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

Seraphine Marchant stood trembling beneath the storm’s blinding fury, reaching desperately for the sky. A bell rang under her feet, signalling the changing of the hour.

Gong!

Gong!

Gong!

Lightning skewered her like an arrow, lancing through her in a shock of bone-melting heat. Pain erupted, the world spinning as she fell. In the centre of it all, shone a moon-white clock face, slowly tick-ticking on.

Screams rang out, calling her name.

Only it was not her name.

Not my memory .

Not me at all .

Then came the hard slap of earth—

Waking with a strangled gasp, Sera shot upright in her seat.

Pippin, who had been napping on her lap, pricked his ears up, a low growl rumbling in his chest. On the bench across from her, Bibi pitched forward, grabbing her hand.

‘You’re all right,’ she said, squeezing gently. ‘You were just dreaming.’

Still panting, Sera swept the ribbons of her blonde hair back from her face. ‘I must have dozed off.’

Bibi’s blue eyes pooled with concern. ‘Was it the same one again?’

Sera frowned, nodding. ‘The clock tower.’

It was almost always the clock tower, those screams that didn’t know her, that place she didn’t recognize.

‘We’re here,’ said Bibi, tugging her away from the memory. ‘Take a look.’

Peering out of the back of the wagon, Sera watched the sleepy village of Aberville unfurl like a setting from a storybook.

This quaint town of winding cobbled streets and stone cottages, charming shopfronts crowned in frilled awning and the clustering pine forests that cradled it from the chaos of Fantome.

The last of the winter frost made everything glitter, crusting the windows and clinging to the rooftops like diamond teardrops.

Nestled in the rolling countryside, Aberville was a considerable journey from the northern mountain village of Halbracht, where they had made their home these past three months. Not that Sera had been bored on the way down here, with Bibi and her beloved mutt Pip for company.

They had passed the days playing cards in the back of the wagon, Pip chewing happily on Sera’s bootlaces while Bibi insisted on a game of I spy whenever they passed through a town or village.

They spent their nights in whichever local inn was closest to them when the horses began to tire, Sera smuggling Pippin in underneath her coat, before devouring whatever local stew was on offer.

Bibi leaned out of the window as they came to a stop outside the yellow-bricked cottage that belonged to Othilde Eberhard, the most seasoned smuggler in Valterre. ‘Look at the size of that garden. I think I see a lake back there.’

Outside, birds chirped in the trees, heralding the coming of spring.

It had been months since Sera had heard that sound.

The mountain hawks of Halbracht preferred to shriek, and if a rogue robin ever chirped, it was quickly outmatched by the braying horses and bleating goats. She took it as a good omen.

They hopped out of the wagon, Sera calling to Remy, their driver, ‘We won’t be long. An hour. Maybe two.’

‘Show time,’ muttered Bibi, just as Pippin jumped out after them.

The smuggler’s scowling face watched them from the window.

Scooping him up before he could urinate on the snowdrops, Sera cradled Pippin in her arms, hoping to all hell Othilde Eberhard liked dogs.

An hour later, Sera found herself pacing by the lake at the bottom of Othilde Eberhard’s garden. She could practically feel the old woman’s eyes on the back of her head, watching from her kitchen window. Contemplating the offer Sera and Bibi had just made. In essence, this:

Leave behind the only trade you’ve ever known .

Wager everything you have on Lightfire .

Lightfire, the antidote to Shade. A golden dust-like substance that could easily nullify the power of Shade’s lethal shadows.

After managing to sweet-talk themselves into Othilde’s cottage, they had presented their offer to her, along with a precious vial.

The smuggler had heard about the monsters of Fantome and the power of Lightfire already, and had been intrigued by their offer, listening intently as they explained how they had first discovered the ancient magical antidote to Shade and then what they planned to do with it: perfect the final recipe and flood the city of Fantome until every single person had a store of Lightfire at their fingertips.

Protection against the Daggers would weaken their hold on the capital, and eventually banish the dark power of Shade magic for good.

They weren’t just presenting a new vocation. They were presenting a new Order. A new world. And they wanted Othilde, who was seasoned and clever and quick with her hands, to be a part of it. Not only as an asset to the Order of Flames but as a vital loss to the Order of Daggers.

