Page 40 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

‘I believe you, you know, about Lark’s body,’ Nadia said after a minute or so. ‘Ransom told me about the Necromancer. He thinks it’s another rogue saint.’

Sera was surprised at the flutter of relief in her stomach. ‘Good.’

It was something, at least. Not a bridge, but perhaps the first stone.

‘It doesn’t mean it’s not difficult for me. To be here on this journey. With you.’

It’s no picnic for me either . Sera swallowed her retort.

Progress. They were making progress.

‘I know I’m the reason he’s dead. I’m never not aware of that.’

She couldn’t bring herself to apologize for it. All she had done was defend herself on top of the Aurore that night.

‘He tried to kill you that night,’ said Nadia, as if reading her thoughts. ‘We both did.’ Her slender brows hunched and for the first time since Sera had met the enigmatic Dagger, she looked ashamed. ‘Different sides. Different stakes. We thought it was the right thing.’

‘Why?’

‘Because that’s what we were told by Dufort.’ A mirthless smile. ‘In truth, we never really thought about right and wrong. That’s not how we were raised. Or trained. We just took our orders like soldiers, and spent the coin well.’

‘Well, at least you’re honest about it, I suppose.’

‘It’s easier to grieve Lark when I can blame you for his death,’ Nadia went on. ‘It means I don’t have to blame myself for egging him on that night. It means I don’t have to blame him for the life he chose. The risks he took. It means I don’t have to blame Saint Oriel.’

But wasn’t it always Saint Oriel in the end?

‘I get it,’ said Sera.

And more than that, she didn’t blame the Dagger for it. Sera was the villain in Nadia’s story, just as Lark was the villain in her own.

‘It was a game. The same one Lark and I played every night for nearly ten years. Kill or be killed. This time, you won.’ She gave a heavy shrug. ‘And Lark lost.’

It didn’t feel like absolution, or forgiveness. But Sera wasn’t seeking those things from her. ‘I wish it had all gone differently,’ she offered. That much, at least, was true.

‘So do I.’

Nadia kicked a stray pebble, watching it plink off a nearby headstone.

‘We were going to leave the Order together. We’d been saving up for a patch of farmland.

We were going to keep chickens. Sell their eggs at the local market.

He wanted cows and sheep too, but I told him I wasn’t made for shovelling shit. My clothes are too fine.’

Sera gave no argument. Even here, after days of travel with little rest, Nadia was unbearably chic, clad in a sleek black coat, narrow leather trousers and a lethal pair of boots.

‘I wish I had said yes to it all now.’ She shook her head, her voice turning rueful.

‘Maybe we would have left sooner. Maybe we’d be there right now.

Shovelling shit. Free of our pain, at last.’ She turned her hands, tracing the slender shadow-marks there.

‘I was always the realist. I struggled to see another life beyond the catacombs, but even as a boy, Lark was so sure we could remake ourselves. That we could be something else. Something better.’

Sera tried to hide her surprise. She had spent so much of her time with the Daggers thinking about Ransom’s desire for freedom, she never imagined the others might feel the same way.

That there could be a different life outside the catacombs for Nadia, too.

That she might covet it just as badly as he did.

Suddenly, her meeting with Andreas felt more vital than ever.

‘You can still strive for something else, Nadia. There’s so much waiting for you outside Old Haven. You could do anything. Be anything.’

Nadia looked away, trailing her fingers along a passing headstone. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, and Sera got the feeling she was talking to herself as much as her. ‘Without Lark, what’s the point?’

There was such sadness in her now, it made Sera’s heart clench. ‘I used to feel the same way about Mama,’ she confessed. ‘After she died, I didn’t see the point in going on. It all felt so impossible. The world was so large and so bleak without her.’

Nadia glanced sidelong at her. ‘So what changed?’

‘I made friends. I considered the world, not for what it had taken away from me, but for what it might yet give me if I just hung on long enough. Freedom. Family. Purpose.’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose I found the point.’

Nadia hmm’d, digesting the words. She didn’t look convinced, but these things, big things – like grief and uncertainty – took time to overcome.

Nadia bent down to pull a weed from a nearby grave. When she stood up, she looked at Seraphine – really looked at her for the first time – without an ounce of hostility. The brown of her eyes glimmered in the afternoon sun. ‘Can I admit something that’s probably going to hurt your feelings?’

Sera shrugged. ‘Only if you promise to say sorry after.’

