Page 52 of The Dragon and the Dove

Yours,

Seraphine Marchant, the Saint-maker of Fantome, and the Order of Flames

One by one, the others came forth and signed their names under hers.

Ransom Hale, Saint of Nightmares.

Anouk Hale, Saint of Clay.

Valerie Doe, Saint of Truth.

Then Theo Branch. Tobias Versini. Paola Versini. And Fabian, who had sneaked out after them and brought his own pen.

So keen was he to be counted among the defenders of this city and the new Order of Flames, it seemed only fair to let him sign it too.

As they gathered at the arch, Ransom cast out his shadows, summoning a ring of hounds to sit outside the twelve-point star. Like Sera, he was keenly aware of the dayguards patrolling nearby, knuckles white around the hilts of their swords.

‘Just try it,’ taunted Anouk, stepping back after signing her name. ‘Ransom will swallow you all whole.’

‘They wouldn’t dare,’ said Val, narrowing her eyes at the soldiers in their midst. ‘Not without their puppetmaster.’

Andreas was still at the Appoline, preparing for tomorrow night’s ball.

‘They’re just here to intimidate us,’ said Theo, calmly. ‘To keep the people of Fantome in line.’

‘It’s working,’ said Paola uneasily. ‘The streets are so quiet.’

Sera studied the soldiers. Rose-bearers now.

They wore the Silver-tongue’s symbol – a single golden rose – emblazoned on their blue uniforms. Gone were the crossed swords that used to mark the king’s crest. Andreas had done away with the blades.

The flower alone was meant to be a symbol of peace.

Of purity.

Just another of the Silver-tongue’s pretty lies.

The soldiers’ eyes had the same eerie glaze. She wondered what Andreas had commanded of them, and whether they would report what they were witnessing here back to the prince.

She hoped they would.

As a cloud moved in front of the sun, Theo removed the flag from his satchel, and passed it to her. Sera looked up, assessing the height of the arch. It was a fair climb, and quite a fall, but she had scaled a lot of barns in her youth and had once teetered along the Aurore Tower in the midst of a thunderstorm.

‘I can do it,’ said Ransom, summoning a rope of shadow.

She shook her head. ‘It should be me.’

Shoving the flag into the waistband of her trousers, Sera climbed the arch. The others watched her ascend, Ransom moving directly underneath her in case she fell.

But she was not going to fall.

The rock was solid beneath her hands, the grooves deep enough to catch her feet. Determination fired her core, pushing her higher, faster.

She reached the top, dragging herself onto the cool stone. She was greeted by an empty flagpole and the sun peeking through the clouds, as though the saints themselves were watching.

Unfurling the flag, she stood over her Order, grinning as they beheld the design: a white dove soaring across an amber sky.

It was a symbol that needed no explanation, for it sang of hope and peace and brighter days ahead.