Page 51 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘Actually, I need a flag.’

He frowned as he went to fill the kettle. ‘What kind of flag?’

She spoke to his back. ‘Something that sings of peace. Of hope.’

While he made tea, she told him about her letter, and what she intended to do with it. A flag would be something for the people of Valterre to rally behind.

With tea and biscuits to bolster them, they went to work, their heads bent over Theo’s journal as he sketched a design. Then they sat side by side, cutting and sewing, until the sun came up.

As the sky cleared over the streets of Fantome, and the morning bells rang out across the city, Sera and the Order of Flames left the Hollows and travelled north along Merchant’s Way. There were three main entry points to the city, not including the sea lapping against the south harbour.

To the west, beyond the village of Everell, stood Wayfarer’s Gate.

And in the east, Hangman’s Pass guarded the outgoing roads.

Traveller’s Arch, a towering pale-stone structure, stood at the crown of the city in the north, marking its busiest entryway.

Beyond it, arched the outgoing stone bridge and the long road to the plains, a route travelled by thousands of merchant traders and farmers every single day. The construction of the arch had been overseen by the saints over a thousand years ago, and since then had always flown the royal flag of Valterre.

Until the Silver-tongue Saint and his followers had set it alight.

It was here that Sera and her friends gathered. The grand arch stood upon a mosaic in the shape of a sprawling twelve-point star: a tribute to the saints of old, the twelve custodians of the city of Fantome and the sum of what they represented:

Light.

Hope.

No longer able to rely on the Appoline Press, Val and Anouk had gone earlier that morning to a small printing house in east Fantome. Afterwards, Mercure and her Cloaks had gone to work, delivering the Proclamation of the Saints to every household in the city.

Sera pinned it to Traveller’s Arch, too, so that every passing traveller would read it and carry the news throughout the kingdom.

TO THE GOOD FOLK OF VALTERRE

In the wake of King Bertrand IV’s death, a new evil has risen through the royal ranks.

Prince Andreas Mondragon Rayere, the Silver-tongue Saint, seeks to take our kingdom for his own, to banish our free thought and our free will, and make us kneel at his feet.

It is true the magic in his blood is new and deep and powerful. But it is not unconquerable.

There is other magic at work in Valterre.

It flows in the veins of noble saints.

We, who vow to protect this city.

We, who vow to defeat the Silver-tongue Saint.

We, who vow to defend the freedom of this land and its people.

Stow your fear. Put your trust in us.

Light will bloom and peace will reign once more.

We will see to it.

We promise you.

I promise you.