Page 43 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

Again, that musical chuckle. ‘I only meant that we are of the same making. The same magic.’ He tipped his glass against hers.

‘As you are, Seraphine.’ He drank deeply, the red wine staining his lips.

For a fleeting moment, he looked so like his uncle the king, the wine so like the blood that had dripped from those hanging nightguards, that she had to blink the image away.

‘I would ask you this…’ he said, his eyes imploring as leaned towards her.

‘Don’t blame my necromancer for the unpalatable nature of his power.

You know as well as I do that we have no control over what kind of magic takes root inside us.

’ There was a glimpse of something then – a shadow passing behind his eyes, his hand tightening around the stalk of his glass.

‘It seems that part is left up to the divine.’

She set her wine aside. ‘Isn’t it all left up to the divine?’

He drank again, draining his glass. ‘Indeed,’ he said, setting it down. ‘Indeed.’

She looked at her hands, wondering if now was the time to give voice to her insecurities, to reveal that she knew so little of her own magic she couldn’t name her power if she tried.

But something was stopping her. Perhaps it was the loudness of the room, or the dizzying spiral of dancers that seemed to prance like ponies around them.

Increasingly, it seemed to her that there was no room for her in Fontaine’s foretelling.

Here was the Silver-tongue sitting before her.

Earlier, she had come upon the Necromancer in the graveyard.

The Stone Maiden must be the acolyte, Marianne, trapped on the Isle of Alisa.

If Sera wasn’t in those cards, then what on earth was she?

And what was the true meaning of the Rose card?

‘You’re troubled.’ Andreas’s words pulled her back to him. He was frowning in earnest now, his fair brows knitting.

‘Confused,’ she allowed. ‘I’m so full of questions; sometimes I can’t sleep from the noise of them bouncing around in my head.’

He smiled in understanding. ‘Stay with me and I will help you answer them. You will find your place here.’

Yes . She wanted to say it, scream it, take him by the shoulders and make him promise it loud enough for the others to hear.

But the folk of Marvale were too busy twirling, lost in their own paradise.

The atmosphere was so intoxicating, the air thick with sweet-smelling smoke and the light dimmed to whispering candle flames, she almost forgot the world outside it.

And everything that had come before this moment:

The trial shipment of Lightfire.

Her brutal kidnapping.

The king’s dungeon.

Bibi’s incarceration.

Bibi.

Bibi .

She could have slapped herself for forgetting, the urgency of the situation making her pitch forward and dig her nails into the armrest that separated them. ‘I want to stay here and learn more about you. About the saints. But I need something from you in return.’

‘Then name your price,’ he said, the gold in his eyes flaring, like his magic was rising to the challenge. ‘I am not letting you go.’

Seraphine was too focused on Bibi to unpick the strange hunger in those words, the sudden sharpness of his teeth under the flickering lights.

‘I’ve heard what happened at the Iron Keep.

How you opened the oldest prison in Valterre like a cupboard door and freed five thousand prisoners in one night. ’

‘Rebels,’ he corrected her. ‘One man’s prisoner is another man’s war general.’

Like it mattered. ‘You freed them.’

‘With ease,’ he said, betraying a hint of arrogance. ‘There isn’t a prison guard on this continent that I can’t sway.’

Good. Good . ‘My best friend, Bibi, is in the king’s dungeon in the Summer Palace. She’s innocent. Only there because of me.’

The prince’s eyes narrowed, his easy grin twisting into a grimace. For the first time since she had met him, Andreas Mondragon Rayere did not look handsome at all. He looked like a lion, hungry for blood.

‘I’ve been meaning to pay a visit to the Summer Palace.

I’ll see to it that your friend is freed.

’ She wanted to press the matter, ask him when and how , to urge him to hurry those plans, but the gift of his help was too recently offered that she was afraid he might take it back.

Canting his head, he said, ‘After all, we are allies now, are we not?’

He might have noticed her beat of hesitation if it hadn’t been for the arrival of a young woman, who came sweeping into their bubble.

With a veil of hair like spun gold and eyes as green as jade, the sight of her momentarily stole Sera’s breath.

Her skin was golden tan, and she wore a blue dress of gossamer silk.

It fell like waves around her as she came to perch on Andreas’s armrest.

‘Talisa,’ Andreas said with a sigh, without looking at her. Annoyance curled his lip, but if Talisa noticed, she didn’t care. ‘I suppose you couldn’t resist interrupting.’

The woman, who possessed the fine, dainty beauty of a forest nymph, revealed two neat lines of straight white teeth. ‘You’re hogging her, cousin. What did you expect?’

Playful now, he flicked her wrist. ‘I suppose pampered princesses are not raised to wait their turn.’

‘Grumbles the pampered prince,’ she chided, before turning her curiosity on Sera.

