Page 5 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

The mountain wind whistled in Seraphine’s ears as she pitched forward in her saddle and vaulted across the treeline.

The last of the pines fell away as the land spilled out before her, the rolling meadow seeming to go on and on.

In the far-off distance, the towering Silvercrests clustered together like craggy elders, their stony peaks crowned by the last dusting of winter’s snow.

Not long after returning home from Aberville, spring had exploded across the secluded mountain village of Halbracht in a riot of blooming colour. Sera had been starving for it, eager to gulp down the warm air while the sun tanned her face, scattering freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Sensing her restlessness, Paola Versini, Theo’s aunt, had lent Sera her horse before leaving for the city with their first trial shipment of Lightfire, a modest crate of two hundred vials.

After spending weeks on the road visiting smugglers, Sera had jumped at the chance to ride away her stress and take a break from official Order business for a couple of hours.

She rose to her haunches. ‘Yah! Fly, Trapper!’

Trapper was like an arrow beneath her, the black stallion’s strides lengthening with ease.

Welcoming the giddiness of this fleeting freedom, she inhaled the scent of the wildflowers as she trampled them, letting the wind thread her hair like soft fingers.

For the first time in months, her mind emptied of all thought and worry.

There was only the thunder of hooves, then – the joy of riding so pure and simple, it bubbled into laughter.

Bunching the reins in one hand, she flung the other out wide, grinning at the cloudless sky. With her long blonde hair streaking through the air behind her, she imagined she was flying like one of the hawks overhead, the world whipping past in whorls of blue and green and gold.

The sudden spike of joy roused the magic in her soul. It flared to life, filling her with a familiar rush of warmth.

Maker , it whispered, as if saying hello.

Not now . She shoved it back. Not while I’m riding .

Sera tightened her hold on the reins. A wooden fence edged into view.

Beyond it, stood the large red barn where Theo was working side by side with Othilde and some of the other smugglers they had convinced to join their cause.

Grinding and mixing the heaping vats of Lightfire, perfecting the bulk recipe they had been poring over for months.

‘Faster!’ cried Sera.

Trapper obliged, his hooves flying so swiftly they barely touched the ground. Her magic grew hotter, the well inside her tunnelling deeper.

No, no, no .

Sparks danced around her like fireflies, and her eyes began to burn.

Maker , came that whisper again. Choose me. Use me .

Frustration needled Sera, her stomach twisting at the heat rising inside her. She was struck by the frightening realization that she was losing control. It was too much, this fire licking at her ribcage, this ring of embers in her throat. She didn’t know how to shove it down. How to put it out.

She didn’t know what it wanted.

The reins started to sizzle.

Cursing, she dropped them. The strap, now sheared in two, tumbled to the ground before she could snatch it.

Pitching forward, she reached for the bridle. ‘Whoa there!’

Trapper jolted, his strides growing unsteady.

‘EASY, TRAPPER!’ Sera shouted but when she fisted her hands in his mane, the horse’s coarse dark hair began to sizzle. Panic shot through her as she snapped her hands away.

Oh no. No, no, no, no .

Hunching forward, she curled her hands into fists, trying to keep her balance. Fear stoked her magic, the force of it overriding all logical thought. The heat of it filled her mouth, made her nose run.

Trapper tossed his head about, his brown eyes wide and frightened.

‘Slow down! Please!’ She was desperately trying not to hurt him. Not to hurt herself. But she was a living flame, and she couldn’t put herself out.

Trapper bucked.

Sera screamed as she was thrown backwards. The world reeled, the sky giving way to solid grass, then the painful thud of the earth.

She woke to the screeching of a hawk. Planting her hands in the dirt, she tried to hoist herself up, but she was too winded.

She sucked down a laboured breath. And another.

Like a cat slinking away, the heat inside her vanished.

The force of her landing must have knocked her magic back into submission.

Good.

Less good: her left shoulder was throbbing awfully, and there was grass between her teeth. ‘ Ugh .’

The distant rattle of hoofbeats told her that Trapper was still bolting. The poor creature must be terrified of her. Sera didn’t blame him. She was terrified of herself.

And sore .

Hurried footsteps sounded nearby. ‘Hell’s teeth, Sera. Are you all right?’

