Page 90 of The Dragon and the Dove

It was not unsurprising news. It was Nadia’s candour that caught her off guard.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘So you can decide your own fate. For once.’ She frowned. ‘If you agree to stay here and make saints of Andreas’s choosing—’

‘Urnican saints,’ Sera guessed.

A grim nod. ‘He’ll let you live, under his rules. He’ll grant you a place in his court.’

‘You make it look so enjoyable.’

‘There are worse fates.’

‘And better ones,’ said Sera pointedly. ‘You should have come with us that night at the Summer Palace.’

‘My place is with Lark.’ Her words were belied by the uncertainty on her face. ‘The choice is yours, Maker. Andreas’s court or the bottom of the river.’

‘I’d sooner hurl myself out of that window.’

‘You might have to if you don’t play along.’ She turned to go.

Panic set in. Nadia was no ally but she was the closest thing Sera had to a confidante in here, and despite their enmity there was something else between them – the cracked foundations of an old, tenuous friendship.

‘What would you do?’ said Sera. ‘If the choice was yours?’

Nadia leaned in, close enough that the soldiers couldn’t hear her. ‘I would choose death. Andreas has enough power. He doesn’t need another drop of it.’

She started to walk away.

‘Wait!’ Sera called after her.

Nadia stopped, turning on her boot heel.

‘I can’t settle,’ she said quickly. ‘I know I won’t sleep tonight. Every time I close my eyes, I see Ransom. Gasping. Dying.’

Nadia’s brow furrowed.

‘I need something to turn off my thoughts. Just for a few hours. At least then I won’t feel it when Andreas comes. I won’t even fight it.’

‘What are you asking for?’

‘Mistbane. A vial.’

‘I don’t have any mistbane.’

‘You could get some for me.’ Sera gripped the wrought-iron footboard. ‘One last gesture of kindness to bury the rest.’

The betrayal. The anger. The resentment.

Nadia’s nostrils flared, a ‘no’ hovering on the tip of her tongue.

‘Please,’ said Sera. ‘It’s the only thing I’ll ever ask of you.’

Wrinkling her nose, Nadia left without saying a word.

An hour later, a tray arrived with Sera’s dinner. A bowl of stringy lamb stew, and with it a single glass vial. The silver dust glimmered in the falling dark.

Sera sat by the window and choked down her stew. Afterwards, she palmed the vial and returned to her bed, where she sat and plotted, waiting for dawn.