Page 171 of The Dragon and the Dove

Sera blew out a breath.

‘Lark is dead,’ said Nadia. ‘And so is the dream of what we could have been.’ Her voice was stark but there was a sureness to her now, a sense of purpose leaking into the gold of her eyes. ‘I might as well make it count.’

Sera smiled, gladly meeting Nadia on this tenuous bridge of hope. ‘I’ll let the others know.’

‘Someone’d better bring me snacks.’

‘I’ll get on it.’ She turned to go.

‘Sera, wait.’

She stopped in the doorway.

‘What I did tonight with Lark…’ Nadia left the rest of it unsaid: the knife, the blood, the swift goodbye. ‘Will you be able to do it, too, when the time comes?’

Confusion nudged Sera back into the room. ‘What do you mean?’

‘When you face Theo again, will you be able to separate the man he was at House Armand from the soul-eater he’s become?’

The liar. The traitor. The great devourer.

Sera hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You’d better figure it out, Maker.’ Nadia’s voice hardened to match her expression. ‘The fate of this kingdom depends on it.’

Long before dawn, Sera woke and dressed for war. When she made it downstairs, the other saints were waiting for her. Ransom took her hand, ghosting a kiss across her knuckles.

Val was standing by the door with Caruso, who was carrying Fatebringer.

Then there were Tobias and Paola, both bleary-eyed after staying up all night, working on the Boneshade plants Nadia had managed to cultivate.

The front garden was thronged too. The rest of the Order of Flames, carrying satchels full of liquid Lightfire. And an assembly of almost one hundred Cloaks, crossbows slung on their backs. Ready to go to war for Fantome. For peace.

Anouk arrived at the same time as Sera, casually devouring a cinnamon bun while Mercure and Fontaine waved them off.

As the Orders poured out of House Armand and marched through the slumbering Hollows, Sera felt the warm hand of fate on her shoulder, steering her towards the dawn.

She prayed it would be kind to them.

Chapter 50 Seraphine

As dawn broke, Sera stood alone on top of Traveller’s Arch, waiting for war.

The sky was a purple bruise, the clouds heavy with the promise of rain. Gone was the night music and the once raucous calls that used to echo along Merchant’s Way. The city had stilled, as if on the cusp of a scream.

The horizon was ablaze. The clouds over the distant hills hung low, their underbellies illuminated by a sea of torches, where the Silver-tongue marched at the helm of his army. Even from a distance, the prince was unmistakable, dressed head to toe in his gold-brushed armour. At his side sauntered Theo Versini, discernible by the sweep of his bright hair. Sera’s breath shallowed at the sight of her friend, bedecked in polished silver armour that made him a perfect twin to Andreas.

Traitor.

Liar.

Soul-eater.

Part of her had thought Theo might be dead, that whatever plan he’d hatched against the Silver-tongue had failed and that he had paid the cost in blood. She wished now that she had been right.

Sera knew how to mourn a friend. She did not know how to kill one.

Shadows leaked from the underside of the arch, where Ransom and Caruso were lying in wait for the prince.