Page 197 of The Dragon and the Dove

Then at the man beside her.

He was nervous now, chewing on his scarred bottom lip.

‘Bastian,’ she said softly, ‘did you steal a whole house just for us?’ She was only half joking.

His chuckle warmed the air between them. ‘I’ve never been a thief, spitfire.’

Except for the heart he had stolen right out of her chest.

‘Move in with me,’ he said, turning serious.

‘All right.’ It was the easiest yes she’d ever given.

‘Adventure with me.’

‘Gladly.’

That was even easier.

‘Grow old with me.’

‘With pleasure.’

Easier still.

She was grinning madly now, the key warm in her hand as she leaned in to kiss the man who had meant to kill her once but who instead had given her every reason to live. Now they sat beneath a beacon of peace in this new life together. This new world of hope and love and dreams made real.

It was that magic, of all magic, that filled Seraphine’s soul with light.

Epilogue

As Josephine Fontaine climbed the stairwell to her bedroom on the topmost floor of House Armand, she paused at the window that looked out over the Hollows. It was late spring and the trees were in bloom again.

It felt, to the old soothsayer, like a perfect time to die.

Not that she resented her nine decades on earth, or all the marvels she’d witnessed in that time: sweeping love and far-flung adventure, daring Heists and clever ploys, war and peace, and, most wondrous of all, the Second Coming of the saints.

A new world was unfurling, but it was not for her to explore. She had played her part, done her duty to the Saint of Destiny and fate’s grand design. The old soothsayer was tired of living. She wanted to know what came next.

Grabbing her shawl from the end of her bed, she went to sit by the fire. ‘Can we get on with it now, Oriel?’ she said into the quiet.

Flames crackled in the grate and sparks floated like fireflies around her.

She smiled, closing her eyes.

A dream tugged at her. Tonight, she resisted her curiosity, skirting the edges of a story that was yet to unfold. She glimpsed a village wedged between a glassy lake and a spill of mountains, a furious young king and a girl with scheming eyes.

Beautiful little serpent.

She heard the cries of a kingdom in revolt and a laugh like a lyre’s song. But it was not this kingdom, and it was not her war.

Josephine let the dream spill away like sand through her fingers, and, with it, her grip on the world. She sighed as it released her. Untethered from her old and aching body, her soul rose high above the spires of House Armand, pitched towards the heavens like a kite in the wind.

Oriel was waiting there to welcome her home.