Page 53 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

She tried to step back again, but this time Theo stopped her, laying a bracing hand on her back. ‘You could try it,’ he said quietly. ‘What’s the harm?’

She turned to stare at him. ‘I could hurt her. I could hurt myself.’

‘Or worse. You could turn a Mondragon princess into a powerful weapon,’ hissed Val. ‘Who knows what kind of magic she’ll end up with if it works?’

‘We can all hear you, just so you know,’ said Lark drolly. ‘Sound carries in these old mills.’

Sera turned back to Andreas. ‘The saints belong to Valterre. They are part of this kingdom.’ She looked pointedly at Talisa. ‘Not Urnica.’

‘Then try me,’ said Theo, coming forward. ‘Use me.’

‘No,’ said Andreas, beating Sera to her own refusal. It was one thing to harm a foreign royal, but another to risk the life of her best friend.

‘It has to be Talisa,’ said the prince. ‘I have chosen Talisa.’

‘Why?’ pressed Val. ‘Because she’s under your thumb?’

Those golden eyes flashed. ‘Careful, Valerie. We are all allies here.’ He turned on Sera, a challenge in his voice. ‘Are we not?’

No , whispered her intuition. Her allies were the Daggers, and the Daggers were gone.

She was starting to wonder what had caused them to flee so suddenly.

If perhaps the prince had had a hand in their disappearance.

After all, without Ransom and the others, their position here had weakened.

If they tried to run, Lark could raise every corpse in Marvale.

As a maker of saints, Sera had no true power of her own.

‘It’s Sera’s magic,’ said Theo. ‘That makes it her choice.’

Andreas’s frown was a sharp, twisting thing.

Gone in a blink was the handsome affable saint he had pretended to be last night, replaced in the harsh light of day by a spoilt, petulant prince.

‘Just as it is my choice to help you rescue your friend, Bibi.’ With a heavy sigh, he looked at her the way Mama used to whenever she fed Pippin under the dinner table or tracked mud in through the backdoor.

‘Tell me, Seraphine, why would I share the gift of my magic with you when you won’t do the same for me? ’

Sera’s heart sank.

Here was the deal: a new saint for her friend’s freedom. An experiment that could go horribly wrong in ten different ways for a life that meant as much to her as her own. Even Val was silent now, chewing up her bottom lip.

With the Daggers long gone, Seraphine could see no other way but this. ‘You win, Andreas. Blackmail it is.’

‘A saint of charms has no need of blackmail, Seraphine. This is simply a negotiation. I want to help you,’ he said, adopting an earnestness that tried to loosen the knot in her chest. ‘I want us to help each other.’

‘And I want to become a saint!’ Talisa clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Steeling herself, Sera rolled her shoulders back and welcomed the molten flood of her magic. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said to the prince and his cousin. To herself. And her own magic.

It trilled in answer.

As the afternoon sun dragged itself over Marvale and the streets swelled with bleary-eyed townsfolk, Sera knelt on the floor of the deserted mill, trying to look like she knew what she was doing.

Andreas was on his knees beside her, the sleeves of his fine silk shirt rolled up to his elbows.

The others sat in armchairs around them, a rapt audience for whatever came next.

Andreas had summoned his mercenaries. Armed with impressive long swords that had likely once belonged to the king’s soldiers and terrifying grimaces honed by years of brutal warfare, and later incarceration, they patrolled the outer walls of the mill, as well as either side of the only entryway.

It was for their own privacy, the prince had assured them, and even despite the sincerity of his tone, Sera couldn’t help but think these men were there as much to keep them in as to keep curious onlookers out.

Dressed in a long white linen dress and with her feet bare, Talisa lay on the rug below her.

Her pale hair fanned out like a halo around her head, a purposeful pose that had made Sera’s eyes roll so far back in her head she momentarily lost sight.

The Mondragon princess was so eager for her sainthood, she probably would have swallowed a bowlful of worms if Sera asked her to.

It was that hunger that gave her pause. What was the measure of this spoilt royal from Urnica who seemed to have little personality to recommend her besides the utter adoration of her cousin?

What kind of saint would she make when it was done?

Did it even matter now?

Shoving her concerns aside and thinking only of Bibi, Sera tied her hair back from her face and tried to steel herself.

‘Don’t overthink it.’ Andreas leaned in, his voice a guiding whisper in her ear. ‘Just let your magic flow. It will know exactly what to do.’

She muttered, ‘That makes one of us.’

Talisa cleared her throat with a pointed squeak. ‘I’m ready.’

It was the third time she’d declared it in as many minutes.

Saints , she was a pain in the ass.

