Page 153 of The Dragon and the Dove

Sera waved, shouting over the rain. ‘How did you know I was coming?’

‘I could feel you.’ Nadia scowled. ‘There’s this voice now… I hate it.’

‘I wish I could say you get used to it.’ Sera tossed her the coat she’d grabbed from the closet on her way out. ‘Put this on. You’ll catch a cold out here.’

‘Do saints get ill, or do they just go mad?’ she said as she shrugged it on, pulling the hood up. Roses bloomed in a ring around her. They were every shade of pink and red and purple, pricked with thorns that made Sera think of the ones etched on her body. And how they hurt, even now.

‘Looks like you’re getting the hang of it,’ she said, encouragingly.

Nadia pursed her lips. ‘I’m one of the best assassins this city has ever seen. I can kill a man with the stiletto of my boot. Scale a building in one minute flat. And you went and made me this.’ She waved her hand around. ‘A saint of fucking flowers.’

‘Saint of Spring,’ Sera amended. ‘Of life.’

Nadia rolled her eyes, turning back to her roses.

‘And I didn’t choose it,’ Sera reminded her. ‘The gift chose you.’

‘Well, it’s shit,’ she grumbled. ‘And, worse, it’s useless.’

Sera traced a red petal, admiring its vibrancy. The garden at House Armand had never looked so beautiful or smelled so divine. ‘Saints are not made for war, Nadia. They’re made for peace. Your gift… it’s for what comes next.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When this is all over, Valterre will be bruised. The people here will yearn for the beauty of new life, for light and hope, and a kinder tomorrow. That is your purpose. A kingdom beyond bloodshed. Not war, but a new beginning. Peace.’

Nadia stewed in silence.

Nadia’s gift had come as a surprise to Sera too. It was soft magic, far gentler than the brute force she’d been expecting, but it was no less powerful than the storm that raged overhead or the bloodhounds prowling by the front gate.

‘I’m grateful to be alive, Sera. I want to live.’ Nadia plucked a rose and twirled it in her hands, letting the thorns prick her skin. ‘I just… never imagined it like this.’

‘I understand.’ Sera knew all too well the tight squeeze of destiny’s grip. It was not a gift to be chosen but a responsibility. A tethering to a fate far grander than your own. Even though she had saved the Dagger’s life, she had taken something from her too.

Nadia huffed, tossing the rose aside. ‘A bloody saint of spring. If Lark was here, he’d laugh.’

If Lark was here, he’d be dead.

And Ransom would be burning his corpse to make sure of it.

‘Ransom told me about Val’s scrying session,’ said Nadia. ‘He says Andreas can’t be killed.’

‘Not unless we want to leave behind thousands of compelled soldiers.’

Nadia winced. ‘And what about your soul-eater?’

An even harder quandary. ‘I trust Theo. He must have some kind of plan up his sleeve. And when it’s done, he’ll come back to us.’

Nadia snorted. ‘You really are naive.’

‘What you see as naivety, I call hope,’ said Sera, turning back to the house.

Nadia called after her, ‘What are you meant for, Saint-maker? War or peace?’

‘I suppose we’ll find out,’ she said, continuing into the dark.

There is more to do, whispered the old voice.

Yes, she knew.