Page 194 of The Dragon and the Dove

She stalled, watching him from afar.

Theo, she called out.

There was such a weightlessness to him now he could hardly bear to linger.

Turn around, Seraphine.

He felt her panic, heard the reel of her thoughts as though they were his own. She couldn’t bear to leave him, not without telling him she was sorry – saints, she was so sorry – about all of it. That it wasn’t fair to part like this, that she would miss him sorely. Always.

Fantome needs its dove, he told her. Go home, Sera.

She began to fade. I’ll see you again, Theo.

Not for a long while.

Make it count, he called after her.

I will, she cried.

Her words echoed in the sunbeams.

It was simple then, letting go.

Surrendering to the divine weightlessness of forever.

Chapter 61 Seraphine

Sera fell back into the world like a feather listing to the ground. Back into her body, back to the man who held her in his trembling arms. When she opened her eyes, Ransom was looking down at her.

He blinked, tears streaming down his face. ‘Is this real?’ he whispered. ‘Are you real?’

She cupped his jaw. ‘I’m here, Ransom. I’m here.’

He turned, pressing a kiss into her palm. Hot tears streamed over her fingers, his mouth trembling against her skin. Slowly, reverently, he dropped his hand and traced the skin above her heart. ‘Gone,’ he murmured. ‘They’re all gone.’

The thorns.

The cost.

She knew. Her magic was gone too. There was a lightness in her. A deep, welcome silence. She gave a wet cough, pushing the dust from her lungs. ‘Theo took it. He took it all. He’s gone.’

Ransom’s stark expression told her he already knew.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his gaze flicking past her shoulder.

He helped her to sit up, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she turned to look upon Theo’s body. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack. He looked peaceful, as though he was sleeping despite the blood in his hair, the crusted wound in his neck.

Grief welled. Helpless and aching, Sera reached for his hand. It was as cold as stone. She curled it in her own and lifted it to her lips, ghosting a kiss across his knuckles. Those clever hands. That clever mind.

When she drew back, she saw the thorns around his wrist. Her thorns. They cuffed him, trailing all the way down his forearm, disappearing under the torn sleeve of his shirt. She traced the ink with her finger, knowing her friend was gone from her. Here lay the vessel, but his soul, that bright unknowable force made of the oldest and truest of magic of all, was in the heavens now.

‘He was good.’ Ransom’s voice was quiet. ‘He was good and I never saw it.’

‘He didn’t need you to see it,’ said Sera. ‘It was never about that for Theo.’

The glory. The greatness.

Theo might have been a Versini but he was nothing like Hugo and Armand. He was good right down to his bones. The best of his bloodline and the best of Valterre. She would make sure every person in the kingdom knew it.