Page 151 of The Dragon and the Dove

Her vision slipped, the room dimming around the edges, as though a dark fist was closing around her mind. She recoiled with a whimper, hitting the back of her armchair.

‘What the hell was that?’ demanded Caruso.

‘The wrong one,’ hissed Fontaine. ‘Now shut up and stand back. You’ll throw her off.’

Steeling herself, Val returned to the bowl. Sweat slicked her palms as she cupped the cool clay, her eyes flitting between the remaining streams.

Show me Theo.

The blood drop in the centre of the bowl burst like a star. Her eyes glazed as she poured her mind into it. House Armand fell away, taking the voices of her friends with it. She was alone then, suspended at the end of a long dark tunnel.

Far away, there was candle flame. The echo of voices.

Show me the truth.

Her magic shoved her towards the light and she emerged in the middle of an elegant dining room. She looked down on the table, like a moth perched on a chandelier.

Theo’s silvered hair shone like a halo, drawing her attention to the end of the table.

Listen well, whispered the old voice.

Though Val had journeyed beyond her corporeal body, she was tickled by the faintest semblance of relief. Theo was alive. And by the looks of things, well.

Seraphine Marchant should have struck me when she had the chance. Instead, she ran out of this castle like a dog on the heels of Ransom Hale.

Another voice. Mocking and familiar.

The Silver-tongue.

As she turned towards the other end of the table, relief curdled into unease. The vision wavered as her magic strained. Voices called her from a different realm, but Val couldn’t tear herself away. Not while there was truth to be gleaned.

The table grew larger as she dropped like a money spider from the chandelier.

Theo dined, as Andreas went on, Or perhaps Seraphine is smarter than she lets on. She must have figured out that killing me now will only cement her own doom.

Andreas smiled a serpent’s smile, and back at House Armand, a shiver cut through Val. Someone was shaking her, calling her back.

No.

Not yet.

Further she skittered, darting between candelabras.

Come now, Versini. Put that clever mind to work. 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.

Whatever Theo responded was lost to the sudden storm of Val’s heartbeat. She had strayed too far from her source, and now the thread was fraying. She tried to follow it back, searching for the tunnel home.

The room flickered and went black. She languished in a liminal in-between, like a seed blown from a dandelion.

She forgot her name. Her purpose.

‘Valerie!’ cried a faraway voice.

It returned with a jolt.

I am Valerie Doe.

I am the Saint of Truth.