Page 150 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘Versini,’ growled the prince.

The Rose-bearers closed in just as the door to the dining room blew open. Lark marched inside in such a rage he knocked a guard to the floor.

‘Give me a Strix now!’ he screamed. Theo stumbled back from the Necromancer as he stalked down the table, upending a candelabra. It clattered to the floor and a Rose-bearer rushed in to stamp out the flames. ‘They killed Nadia and took her body!’ He released a roar of fury. ‘Give me a Strix, Andreas! I’m going to rip House Armand down, brick by brick, and take all their fucking heads!’

Andreas glared at the Necromancer. ‘You are interrupting something important, Lark.’

Lark stopped and looked around. ‘What?’ he spat, locking eyes with Theo. ‘Eating souls, are you?’

‘We’re just about to kill this boy,’ said Andreas.

Lark frowned, noticing Fabian for the first time. His eyes narrowed. ‘One of Hale’s, I take it.’

Fabian lifted his chin. ‘Yes.’

Lark was across the room in four strides.

There was a violent snap.

Fabian flopped to the floor.

He stared, unseeing, at the chandelier.

Dead.

Bile crawled up Theo’s throat. He pricked his finger on the blade of his sword to divert his horror, while Lark returned to his tantrum, slamming his fist through a window.

Sighing, Andreas slumped in his chair. ‘You see why I need you, Versini?’ He spoke as though Lark wasn’t there. ‘A little sanity around here wouldn’t go amiss.’

Theo was too sick to respond.

Tossing aside his sword, he grabbed his goblet and drained his wine, welcoming the possibility of poison.

Chapter 42 Valerie

Val sat at a desk in the library of House Armand, scowling into a bowl of water. ‘Nothing’s happening.’

Fontaine tsked. ‘You haven’t started scrying yet.’

‘I’m already bored,’ said Caruso, who was rifling through the bookshelf behind her.

Fontaine removed a sewing needle from her pocket and handed it to Sera. ‘Prick your finger.’

‘Why?’ said Ransom, glaring unnecessarily at the needle.

‘Psssht,’ said Fontaine, shooing him away. ‘The Maker is linked to every saint she’s made by the magic in her blood. If you wish to locate the Shadowsmith, this is your best chance.’

Sera pricked her finger and held it over the bowl. After the sixth drop of blood, Fontaine snatched her wrist. ‘That’s enough.’

Val shifted in her seat. ‘Now what?’

‘Quieten your mind and concentrate on Theo,’ said Fontaine, nudging the bowl towards her. ‘The blood is your conduit. Let your magic guide you towards the truth.’

Val leaned over the bowl, watching those six drops bleed into red rivers. Her magic yawned as it awoke, the heat under her skin spreading like a comforting warm blanket.

She traced the first river with her eyes and a terrible chill prickled along the back of her neck. The scent of death filled her nostrils.

Lark.