Page 54 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

Remarkably, the princess was not yet dead.

She could only whimper now, her small pale hands feebly clutching at her charred chest. It had split open, and between the burnt ridges of her skin, Sera could see the white of her ribcage. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth, adding a gurgle to her laboured breaths.

Lark alone remained unruffled by the sight. Rising slowly from his chair, he stepped over the keening princess and walked right off the dance floor, like the spectacle had simply bored him. He returned, carrying a pitcher of water, just as the mercenaries managed to drag Theo off Andreas.

Standing over Talisa, Lark said, ‘This might sting a little, princess.’

He poured the water over her chest.

Screams erupted from the princess like a terrible aria, rising all the way to the ceiling.

Flinching – and entirely dishevelled now – Andreas staggered to his feet. Dismissing his mercenaries with a wave of his hand, he turned on Theo.

‘Remember this kindness, Versini. By rights, you should be dead for putting your hands on me.’ Then, looking down on the writhing, screeching figure of his own cousin, he said, simply, ‘Be quiet, Talisa.’

Talisa’s screams cut out. Though her mouth remained slack and gasping, she didn’t make another peep. But Sera could see the agony in her eyes, the blood vessels there bursting until there wasn’t a speck of white left.

Crawling back to sit by the princess, she turned her ire up at Andreas. ‘What the hell have you done to her?’

‘You’re the one who maimed her,’ he said, viciously. ‘I merely saved us all a headache.’

‘She’s dying. She’s going to die here.’

Andreas scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘Talisa,’ he said, his eyes glowing. ‘Go and get yourself to the healer.’

‘Have you lost your mind?’ demanded Theo. ‘Her chest has been scoured down to the bone. She can’t just—’

Talisa sat up, like a puppet yanked by an invisible string. With obscene effort, she managed to drag herself to her feet. She swayed once, twice, and then collapsed. Theo caught her before she hit the ground. Her lids fluttered closed.

They didn’t open again.

A yawning chasm of dread filled Sera, and she pitched forward, retching.

Andreas frowned. ‘This could not have gone worse.’

No grief, only frustration.

Theo was still holding Talisa’s body, staring vacantly at the chalky slats of her ribs, the pink ridge of her unmoving heart.

Val hissed in disgust. ‘She’s your cousin, you callous prick. And now she’s dead .’

‘Thanks to your friend.’ Andreas’s voice was clipped, cold. ‘Here lies the price of your cowardice, Seraphine. Let this be a lesson to you.’

Those cruel words struck true, slicing through Sera like a knife.

She was too horrified to respond, too busy trying to hold herself together.

She hadn’t meant to kill the princess. She had tried to save her, tried to warn Andreas, but what did it matter now?

It was her hand that had scoured her, her fear-addled magic that had ripped through blood and bone and sinew to snatch away the last handful of her heartbeats.

All for nothing.

If this was power, she didn’t want it.

Take it back , she pleaded with Saint Oriel.

Smother it .

Give it to another .

At a snap of the prince’s fingers, a mercenary rushed over. ‘Get her out of here. And be discreet about it.’

‘Aye, sir.’ The mercenary moved as if in a trance, taking the girl from Theo’s arms, turning on his boot heel and running across the empty dance hall and out of the back door.

Raising her head, Sera watched him go, then turned to study the other mercenaries in their midst. How they all stood, straight-backed and blank-eyed against the walls, like wind-up toy soldiers.

She thought back to last night. All that raucous laughter that refused to die out, revellers dancing until their feet bled, twirling and twirling until they vomited.

What Andreas had done just now to Talisa, plucking her from the floor like a broken stem and making her stand.

How she had somehow managed it, taking those final tortured steps even as her heart gave out.

‘They’re enthralled.’ Her voice was a broken whisper. ‘You’ve enthralled all of them.’

Lark snorted. ‘Well, obviously.’ He flopped back into his chair. ‘This is painful, Andreas. Why did Saint Oriel choose the dumbest one to lead us?’

‘She’s not a leader,’ said Andreas, turning back to them. ‘I am the leader. Seraphine is our maker.’

‘Looks more like a murderer to me,’ said Lark.

Another barb that found its mark. How could she deny it?

It was Val who spoke up. ‘She told him it wasn’t going to work. It was Andreas who forced her to do it.’

‘It was working,’ said the prince. ‘I felt the hum of your magic. I watched it flow from your hand into Talisa’s chest. You did something to twist it.’

Sera was shaking her head, emboldened by Val’s words. ‘If it doesn’t feel right in my bones, there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s not supposed to happen this way, Andreas. Sainthood shouldn’t be bartered or negotiated. How would we ever know that the right ones have been chosen?’

There was a short, strained silence.

It was broken by the rasp of Lark’s laughter, joined shortly by Andreas’s silky chuckle.

‘You must have crawled out from under a rock before that storm struck you down,’ he said, openly sneering now.

‘Long gone are the days when the simpering saints of old would walk among the people, doling out favours for goodwill and cheap prayers, Seraphine. Ours will be a new era of power. One where we do the choosing and the taking for ourselves.’

