Page 152 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘Get back here, kitten!’

Ire devoured intrigue. She hated that damn name.

I am Valerie Doe.

I am the Saint of Truth.

‘Come home, Val.’

Home was a grand black manor on the edge of the Hollows. Home was a place that smelled like apple cinnamon in the winter and honeysuckles in the summer. Home was warmth and laughter and secrets passed in midnight whispers.

Home was House Armand.

I am Valerie Doe.

And I am going home.

The blackness melted, the world pulling at her again. She surrendered, tumbling back into the bright heat of the library.

Someone was screaming.

Belatedly, she realized it was her.

Her eyes snapped open and she stopped abruptly.

Caruso was before her, his huge shadow-marked hands like weights her shoulders. ‘Are you here? Are you with me?’

She managed a nod.

He huffed a breath, releasing an impressive litany of curses.

Val rubbed her eyes, slowly coming back to herself. With awareness came a thick and violent nausea. She lunged for the fireplace, emptying the contents of her stomach into the flames.

The others crowded her, and a hand fisted the back of her shirt to keep her from falling in. ‘I’ve got you,’ said Sera. ‘You’re all right now.’

Wiping her mouth, Val fell back on her heels. Fontaine loomed over her like a spectre, but before the old crone could open her mouth, Caruso picked up the scrying bowl and flung it into the fireplace. The clay shattered, the bloody water hissing as it evaporated.

‘I hope you got what you needed, kitten. Because you’re never doing that again.’

‘That was my good scrying bowl!’ barked Fontaine.

‘You’re lucky you’re not going in after it,’ he shot back.

Returning to her armchair, Val gulped down a glass of water and told the others what she had glimpsed in her vision.

They listened in grave silence, digesting these new unsettling truths:

Theo was alive at Bellevue Castle.

With Prince Andreas, a saint who could not be killed.

Chapter 43 Seraphine

Ever since they’d returned from Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral, Nadia had been struggling to come to terms with her magic. It was guilt that made Sera keep her distance at first, but as Val took to bed to recover from her scrying session and what she’d gleaned bled through House Armand, Sera began to worry that they might lose Nadia too.

As dusk fell, she ventured out to the back garden in search of their fledgling saint. A storm cloud lingered over House Armand, the rain falling with a vengeance as Paola worked tirelessly to keep the baying crowds from their door.

Nadia, who was standing by the old willow tree, turned long before Sera reached her. Without her coat, she was soaked through. Her long black hair was plastered to her face, and her clothes were stuck to every part of her skin. She seemed not to notice. Her eyes were wild and bright, the heat of her magic likely staving off the chill.