Page 48 of The Dragon and the Dove

He removed a golden dagger from the paper and placed it on the table. It made for a fine centrepiece, commanding the gazes of everyone at the table.

‘Steelfire,’ said Theo.

Sera’s magic prickled in recognition. Across the table, Ransom, Anouk and Val all sat a little straighter, and she wondered if they were experiencing the same sensation.

Magic calling to magic.

And therein a threat.

‘Saintkiller,’ said Theo, naming it. ‘A blade that will kill Andreas.’

Leaning forward to claim the dagger, Ransom offered Theo a rare smile. ‘How many of these can you make in the next three days?’

‘Three days?’ Theo frowned, looking to the other saints. ‘What have I missed?’

Anouk smirked. ‘Shine your shoes, Versini. We’re going to a ball.’

As the mood turned, and hope took wing inside the vault at House Armand, Sera wondered if it was Oriel who had divined this clever timing.

This perfect opportunity.

We will not squander it, she vowed.

They could not afford to.

That night, after dinner, Sera returned to her bedroom to write the most important letter of her life. Sitting cross-legged on her bed while Pip chewed happily on the end of her sock, she scribbled furiously.

‘What is that?’ Ransom’s voice wafted from the doorway. Absent of the shadows that too often clung to him, his eyes were a warm autumnal hue.

‘I’m writing a response to the late provost’s article.’ His last act of defiance. His dying call to the kingdom. ‘I’m addressing the people of Valterre.’

It had occurred to Sera over dinner as they passed Saintkiller between them, marvelling at the gleaming steelfire, that from here on out they couldn’t skulk about in the shadows.

They were saints, and she a Maker of them. They were bound by their magic – and destiny – to serve the people of Valterre.

To protect the kingdom from violent grasping hands.

It was time to stand up and be counted. To be known.

Destiny demanded it of them.

You are our last hope, Saint-maker.

The scholar’s words had been echoing in her head all evening, along with the anguish on his face as he’d died choking on his own blood.

The kingdom was rudderless, their last champion hanging from the clock tower at the Appoline.

Now, more than ever, Valterre needed a leader.

It needed hope.

Through the Order of Flames, Sera wanted to offer that to them. To pledge her allegiance to the kingdom and make a promise that not all saints of this new age were rotten.

Otherwise, how would they know who to trust?

Ransom lowered himself onto the bed beside her. Slow, careful, like he was trying not to disturb her.

He leaned in, warm breath on the shell of her ear as he read over her shoulder.