Page 16 of The Dragon and the Dove

A snap of silence, then. Cold and foreboding as the look in the old soothsayer’s eyes.

Sera stiffened, her mind reeling back to the history books that used to line Mama’s bookshelves. The sketches of ominous black birds roosting along the cliffs of Urnica. Each body as large as a house, with a metallic beak and knife-sharp talons. A wingspan so wide it snatched the sunlight. Tail feathers as red as their eyes. Red as blood.

The Strix were legendary. Stories of their brutality had seeped through the continent of Arthos for centuries, finding their way into lore. Yet despite their reputation, there were no recent accounts of the terrifying war mounts. They had not been glimpsed in Sera’s lifetime, or seen in the skies beyond Urnica for almost a hundred years.

‘Where?’ she breathed now.

‘Above the Western Ridge.’

The mountain range that separated Valterre and Urnica.

‘When?’ said Theo.

Fontaine blew out a ring of smoke. ‘Only Oriel knows.’

It was just a vision. Not yet certain. But there was no one foolish enough at that table to doubt the old soothsayer.

‘Prince Andreas has travelled to Urnica to beseech his cousin, King Rafael, to aid his bid for Valterre. No doubt they have struck a deal,’ said Mercure. ‘But my spies have informed me that Andreas has amassed his own forces on home soil, too. No more stray mercenaries or jaded rebels but Valterran soldiers. Legions of them.’ She knitted her hands, the strain of her jaw betraying her anxiety. ‘The dead king’s forces answer to the Silver-tongue Saint.’

‘Compelled,’ guessed Theo.

A grave nod. ‘They are known now as the Rose-bearers of Valterre.’

‘How many has he enthralled?’ asked Ransom.

‘Thousands.’ The word sucked all the air out of the room. ‘Enough to fill this city.’

Enough to bring Fantome to its knees.

Sera looked around the table. Seven grim faces peered back at her.

‘Combined, the Cloaks and Flames make less than two hundred,’ said Val. They were no army. Certainly not one that could contend with the Strix of Urnica or indeed thousands of foot soldiers. ‘Those are some shitty odds.’

‘Only if you neglect to count the Saint-maker,’ said Fontaine, puffing a ring of smoke directly at Sera. ‘The question is, what do you count for, Seraphine?’

All heads turned in her direction.

Sera was plagued by a growing uncertainty. What was her magic truly worth if she couldn’t yet rely on it? How many saints could she make? Had Ransom been a fluke? Lark, a terrible mistake? What had happened when she tried to make Theo?

‘What about me?’ Anouk jumped in. ‘I could level this whole building if I felt like it.’

‘Talk to me when you can level the sky, little Stone Maiden,’ said Fontaine. ‘A single Strix would eat a twiglet like you for breakfast. All it takes is a command from their rider.’

‘And Ransom?’ said Val. ‘He can kill hundreds of soldiers with those monsters of his.’

‘And what of those who are already dead?’ challenged Fontaine.

Lark and his necromancing power over corpses.

Val frowned, conceding, ‘That is a complication.’

A grimace broke Albert’s steely composure. ‘Wherever there’s a graveyard in Valterre, an army lies in wait.’

‘And then, of course, there are the commonfolk of this kingdom,’ Madame Mercure went on. ‘Anyone without the protection of Lightfire can be turned to Prince Andreas’s cause. Such is the sway of his power.’

‘Sitting ducks,’ muttered Albert. ‘This truly is a war we cannot win.’

‘Then there won’t be a war,’ said Sera, refusing to succumb to the souring mood. She gripped her knife. ‘We don’t have to fight ten thousand soldiers. Or topple the Strix from our skies. We won’t have to battle the dead, or our own people trapped under the Silver-tongue’s compulsion. We just have to cut off the head of the snake. Once Prince Andreas is dead, his soldiers will fall out of compulsion. Without a foothold in Valterre, King Raphael will be forced to retreat.’