After all, fewer smugglers meant less Shade in circulation.

Othilde had broken her silence to call them a pair of disruptors, nicknamed Sera Trouble (with begrudging affection) and then shooed them from her house so she could think.

The minutes crawled. Flinging a stick for Pippin, Sera watched the three-legged terrier run after it like a little grey bullet.

Her lips curled into a slow smile. The smell of the pine trees and the long grass brushing against her shins, the trill of birdsong and the wide bowl of the pale sky all reminded her of home.

Closing her eyes, she imagined herself back in the plains, standing in the garden of her old life, playing fetch with Pip.

Somewhere behind her, Mama was tending to her flower baskets, pruning the dead leaves and planting daffodil bulbs to flower in the spring.

It was so real this memory. This feeling.

Home. Happiness . Sera’s chest warmed, her cheeks prickling with the sudden nearness of her magic.

This strange, unpredictable force had taken root inside her three months ago atop the Aurore Tower.

She had come to know it as a kind of fire.

A flame lit from within, though she did not understand how it worked, or what it wanted from her.

Sometimes, when she was sad or scared or angry, it burned like a bonfire in her heart.

But at other times, it was cold and slumbering somewhere beyond her reach.

A gift she couldn’t quite unwrap.

A magic that fascinated and confounded her in equal measure.

A secret only her closest friends knew about.

‘Mind you don’t fall into my lake, Trouble. Old Othilde won’t be fishing you out. I have not bent these creaky knees in twenty years.’

Her eyes flying open, Sera spun around. Othilde Eberhard was standing in the reeds, wearing a pair of bright red rain boots.

Thin as a rake and short as one too, the rest of her was swaddled in an oversized plaid coat.

Her long white hair was stark against her olive skin and billowing freely in the wind.

‘I have come to my decision.’

Seraphine blinked. ‘That was quick.’

Was it? How long had she been standing out here, lost in thought? And where had Bibi wandered off to?

Othilde crooked a pale brow. ‘How long did the other smugglers take to consider your offer?’

‘I haven’t visited very many,’ Sera admitted.

After she’d fled Fantome and found refuge in Halbracht with Bibi, Val and Theo, she’d barely had time to catch her breath.

Within a matter of weeks, winter had whipped up with such a fury, it had made travel down from Halbracht almost impossible.

Her grand plans for Lightfire – for Fantome – had only recently kicked up again.

‘But the one before you chased me from his garden with an iron skillet so…’

‘So, clever old Othilde was not on top of your recruitment list, then.’

Really, it wasn’t a matter of preference but proximity. ‘How does top five sound?’

‘Sounds like horse manure.’ Othilde jerked her head, as Pippin came striding back, stick in mouth. He dropped it at her feet. She surrendered a dusty smile. ‘Did you bring the mutt to sway me?’

‘That depends… Did it work?’

She picked up the stick and threw it. ‘All my life, I have lived by the man-made darkness of this kingdom,’ said Othilde, as Pip took off again.

‘But I have heard the whispers of Lightfire. Rumours of a Fantome that might have been, if Lucille Versini had had her way.’ She shook her head, regret misting her brown eyes.

‘I never believed those stories until the monsters came. If I had known…’ She trailed off, her lips twisting.

‘Perhaps I would have devoted my life to a better cause. A better world. The one our saints left behind.’

‘There’s still time to reach for that world,’ said Sera, without judgement.

It was never simple, the business of Shade smuggling.

For many, it simply meant surviving. Crawling out of poverty and pain and hardship and clinging onto life by your fingertips.

She would not judge Othilde for the same choices her own mother had made.

‘There’s still time to make your mark on Fantome, Othilde. ’

They had Mama to thank for that. Sylvie Marchant had given her life to the pursuit of Lightfire.

In the end, she had died because of it, nearly dragging Fantome down with her.

Months had passed since the monsters she had poisoned began their reign of terror in the city.

Hundreds of families were still in mourning.

And as for the Order of Daggers… Sera still had no idea how many had perished on the night the monsters ripped through the catacombs…

How many would still be alive if she had climbed the Aurore Tower when she was supposed to and set all those monsters free.

She tried not to think about it. At least when she was awake.

