Page 147 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘Come now, Versini. Put that clever mind to work,’ he purred. ‘A saint who dies is still a saint, is he not? Even in death my compulsions will not be undone. The kingdom is already in thrall to me. Fantome is simply the last bastion of this war.’

The news landed like a slap. Craving a sup of wine, Theo fingered the rim of his goblet, debating whether to risk the possibility of mistbane. He saw now that his plan in coming here was not only reductive but reckless. Killing Andreas would not end their war. Who knew how many thousands of soldiers had been compelled to kill Seraphine on sight? Andreas’s compulsions might take years to undo, and more Lightfire than Halbracht could provide.

‘Oh dear. You’re starting to look a little unwell, Versini.’

‘It’s the shoddy lighting.’

‘I do not trust you, saint.’

‘A fact well represented by this roomful of armed soldiers,’ Theo remarked.

Andreas smirked. ‘The last man to underestimate a Versini was hanged over the Verne by his neck.’

He was talking about Hugo’s younger brother Armand, murdered by his elder and strung up as a warning to the rest of Fantome: do not mess with a Versini. Theo sipped his water, watching the prince over the rim of his glass.

‘You won’t best me,’ said Andreas, ‘so we might as well move on from that notion entirely. What would you like for your loyalty, Theo?’ His name in the prince’s mouth held an unexpected weight. ‘I’m not foolish enough to expect your co-operation for nothing.’

Again, his magic stirred. ‘What are you offering?’

‘A crown, for starters.’

His brows shot up. ‘I wasn’t aware you liked to share.’

‘A man should never feast alone.’ He wagged his knife at him. ‘Once I claim Valterre, the entire continent of Arthos will fall. I will make you a ruler. Grant you a kingdom of your own.’

Theo set down his fork. Of all the things he had been expecting…

Andreas chuckled. ‘Did you think that I would stop at Valterre? When I can so easily command the loyalty of whomever I choose?’

‘Except for the saints.’

‘The saints of Valterre will soon be dead. And so you must choose. Do you wish for a throne, or a grave?’

Theo hesitated, though the voice inside him was all too eager to answer. ‘I find it hard to believe you would share power.’

The prince canted his head. ‘How do you think I’ve allied the Urnican Stargrazers to my cause? There will be rewards enough for everyone when the war here is won.’

Oh, how the heat inside him grew, the ache of his own desire making him squirm in his seat. He hated Andreas but he craved what he offered. Theo’s own world, his own freedom, his own crown.

‘You like that,’ said the prince leeringly.

Theo could not deny it. ‘And if I don’t believe you?’

‘Then eat my soul.’

He choked on his water.

The prince’s laughter echoed around the room. The Rose-bearers looked on, stone-faced. ‘Did you really think I don’t know what you are? That my Necromancer would forget to tell me what you did to him at the Appoline? How you reached into his soul and fisted the very root of his magic. How close you had come to cleaving it from his body.’

Theo pressed his lips together. There went the last vestiges of his clever plan, the secret he had carried with him to the east plains. Andreas knew exactly what he was.

‘Do you deny it, Soul-eater?’

‘I do not.’

‘Is that not why you’ve come here?’ he went on, skewering him. ‘To gobble up my soul?’

Theo gripped his goblet until his fingers ached. ‘I won’t pretend it hasn’t crossed my mind.’