She managed to lift her head. Theo was jogging towards her.

His loose white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, showing his tanned arms, and there was a streak of gunpowder on his cheek.

His silver hair was tied into a knot on the crown of his head, which meant she could perfectly see the horror in his turquoise eyes.

‘Been better,’ she managed to eke out. ‘I fell.’ She spat out a blade of grass. ‘Spectacularly.’

‘Uh-huh. I saw. And heard.’ He hunkered down beside her. ‘You told me you could ride a horse upside down with your eyes closed.’

‘That was before I got stuffed full of this stupid magic.’ She managed to sit up. Her head was spinning and her shoulder was definitely dislocated. ‘I was having too much fun, so it decided to bubble up and ruin my day. Poor Trapper.’

Theo was frowning, his eyes on the grass where she had been lying.

She followed his gaze to the handprint she had burned into the dirt. The grass around it was white, the earth completely scoured. Dead. For a heartbeat, she was seized by the memory of the same print on Lark’s bare chest, right before she killed him.

What if this time it had been Trapper? Or Theo?

Scrabbling backwards, she said, ‘It’s getting worse, Theo. I don’t know how to control it. I don’t know what it wants from me.’

Only that it wanted something .

Maker , echoed that ancient voice in her soul.

She wished she could rip it out and strangle it, demand to know what the hell it wanted.

Theo scrubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘You’ll figure it out, Sera. We’ll work on it.’

‘We’ve been working on it.’

Sera was tired of failing. Of standing in fields with Theo, trying to make her magic do something , only for it to sit like lead in her bones.

Tired of sitting in the stillness of the pine forest, forcing her thoughts inwards, searching the maze of her own mind, only to be met with painful memories and locked doors, dark rooms full of prowling fears.

She was tired of watching Theo huff impatiently as he paced back and forth, unable to hide the frustration on his face.

They had spent months trying to figure out the power in her veins.

And the only conclusion Sera had come to was this: ‘It feels like it’s growing… restless.’

He frowned. ‘You just have to try harder.’

She glared at him.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, thinking better of whatever he was going to say.

‘We’ll talk about it later. Get yourself down to the healer.

I’ll go and find some apples and bribe Trapper back into the stables before Paola gets back from the city.

I swear she loves that horse more than me. ’

‘That’s because Trapper doesn’t complain about her cooking.’

‘That was one time,’ he muttered, sauntering off. ‘She knows I hate beets.’

Sera lumbered back up the hill, with her shoulder cradled in a sling.

She made for the barn, which, with the permission of Paola Versini and the village elders, they had converted to their headquarters shortly after their arrival at Halbracht.

It was a far cry from the grandeur of House Armand, but what the Order of Flames needed most – beyond music rooms and luxurious dining quarters – was a place for huge vats and wooden barrels, crates and workbenches, and… well, covert experimentation.

The barn was perfect.

In the evenings, they ate and slept in Paola’s house, a three-bedroom wooden cabin nestled up the mountain, on an outcropping that overlooked the entire village.

Bibi, Val and Seraphine shared the bedroom at the back, while Theo bunked with his younger cousin, Tobias.

The house was cosy and warm, and thanks to Paola’s impressive culinary skills, often smelled like stew.

Inside the old red barn, the atmosphere was pleasantly industrious. Othilde was at her workbench, inspecting the boneshade Tobias had harvested earlier that day. The other reformed smugglers were sitting outside on their break, sharing a sandwich.

Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, making the golden blooms of boneshade glimmer. They were already crisping around the edges, ready to be baked and crushed into Lightfire.

‘That better not be your grinding arm,’ said Othilde, giving Sera a quick glance-over. Her knife came down with a satisfying thwack , perfectly shearing a head of boneshade in two without even looking.

‘Please contain your concern for my health, Othilde,’ said Sera dryly. ‘It should heal up in a couple of days.’

‘I can grind!’ said Tobias, making a point to flex his non-existent biceps. ‘Look at these weapons.’

Othilde prodded one. ‘If by weapon you mean toothpick.’

‘Hey!’

‘Hey, yourself!’ She mussed his hair. ‘You’re thirteen, boy. Don’t be in such a rush to grow up. We already have our hands full with that one.’