. A fading clock face. She had dreamed it over and over again. She had felt it.

She reached for Theo’s hands under the table.

He squeezed her fingers four times.

Don’t. Say. A. Word .

‘My advisers believe that Andreas is the first saint of the second coming,’ added the king, with great derision. ‘Blessed with the fortitude and charisma of a natural leader, or so rumours abound.’

‘A true prince charming,’ remarked Nadia.

The Silver-tongue .

Fontaine’s tarot card danced in Seraphine’s head. Her heart galloped, heat rushing through her blood. Open talk of the saints was drawing her magic out, like it wanted to listen in or claim a role for itself.

Please behave .

Squeezing her eyes shut, she blew out a careful breath.

Please, please, please .

‘Seraphine.’

She looked up at the sound of Ransom’s voice. His brows were drawn low, his lips parted. ‘Are you all right?’

A hush had come over the room.

The king cocked his head. ‘You do look hideously pale.’

Sera reached for a lie, something to chase off the suspicion she was bringing down upon herself, but her mind kept snagging on that word: saint .

She and Andreas were the same.

Not only was she not alone in this new destiny, but fate had tossed the identity of another right into her lap. Someone who was not afraid to embrace their new powers.

She swallowed, quickly looking away. ‘It’s just… a lot to take in.’

Ransom was silent then. Sera didn’t dare look at him again. Did he remember their goodbye at Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral all those months ago? How her magic had sparked at his touch? Did he know she was different now too?

‘So it’s really true, then?’ said Caruso. ‘About the saints coming again?’

‘The truth is immaterial.’ The king’s face was stark, his words holding a chilling finality.

‘Anyone who seeks to overthrow the Crown will meet the sharp end of Valterre’s sword.

’ He laid his hands flat on the table, glancing from one side to the other.

‘Which leads me neatly to the matter at hand. I want you to hunt down my nephew and bring me his dead body.’