Page 2 of The Dragon and the Dove

In the west, villagers turned their face to the darkening sky and quailed.

And in the east, Prince Andreas Mondragon Rayere, the silver-tongued saint of Valterre, rode out to meet his cousin’s army. His golden eyes shone bright, proof of the divine blood that now ran in his veins, of the power that would soon bring the kingdom to its knees:

Persuasion. Coercion. Subjugation.

As the sun crested the Western Ridge, the first Strix alighted on the banks of Calliope’s Looking Glass. For such a tower of strength, the king’s brother, Prince Darius Mondragon, dismounted with surprising grace, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm.

The Silver-tongue Saint embraced his cousin at the foot of their shared mountains.

A violent earthquake gripped the land.

But – no.

It was the vision that shook.

Back in her chair at House Armand, the soothsayer trembled. The vision had sprawled. She was high enough now to hear the war cries of the Strix. A wretched, clawing chorus. High enough to see the rivers of Valterre turn red. To glimpse townspeople hanging from flagpoles, to watch the ravens of Fantome gather above the cathedral in a great black cloud.

A terror.

A warning.

An omen.

‘Josephine … Josie!’

Her eyes flew open.

Another pair stared back at her, brown and filled with worry. They belonged to Madame Cordelia Mercure, custodian of House Armand and current Head of the Order of Cloaks.

‘I heard you cry out,’ said Cordelia, gripping her gently by the shoulders. ‘I thought you were having a heart attack.’

I wish.

The old woman blinked herself back to the present. She could see by Cordelia’s silk bonnet that she must have been asleep.

‘Josie, you’re shaking.’

‘Oh, get a hold of yourself, Cordelia,’ snapped the old woman. Despite their friendship, she did not like to be caught unawares. As the previous Head Cloak, she had earned the right to her own privacy. And certainly her own nightmares. ‘It was nothing. I was sleeping.’

You were divining, whispered that incessant voice in her head.

Oh, piss off, she hissed back. You’ve done enough for one night.

Cordelia was still staring at her. ‘You’ve not been well these past few weeks, Josie.’

The old woman snorted. ‘Has anyone in this hell-bitten city been well?’

Not since the Aurore Tower had fallen and the saints had come roaring back. Twisted and power-hungry, and woefully ill-equipped for their own destinies.

A card slipped from the deck in Josephine’s fist and came to rest on the floorboards.

They both looked down.

‘The Hourglass,’ muttered Cordelia. ‘Time is running out.’

Josephine hummed. ‘Very astute, Cordelia. Perhaps there is some Beauregard blood in you, too.’

Cordelia remained unamused. ‘Magic thrums in the bones of our kingdom. I sense it now in a way I never have before. All these grasping hands snatching at power. And the rest of us players in a deadly game, whether we wish it or not.’ Cordelia stood with her back to her old friend and gazed out into the dawn. ‘I can feel a change in the wind, Josie. The ground is shifting, and we are all losing our footing.’