Page 39 of The Dragon and the Dove

It seethed. It demanded.

It growled.

Theo stepped back, and suddenly Val could breathe again. Her hand flew to her chest, stilling the frenzy of her heartbeat.

Oblivious to her discomfort, Theo turned from her, sauntering off to his bedroom with his hands in his pockets.

Goosebumps raised along her skin as she watched him go, the truth striking her like a bolt.

Theo Branch had just lied to her face.

Val woke the following morning with a singular thought pounding in her head: Madame Fontaine. If there was anyone in this place that could help her figure out her magic, it was that nosy old soothsayer.

Val went directly to the library, passing Albert on the stairwell. Mercure’s Second-in-Command was heading up towards her office with a face like thunder. He was so distracted, the senior Cloak didn’t even glance her way as he stalked past, this morning’s penny papers curled under his arm.

Val stared after him, feeling a sudden curl of dread in her stomach.

Fear, whispered that voice inside her. Albert is afraid.

The library was deserted, save for the old woman standing by the window, as if she had been waiting for her.

Because of course she had.

Fontaine scowled as she entered.

Val hesitated, trying to interpret her mood.

‘It’s impatience,’ said the old crone, like she could read her mind. ‘And a touch of indigestion. Probably shouldn’t have had those sausage rolls for breakfast.’ She stifled a burp. ‘Anyway, it took you long enough. I’ve been waiting all morning.’

‘You could have fetched me.’

‘What am I, a dog?’

A thousand responses danced through Val’s mind. She pressed her lips together, smiling sweetly.

Fontaine leaned on her cane. ‘Have you figured it out yet?’

Straight to the quick. As ever.

‘My magic,’ said Val. ‘It’s got to do with secrets, right?’

Fontaine removed a card from inside her shawl and placed it on the window ledge. ‘See for yourself.’

The image wasn’t even of a person but an old wooden vane, spinning.

Val folded her arms. ‘I can… tell the weather?’

‘Lose the attitude,’ said Fontaine, prodding her. ‘A vane is a teller of things. It knows every shift of the wind. It always points true.’

Fontaine’s words hung between them.

It was a far cry from the brute force of Anouk’s power, or the sweeping violence of Ransom’s shadows. But if Fontaine was unimpressed by Val’s gift, she hid it well.

In fact, a note of reverence crept into her voice. ‘You are a diviner of the most sacred currency in this kingdom, Valerie. Truth.’

Val’s magic preened.

‘Truth is all we can rely on,’ said Fontaine. ‘It is the last bastion of war.’