Page 40 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘Saint of Truth,’ said Val, trying out. She didn’t hate it.

Fontaine snorted. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? Considering all the bold-faced lies you told me as a girl.’

‘Oh, please,’ said Val. ‘I still lie my ass off whenever I feel like it.’

They were interrupted by a clatter of footsteps. Anouk barrelled into the library, wearing the same look of fear Val had sensed in Albert. Just like Mercure’s Second, she was carrying the penny papers.

She unrolled it to shake at them. ‘Look!’

TERROR STALKS THE WEST: BEWARE THE PEOPLE’S SAINT

In the wake of his uncle’s murder, Andreas Mondragon Rayere, the self-styled People’s Prince, has promised a long-awaited period of prosperity for the people of Valterre: a kingdom where the Crown’s coin purse will always be open, where the saints of this country will take care of their own, and we may bask in the light after a long Age of Darkness.

The People’s Prince is a liar. The scholar who once walked the hallowed halls of this university is long gone. In his place, a dangerous Silver-tongue has emerged.

Beware the rose emblazoned on his banner, for there are thorns lurking beneath. Our informants in the west have reported that another army is gathering behind the prince’s flag. Not the peace-bringing saints he promised but a flock of foreigners intent on mining the magic in our land.

As I write, the Stargrazers of Urnica prepare to take wing. Yesterday morning, the Strix were spotted circling Castellan. The border town has already been stripped of its banners and forced to pay tribute to its pretender prince. Those who refused were hanged. Those who ran were dragged through the village and strung up by their bootstraps.

Andreas Mondragon Rayere’s words are as lethal as the blades wielded by his Rose-bearers. His promises are silky lies, designed to distract us from his true goal: the destruction of free thought. If this kingdom does not kneel to its new monarch, it will be forced by magical design to bow. He will take away our voices until only his remains.

Dear reader, beware: when you see the prince coming, block your ears and turn your back. Resistance is the last weapon at our disposal. It is up to our saints to save us now. May they walk in the light of their forebears, and resist the temptation of power. May Oriel, ever merciful, favour us.

Val read the article twice over. Horror suffused her, the words enough to make even Fontaine shiver.

‘It was written by the provost at the Appoline.’ Anouk pointed to the seal at the bottom, a scroll lit by a rising sun. The scholar’s mark. ‘It was printed at the university.’

‘Dead man walking,’ muttered Fontaine. No need for tarot now.

‘At least the people know Andreas is coming,’ Anouk said.

‘It’s not knowledge they need. It’s protection,’ said Val. ‘If we don’t kill the Silver-tongue soon, Fantome and the rest of this kingdom is as good as lost.’

For once, Fontaine was silent.

Chapter 9 Ransom

‘I must be dreaming,’ said Ransom, when Theo Versini appeared in the doorway of Seraphine’s bedroom, where he’d been drifting in and out of sleep. ‘Or is this a nightmare?’

Versini remained where he stood. ‘Actually, your nightmares are still prowling around outside.’

‘Good.’ Ransom hated to close his eyes, even for a moment, in case his magic faltered. But by now, the churning inside him was so constant, darkness seeped from his soul like an open wound.

‘If you’re looking for Seraphine, she’s down in the rec room with Val.’ His voice was tight. ‘She’s discovered her gift. The making was a success.’

Theo’s eyes drifted. ‘Saint of Truth. Tobias told me.’

Ransom stared at the Shadowsmith, noting the way his fists curled.

Sensing Ransom’s scrutiny, he added, ‘I’m glad.’

‘Not jealous, then?’

‘Did you read today’s penny papers?’ he said, ignoring the barb. ‘We’ve already got two armies coming our way. The Rose-bearers are brainwashed. The Stargrazers are bought. And let’s not forget Lark and his corpses. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to start trusting me.’

‘So start acting trustworthy.’

Versini glared at him. ‘Says the Saint of Nightmares. Your beasts are so toxic all the flowers in the garden are dead.’