Glancing up, Sera locked eyes with Theo.

He dipped his chin. You’ve got this .

Recalling what she had done to Lark atop the Aurore, she gingerly placed her hand in the centre of Talisa’s chest. The princess’s heart thrummed under her fingertips, excitement making her breath hitch.

Sera’s magic leaped at the contact, a flurry of heat racing to the surface of her skin. Inhaling slowly and deeply, Sera welcomed it.

I am not afraid .

I am in control .

That door inside her opened. First a crack. And then a foot, that frightened little girl crawling away from it.

I am not afraid .

I am in control .

She pictured her magic unfurling from within, not an uncontrollable bonfire but a ribbon of gold.

She spooled it around her, coaxing it up and up and up .

The warmth under her skin was familiar but Sera had never been so deliberate about it before, had never beckoned to her magic and felt it answer with such gentleness. Eager to be used. To be freed, at last.

‘She’s glowing,’ whispered Val.

‘Beautiful,’ murmured Andreas, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. ‘Look at all that potential rippling under your skin, just aching to be used.’

And I haven’t done a single thing with it .

Guilt nipped at the edges of her thoughts. Her magic seized upon the change in emotion, that careful ribbon lashing out like a whip. Her hands began to sizzle. She reeled backwards, pulling her hand away from the princess.

Talisa’s eyes flew open. ‘What are you doing? It’s not done.’

‘Sorry. I thought I was going to—’

‘Put it back,’ snapped Andreas. ‘ Concentrate .’

Shaking off the upset, Sera returned her hand to Talisa’s chest, feeling her pulse thrum in time with the princess’s heartbeat.

Her magic warmed, gathering into that easy familiar flow.

Perturbed by the golden sheen of her own skin and the look of ravenous hunger on Talisa’s face, Sera squeezed her eyes shut, just wanting it to be over.

Impatience gnawed at her, making her magic thrash.

Another distraction.

Focus, Sera. Just get it done .

Talisa huffed, beginning to squirm. How badly the princess wanted this – a font of her own magic, a new fate.

But does she deserve it? whispered Sera’s conscience.

Would Saint Oriel approve?

Again, she faltered, her magic stuttering in her fingertips.

Surely, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

A new Age of Saints made and traded in clandestine deals and accidental fits of terror.

What about worthiness? Goodness? Doing it like this – out of fear and panic – made a mockery of Oriel, and the saints of old, those ordinary, unassuming people chosen because of their pure hearts, their innate selflessness.

This was wrong.

It was all wrong .

Sera’s fingers curled into a fist.

Talisa harrumphed. ‘Come on. I don’t feel anything .’

‘Seraphine.’ Andreas’s voice became a low growl. ‘Get out of your own head.’

‘I c-can’t.’

‘You must .’ Cool fingers encircled the back of her neck, squeezing there. ‘ You will .’

Again, she flattened her palm. Again, her magic flowed, quick and hot and violent, as if a volcano was spewing inside her. There was fear there too, guilt and uncertainty and panic all melding into a dangerous maelstrom. Terror and magic tangled.

Her hand flared bright gold. White hot.

This is wrong .

This is wrong .

This is wrong .

Her power faltered, her magic turning back on itself as if in retreat. Too late. Too hot. Too close to the surface now. There was nowhere for it to go – all that heat. All that panic.

There came the scent of burning flesh.

Talisa screamed.

‘ No! ’ Sera tried to rip her hand away, but Andreas covered it with his own, pressing all that angry, spitting magic into Talisa.

Wrong .

Wrong .

Wrong .

The princess bucked. ‘MAKE IT STOP! IT BURNS!’

Silent tears streamed down Sera’s face as she wrestled with the prince. ‘Let go, Andreas! It’s killing her!’

‘Fight through it!’ yelled the prince. His eyes were wide and wild, sweat beading on his brow. ‘You have to fight through it!’

There was smoke now, the wound so deep it burned away the linen of her dress, charring the skin beneath.

Talisa’s heartbeat stuttered, her pulse fading under Sera’s palm.

Desperate now, she slammed her head backwards, finding the prince’s nose with a sickening crack!

just as Theo lunged from his chair, tackling Andreas by the shoulders.

He knocked him off Sera, his fists already swinging as he pinned him to the floor.

Then Val was there, dragging Talisa out from under Seraphine.

Mercenaries swept in, drawing their swords as Theo and Andreas swung at each other, spitting and cursing as they rolled across the ground.

The connection finally severed, Sera crawled away from Talisa.

Curling her fists, she willed her magic to recede, for the raging heat inside her to pass – and quickly.