At her look of abject horror, his smile grew indulgent.

Talisa was barely a thought to him now, the callous suddenness of her death lost to the swell of his own ambition.

Like it was only a blip, a kink in the grand tapestry of his plan.

‘How do you think I ended up on top of that clock tower in the grip of Oriel’s storm?

If I left the future of this kingdom up to fate, some other cowardly do-gooder would have my magic right now.

Oh no, no, no.’ He clucked his tongue. ‘I knew what I was made for. The moment I found that prophecy, I knew there was a place for me in it. A way to twist the future, to mould it to my dreams.’ He was pacing now, excitement quickening his steps, carelessly smearing the still warm blood of his cousin across the floor.

‘I just had to find the right storm, wait for the right conditions. A hundred times I must have climbed that damned clock tower. A hundred times I waited for magic that never struck. But I did not grow discouraged. No. I became emboldened .’

He stopped, looking up at the vaulted ceiling like he could see the storm clouds beyond.

‘And when that fated tempest finally struck, I was there, waiting for it. I reached up to that angry sky and I wrenched my destiny from the splitting clouds and swallowed it down like a hot poker, welcoming every aching, screaming beat of my heart.’

‘You weren’t chosen.’ Sera shook her head in disbelief, as the threads of his plan came apart before her.

The portrait of a charming prince replaced by the grasping, power-mad narcissist beneath.

She could see it so clearly now she wondered how she had missed it last night. ‘You were never truly made.’

He bared his teeth, a fevered look flashing in his eyes.

The gold blood of his sainthood rose to the surface, making a mockery of the old saints, of all things that used to matter in Valterre.

‘I made myself . Just as I will remake this land.’ There was an edge to his voice now, a dark thrum to the power flaring inside him.

Behind Sera, Val and Theo had fallen stone silent, the only sound the careful shuffle of their footsteps as they edged away from the prince.

Like that could save them now. They had stumbled unwittingly into the belly of the beast, and it was all Sera’s fault.

Andreas raised a prodding finger. ‘And you , my pious little saint-maker, are going to help me.’

Over your dead body .

Sera pressed her lips together, swallowing the rage that had replaced the sharp edge of her grief, wordlessly weathering the prince’s maddened soliloquy. Lark snorted at her poor efforts, but Andreas went on, caught in the grip of his own grand vision.

‘ You will make who sits alongside us, and I will keep them under control.’ Again, those eyes flashed – a bright menacing gold.

They possessed no sway over her – for it was clear now that her strange, mercurial power outranked Andreas.

And everyone else in the kingdom. Not that she could use it to help herself out of this mess. Or, more pressingly, her friends.

Andreas took a moment to gather himself, raking a hand through his hair.

When he looked at Sera again, his eyes were clear and blue.

‘Together, we will build a kingdom like no other. One where every thought, every word and every knee bends to us.’ His lips curled, that bright, pearly smile bringing a wasted measure of charm with it.

‘And you will like it, Seraphine. Trust me. Absolute power has a way of growing on you.’

Her mind reeling, Sera wiped the disgust from her face and relaxed her shoulders.

Careful now .

She had to tread so very carefully.

‘That’s quite the vision,’ she said, in a stilted tone. ‘It may take me a little while to digest.’

Grabbing her shoulders and squeezing hard, Andreas pulled her close, until she could see the scattering of freckles on his cheeks, smell the cinnamon on his breath.

‘You must bury the ideals of the past, Seraphine. You are not the storm that made you. You are the conduit. The power that thrives here is not yours to claim. Only to gift. You need me just as I need you. We need each other.’

She made herself nod.

‘We’ll try again tonight. On another follower. And another. And another. As many as it takes.’

She knew he meant it.

‘All right.’ The words were hollow, her every thought screaming at her to run .

Now, fast , and don’t look back. But first, she’d have to play the silver-tongue herself, give the prince whatever he asked for, so they could slip away, unharmed.

‘I’ll do better tonight. Now that I know what’s at stake. ’

This seemed to please him. ‘Go back to your inn and rest.’ His eyes turned as gold as coins, as he moved his gaze over her shoulder, to where Theo and Val were standing in muted horror.

In a voice like velvet, he addressed them. ‘You will return to this mill at nightfall. You will not try to escape. You will not inquire after Ransom Hale and his Daggers. You will not leave the Paramour, except to come back here. And when you do, you will defer to me and any requests I make.’

Sera’s heart sank at the prince’s silky command. She could feel the threads of his magic twisting around her, reaching towards her friends.

Standing back, he asked them, ‘Is that clear?’

‘Crystal clear,’ said Theo, at once.

Blinking slowly, Val nodded.

The prince clapped his hands, applauding their acquiescence. ‘Wonderful,’ he said, through that blinding smile, before spinning on his boot heel and striding towards the bar. ‘Now someone get me a fucking drink.’

Still watching them closely, Lark Delano rolled to his feet. His eyes slid like oil from Val to Theo and back again.

‘Until tonight, then,’ he said, that irritating smirk curling, as he sauntered off after the prince.