‘Our precious flower has arrived at last!’ The princess’s large eyes were glassy and her speech was slurred, so Sera couldn’t be sure of her words when she crowed, ‘Oh, but when is she going to bloom? I can hardly wait!’

Sera frowned just as Andreas cut in, ‘Seraphine, this is my cousin, Talisa Mondragon. Another one who needs a lesson in common courtesy.’ Another flick of Talisa’s wrist, his fingers lingering there this time like a manacle. ‘Don’t spook my guest, cousin. We’re still getting to know each other.’

‘Well, when you’re done, you might as well tell her I’m a lot more fun.’

Sera couldn’t give a rat’s tail if Talisa was good company or not. She hadn’t come here for friends; she had come for answers. And right now, the drunk Urnican was getting in her way.

If only the king could see her now, fraternizing with the greatest known threat to his reign and a princess of Urnica, gleefully guzzling all his precious Valterran wine. He’d have poor Bibi in the stocks by morning, dead and buried by noon.

Startling her from her thoughts, Talisa pitched forward, snatching Sera’s hand. She squeezed hard, her own clammy with sweat. ‘We’ll be great friends, you and I. I’m already so glad to know you.’

Andreas yanked his cousin’s wrist, drawing her back with a sharp tug. ‘Don’t mind, Talisa.’ There was an edge to his voice now. ‘She’s hideously overfamiliar with everyone.’

Talisa pouted. ‘Perhaps I’m just bored of twirling my skirts all night.’

‘And yet the music calls. Go on and dance, butterfly. Be merry.’ His eyes flashed, and for a second the room felt unbearably bright. Talisa was on her feet then, sashaying away with an unsteadiness that suggested she could fall over at any moment.

Andreas waved her off, like a gnat. ‘Excitable as a pup, my cousin. Loves a shiny new toy.’

‘Seems to me that everything here is shiny,’ said Sera. ‘I don’t know why I would hold such fascination.’

‘No, you don’t, do you?’ he said, chuckling as he swept a rogue golden lock from his eyes. ‘I suppose you are yet to discover how special you truly are.’

Sera’s cheeks prickled, the eagerness to be seen , to be known, clashing with another deeper discomfort she could not name.

More questions gathered on her tongue, but they were interrupted again, this time by a group of grisly-looking men, who were not at all dressed for the Rose Garden.

A collection of stubbled jaws and crooked noses, they wore work shirts and oversized britches, with stomping black boots.

Mercenaries, then. Rebels who didn’t quite get the dress code, or perhaps shouldn’t be in here at all.

The one in the middle had his sleeves rolled up, and there was blood splattered on his collar. It was fresh.

The prince held up a cautionary hand before any of them could utter a single word. ‘One moment, Callum.’

He turned back to Sera. ‘Forgive me. An urgent matter.’

‘So I see,’ she said, still eyeing all that blood. ‘More enemies, I suppose.’

Andreas gave a bland smile. ‘My uncle and his spies. He just can’t help himself.’

Guilt stiffened Sera’s shoulders. She hoped to all hell he hadn’t noticed. ‘Right. Of course.’

Summoning that buttery smile once more, the prince rolled to his feet. ‘Dance, Seraphine. Be merry. I’ll return shortly.’

His words were easy, enticing even, but they lacked the effect they had had on Talisa. Sera didn’t want to dance. She stood up, desperately wanting to ask him about his plans for the kingdom, what else he knew about her, and why he seemed so oddly fascinated by her.

He stilled for a moment, like he could feel her curiosity crowding in on him.

‘I can see them,’ he said, stepping closer.

‘All those questions burning in your eyes.

I will help you, Seraphine. I am the only one who can.

Bringing his lips close to her ear, he lifted a hand to her face.

‘I have to, you see. Because you are more than just a saint.’ He traced a gentle finger down her cheek, raising every hair on her arms. ‘You are my rose.’

Jarred by his closeness, she stumbled backwards. Heat gushed through every part of her. Whether it was his touch or his words that did it, she couldn’t tell, but her magic was erupting like a volcano. He was laughing now, like they were sharing a joke.

‘Later,’ he said, his gaze flitting to something over her shoulder. That smile curling and curling. ‘Everything you seek and more. I promise. In the meantime, you might do me a favour and call off your Daggers.’

Dread sliced through Sera like a cold blade. At her look of alarm, he simply clucked his tongue. ‘I’d hate to have to do it myself.’ A meaningful pause, those lion teeth flashing. ‘And believe me, so would you.’

Sera turned to find Ransom shoving through the thrum of bodies between them. A vial of Shade already in one hand and a blade in the other. Stalking. Seething .

Coming straight for the prince.

She moved like a bolt of lightning, the prince’s threat still echoing in her ears as she flung herself at the assassin currently hell-bent on murdering him.