When she slept, nightmares plagued her. When she wasn’t falling from that clock tower, she relived that awful day on the Aurore over and over again, recalling all too vividly the moment she had been struck by lightning up on the tower, how she had pressed her hand against the chest of the Dagger that had come to kill her.

Lark Delano.

She had scoured him to death with her touch.

Seraphine was no Dagger.

But she was a murderer.

Her fingers twitched at the memory.

Othilde’s shrewd brown eyes missed nothing. ‘I think there’s time enough for both of us.’

Sera’s smile was strained. ‘You should know, the Daggers will be displeased at losing another smuggler. The Cloaks, too. They’ll see your decision as an act of—’

‘Treason?’ Othilde snorted. ‘What do I care?’ She turned to watch Pip emerge from the reeds, this time with three sticks in his mouth.

Enterprising little thing. ‘I chart my own course. And Dufort is dead. Ignorant brute that he was. Never bothered to wipe his feet when he came here. Slurped his tea like a dog. I hardly know the one who usurped him. And I sure as hell don’t fear him. ’

‘Ransom.’ Something inside her lurched at his name, but Sera could never tell if it was hope or dread that caused the strange tugging sensation in her chest. ‘He’s called Ransom.’

Her hand twitched again, like it was reaching for the memory of him.

She looked to the water to hide the colour in her cheeks. Illicit memories crowded in on her, and for a fleeting moment, she was back in that alleyway, pressed against the cool stone wall as he trailed his lips along her neck, kissing the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

Ransom. Bastian . Those autumn eyes. That scar-flecked smile. Shadows crawling up his legs, wreathing his chest…

Killer. Lover. Enemy.

She would save him, too.

Whether he liked it or not.

‘You worry about Ransom, Trouble, and I’ll worry about my stiff joints.’

Sera laughed, despite herself. She liked the old smuggler more than she was expecting to.

‘Tell me, is Halbracht as beautiful as Aberville?’ asked Othilde.

Seraphine weighed her answer. ‘It’s wilder than here. There are waterfalls and evergreens, cliffs and caves, and even the occasional brown bear. The animals there roam freely. I suppose it’s less like a fairy tale and more like… a great adventure.’

The smuggler’s dark eyes glittered.

‘It’s quite a journey from here. Three days at best. And that’s if the frost up north continues to melt…’

Othilde was already turning from her. ‘I’ll gather my things. You gather your thoughts.’

Sighing, Sera watched her go. How badly she wished someone had made this same offer to her – to Mama – before everything spiralled out of hand. She would have leaped at the chance to rewrite their destiny. Hell, she would have dragged Mama out of their farmhouse if she had to.

Her chest warmed, a familiar flare of frustration stoking her magic. Sparks danced along her palms. Maker , whispered that ancient voice inside her. The one she had first heard the night the Aurore came down – the night she fell with it. Choose me. Use me .

Addled by an all-too-familiar confusion, Sera plucked a weed from the reeds and turned it in her hands. Watched it change from green to gold, the wide, flat head twisting into the delicate petals of a rose.

It glittered in the sunlight, the strange magic holding its shape as she tossed it onto the frozen lake. A fleeting trick. But that voice inside Sera had gone quiet again, seeming satisfied.

These flowers were no great creation but they were the best she could make. All she could make. Sometimes she gifted one to Theo when he was hard at work in the barn back at Halbracht, to Bibi when she was sad and missing House Armand, or to Val, whenever she wanted to piss her off.

‘Have I caught you mooning over your reflection?’ Bibi called, coming out of the trees, her long red hair tangling in the wind.

She adjusted her scarf, allowing Sera a glimpse of the golden teardrop necklace around her neck.

A precious bead of Lightfire worn by every member of their Order of Flames, whenever they strayed beyond the safety of Halbracht.

‘More like basking in our success,’ Sera called back. ‘Othilde is coming back with us.’

Bibi did a victory skip, before leaning down to ruffle Pippin’s fur. Her brows lowered when she spotted the golden rose sitting on the lake. ‘Who is that one for?’

Sera shrugged, turning from the lake. ‘Saint Oriel can decide.’

Bibi cut her eyes at her. ‘You should know better than anyone, Sera… taunting a Dagger is like playing with fire.’

A smile danced along Sera’s lips.

Some things, she just couldn’t help.