‘I wish that night in the storm that Saint Oriel had chosen Lark instead of you.’

Sera had braced for the words and found they didn’t hurt at all. They were human, and honest. In return, she offered her own truth, ‘Sometimes, I wish that, too.’

Nadia blinked in surprise. ‘Do you truly despise your magic?’

‘I think the problem is I don’t understand it,’ Sera admitted. ‘It’s hard to summon. Except when things get out of hand. It’s like it only comes rushing out of that well inside me when I’m not looking, when I’m not ready. It ends up hurting people. I hurt people.’

‘And you’re hoping this prince-saint will help you figure it out?’

An affirming nod. ‘I think he’s the only one who can.’

Nadia was quiet then, perhaps unconvinced.

For a while, the only sound was the crunch of her boots on the gravel.

Sera was beginning to regret her honesty when the Dagger said, ‘It was like that for me at the start. With Shade. I would swallow a vial and then panic. The shadows would go everywhere, like a pit of frightened snakes. Twice, I nearly killed Lark and Ransom. The time I accidentally hit Lisette, she ran to Dufort. He nearly kicked me out of the Order.’

‘I had no idea it was so complicated.’

‘It’s not supposed to be,’ said Nadia, a little sheepishly. ‘I was just afraid. Really, really afraid. My fear became a block. It made the Shade turn back on itself instead of doing what I wanted it to do.’

‘How did you fix it?’

Nadia smiled. ‘I got out of my own way.’

‘Well, that’s helpfully vague.’ Sarcasm tripped through Sera’s voice.

‘As long as you fear your magic, it will master you. If you learn to embrace it, even the big scary parts, you will master your power. Only then will you know what kind of saint you’re truly meant to be.’

Madame Fontaine’s words echoed inside Sera’s mind.

Fear is a fog you cannot see through .

‘I guess I’ll just have to figure out the fearless part.’

‘Just wait until you’re faced with a threat bigger than your magic, saint.’

They walked on, coming to the back of the cemetery, where the graves thinned, and the trees thickened. The wind picked up, and the scent of lemon blossoms tickled Sera’s nose.

She came to a stop, sure she glimpsed movement in the trees. Or perhaps it was her magic that sensed something. That familiar flare of warmth in her chest grew hotter, more insistent, as if something had roused it.

‘Do you see something?’ said Nadia.

‘I don’t know.’ Sera tried to shake it off. ‘I just… I have the weirdest feeling we’re being watched.’

Nadia rolled her narrow shoulders, slipping a vial from her pocket. ‘We’re the threat. We have nothing to fear.’

‘You’re right. I’m probably just being—’ Sera’s foot hit against something. She looked down to find herself staring into two gaping eye sockets. There was a skull in the middle of the path.

Nadia cursed, pulling her towards a nearby headstone. More bones here too. A ribcage. A leg and an arm. Fingers strewn along the row like confetti.

They followed them like breadcrumbs, bile gathering in Sera’s throat. ‘These graves are open.’

Not wasting another breath, Nadia downed her vial in one go, putting a foot of space between them. Shadows swarmed her like a cloak. ‘It’s here,’ she hissed. ‘It’s practising .’

Sera’s magic was in her throat now, as hot as lava.

‘We should run,’ she said, with growing urgency.

Nadia planted her feet. ‘No. We should fight.’

Panic roared in Sera’s ears. They couldn’t fight.

Not like this. Not when it was only the two of them.

But Nadia refused to budge. The wind cast strands of her ebony hair about her face as she scanned their surroundings.

Bringing her hands to her hips, she shouted, ‘We’re not scared of you, graverobber.

’ Shadows billowed around her, making her look fierce and beautiful and deadly. ‘Come out and face us!’

Sera’s heartbeat thrummed, her hands glimmering with the nearness of her magic. Her skin adopted that strange, eerie glow.

She told herself, Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid .

All hell , she was petrified.

‘What exactly are you planning?’ she said, through chattering teeth.

‘I’m getting answers,’ said Nadia, gathering more shadows around her. ‘And then I’m putting that Necromancer into its own grave.’ She lifted her chin. ‘ARE YOU FRIGHTENED, GRAVEROBBER?’ She picked up a leg bone and flung it towards the trees. ‘Come back here and pick up your toy soldiers!’

‘You’re mad,’ huffed Sera.

‘Absolutely raging ,’ said Nadia, tightening her ponytail.

There came a cool rush of wind. Sera’s spine went stiff, her magic whispering through her bones.

Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid .

The trees rustled, and from the darkness within, a figure lumbered out. They were tall and slim, wearing a long crimson robe that swept the ground. Their hood was low, hiding their face, and they wore a pair of black leather gloves.

They raised one, as if in greeting.

A long finger twitched.

The leg bone Nadia had flung stood on end and then leaped into the air, returning to her as though carried by an invisible dog. As it floated towards them, it gathered more bones, all of them stacking and clicking, until it became a complete skeleton.

It was the most fascinating and terrifying thing Sera had ever seen, the scent of rot – of death – making her stomach churn. Here was a saint in full control of their power, and she had nothing to defend them with. Just this choking fire in her belly, and the violent howl of her own terror.

Refusing to be cowed, Nadia sent out a wall of shadow. The skeleton shattered into pieces. ‘Neat trick,’ she sneered. ‘Now give me back Lark Delano’s body before I crush the life out of you in ten heartbeats.’

So much for not killing any saints.

Rising to her challenge, the Necromancer advanced, their strides lumbering to one side. Raising their hands, they silently readied another assault.

‘Have it your way, freak.’ Nadia sent out another wave of shadows. They crested over the figure and everything that surrounded it, the blackness so sudden and complete, the entire end of the graveyard turned to night.

‘Ha— Shit .’

The shadows shattered. Night collapsed around them, and Nadia stumbled backwards, gasping. The Necromancer remained exactly where they’d stood, hood cocked as if to say, Is that all you’ve got?

Nadia looked at Sera over her shoulder, her brown eyes wide and darting. There wasn’t a flicker of silver left. Her Shade was spent. The Necromancer had eaten through it by simply … standing there.

Sera cursed herself for not realizing sooner. If Shade no longer worked on her, then it stood to reason that the other saints would likely enjoy the same immunity.

The Necromancer must have known that, probably saw this little run-in as a game. They were moving faster now, those leathered hands flung out, like they were reaching for Nadia.

‘Run!’ yelled Seraphine.

This time, Nadia listened. They made for the other end of the graveyard, the rattle of footsteps behind them getting closer, louder. Halfway there, Nadia’s boot caught on something. She tripped, coming down hard on her knees.

The Necromancer closed in, hundreds of bones trailing alongside them like calcified snakes. Nadia staggered to her feet. Too late. The Necromancer lunged.

Without thinking, Sera leaped, a cry bursting out of her as she landed between them. She flung her hand out, welcoming the fullness of her magic as it connected with a hard chest.

There was a blast of heat. The Necromancer fell backwards, crashing into a towering headstone. The stone cracked under the weight, the bones around them finally falling still.

The gaping hood slipped back as the Necromancer’s head lolled.

Sera’s magic was a fuse inside her, that ancient voice louder than ever before.

Maker .

It belongs to you .

Sera yanked the hood back, revealing a shiny gold mask. The skin underneath it was mottled and grey, the Necromancer’s collarbones as sharp as knives. With trembling fingers, she reached for the mask. A black glove twitched, stretching for her wrist.

Nadia yanked her back. ‘Leave it. We’re about to be sorely outnumbered.’

A salient observation. Since they were in a graveyard teeming with bodies. For a necromancer, that meant soldiers. And for them – deep shit.

Sera’s magic was already receding, the heat inside her fading. Like it was done fighting. Done listening.

She staggered to her feet, moving backwards.

Nadia’s hand in hers was trembling. ‘We need to go. Now .’

They turned and ran.

They were almost back at the Paramour when they ran headlong into Ransom. He was standing outside, scouring the street like he had lost something.

Sera was running so fast she skidded right into him. He flung his hands out to steady her, his eyes darting, frantic. ‘All right?’

‘Just about,’ Sera managed, between gasps.

Nadia skidded to a stop, bracing herself against a nearby windowsill to catch her breath. ‘Might vomit,’ she heaved. ‘Feet definitely bleeding.’

‘Where the hell were you two?’ said Ransom, looking between them. ‘We’ve been out looking for you. We thought something terrible had happened.’

‘You mean you thought we’d killed each other,’ said Nadia, sweeping her sweat-slicked hair back from her face.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘You both look like you’ve tried.’

‘No,’ said Seraphine, slumping back against the sill. ‘Worse.’

Nadia slumped down beside her. ‘Way worse.’

Arms folded and brows hunched, Ransom stood over them. Both a bodyguard and an inquisitor. ‘Explain.’