Page 112 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘Theo.’ She flicked a crumpled piece of paper at him. ‘Be serious.’

‘You were chosen by Oriel’s hand,’ he pressed. ‘You could lead.’

‘The kingdom? Don’t be ridiculous.’

He remained undaunted. ‘Valterre will need someone to look to, a steadying light for the age to come. A ship without a rudder is just as dangerous as a ship with a poor captain.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘All right, sailor. How much whiskey have you had? There are a thousand people more qualified than me to lead Valterre.’

He sat back, drumming his fingers.

‘Sera. If Oriel chose you, why wouldn’t your own kingdom?’

‘Because I don’t want it.’

‘Even better. The less you covet power, the better suited you are to protecting it.’

‘You’re the one with all the bright ideas,’ she shot back. ‘Why can’t it be you?’

He offered a bemused smile. ‘I’m a Versini.’

‘So?’

‘My family ruined this kingdom. With Shade and greed and murder. Hugo and Armand are still the worst murderers, the worst thieves, this country has ever known. All these years later, and people still curse them. We don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it,’ he said, ruefully. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

‘That’s not for you to decide.’

‘Fate has already decided. My magic is the proof.’ He stared into his mug, shame flushing his cheeks. ‘Soul-eater. Who, in their right mind, would ever look to me for anything?’

It was another uncomfortable truth. Denying it would only offend him.

He went on. ‘I believe Oriel made her choice in the storm that night. It’s you, Sera. It has to be you.’ Conviction hardened his voice, brightened the turquoise of his eyes. ‘To survive what’s to come, Valterre will need a leader who can put peace above power. Goodness before greed. Someone who has bled for the kingdom.’ He gave her a knowing look. ‘You’re our best hope. You are our dove.’

His words assailed her, her magic cowering from his vision as though it knew something she didn’t. The vine on her leg prickled, and she shifted again, trying to ignore it. ‘I want the best for this kingdom too. Peace. Freedom. Light. But when I think about the future, I struggle to see my place in it,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Lately, I’ve started to wonder whether there’ll be a place for me at all.’

He set his mug down. ‘What are you talking about?’

The words wouldn’t come no matter how hard he stared at her, how long he waited.

‘Sera.’ He slid off his stool, rounding the workbench. ‘What’s going on?’

She didn’t know how to explain it to him. It was a fear. Or paranoia, perhaps. A reflection of Ransom’s anxiety. She didn’t even understand it herself, so in lieu of words, she rolled her trouser leg up to her knee and said, ‘Look.’

He dipped his chin as she twisted to reveal the thorns crawling up her leg. Worry gave way to confusion. Grabbing the oil lamp from the workbench, he set it down on the floor and knelt to get a closer look.

‘What are these?’ he murmured.

She stared at the crown of his head. ‘Thorns.’

‘How many are there?’

‘Five.’ She tapped the one just below her hip. ‘The last one is here.’

He lightly traced the one behind her ankle.

She shivered at the contact, a sudden wave of dizziness making her grip the stool.

He snapped his hand back. ‘Sorry.’ Power, pure and covetous, flickered in his gaze as he peered up at her, the gold there like a slant of sunlight on the sea. ‘Does it hurt?’ he said, softly.