Chapter 8 Seraphine

Chapter 8 Seraphine

Sera stood outside the cloakroom in the basement of House Armand and knocked three times. She brushed the stray hairs from her face and adjusted the hem of her sweater, feeling a sudden flurry of self-consciousness. She didn't know whether it was because she knew there was a handsome Shadowsmith on the other side of the door – though she had only managed to steal a few passing glances at him over the last couple of weeks – or because she was finally getting a cloak of her very own.

There was no answer.

She knocked again, louder. ‘Hello?' she called out, uncertainly. ‘It's Seraphine. Madame Mercure sent me?'

Silence.

She tried the handle, and to her surprise, the door opened. When she poked her head around it, she expected to see someone, but the room was empty. Her heart beat fast at the unexpected opportunity. She was hovering on the unguarded threshold of the famous cloakroom of House Armand, a place full of Shade.

She slipped inside, her eyes widening at the grandeur. This was no glorified closet. Exquisite walnut shelves lined each wall, stretching up to a row of squat, narrow windows that looked out on the gardens of House Armand. It was dimmer down here than in any other room Sera had been in, but she supposed the shadows that clung to the cream walls and spilled across the floor were deliberate. They added a certain secrecy to the cloakroom, a place where all things could be hidden.

On one wall, hundreds of cloaks of every size hung from gold railings. On the next were several shelves of smart black boots, then an entire wardrobe of gloves and scarves and hats, and even face masks. Everything was black, and though they all appeared normal on the outside, Sera could sense the Shade that had been stitched into every piece of fabric. It made the air feel colder, heavier. As she moved through the cloakroom, her skin prickled in recognition.

In the middle of the room, by a leather couch and two matching armchairs, was an island covered with glass. Sera ran her fingers along the case, gazing down at a strange collection of pocket-watches, none of which seemed to have a face. There were pens and knives, masks and handkerchiefs, and spectacles made for seeing in the dark. Sera smiled. The cloakroom at House Armand was a place of true artifice and creativity. Mama would have loved it here.

She trailed her fingers along the shelves, searching for a glimpse of the vials her mother used for Shade. Something flitted across her peripheral vision. She turned, sharply, but there was nothing there. She squinted up at the windows. Perhaps a cloud had moved in front of the sun, causing the shadows to shift. But then it happened again, this time on her other side.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

‘Hello?' she called out. ‘Is someone here?'

She looked down and noticed a new shadow right beside her own. She waved her arms, feeling ridiculous. The shadow shifted, moving through hers and then across the floor, until it climbed up the side of a wardrobe.

A man stepped out of it. ‘BOO!'

Sera screamed.

‘ Saints! Calm down!' He pulled his hood back, revealing a sweep of bright silver hair and turquoise eyes that were wide with horror. ‘It's just me!'

Sera clapped a hand over her mouth, turning her scream to a whimper.

‘That was a grave miscalculation,' he said, removing his cloak entirely and casting it onto a nearby bench. He kicked off his boots, leaving him standing in navy trousers, a pale grey sweater and a pair of stripy blue socks. No cloak, no Shade. He grinned sheepishly. ‘I thought you'd find that funny.'

Sera moved her hand to her galloping heart. ‘Then you don't know me at all.'

‘Not yet, but I'm up for the challenge.' He stuck out his hand. ‘Theo Branch. I'm the Shadowsmith of House Armand.'

Sera looked at his hand, broad and tanned golden, and was suddenly keenly aware of how sweaty hers was.

‘It's just a handshake,' he said, misreading her hesitation. ‘Cloak's honour.'

She gingerly took his hand and shook it. ‘Seraphine Marchant.'

‘The smuggler's daughter,' he said, though not unkindly. ‘Mercure told me about you. I was wondering when you'd grace me with your curiosity.'

‘Sera is fine,' she said, taking her hand back. ‘I was just—'

‘Snooping,' he said, good-naturedly. Theo had an easy smile and a pleasant voice that belied his shrewdness.

‘It was more of a general wandering,' she clarified. ‘I was admiring your craftsmanship.'

He rocked back on his heels, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Admirers are always welcome here.'

Sera's cheeks burned. That was not at all what she meant. She turned away. ‘The cloaks,' she said, brushing her fingers along a nearby sleeve. ‘How exactly do they work?'

‘I mix Shade in with the dye,' said Theo, joining her at the shelf. ‘And I use it in the stitching too. The cloak acts like a veil of darkness. It pushes away the light, and helps you fold into the shadows.'

‘And the boots, too?'

‘Boots, gloves. Hats. Scarves…' His eyes lit up. ‘It depends on how invisible you want to be. Then it's just a matter of folding yourself into the right shadow.'

Sera frowned at the sliver of darkness he had just walked out of. It was so much smaller than it had been a moment ago.

‘It doesn't matter how big the shadow is,' he said, reading her thoughts. ‘All you have to do is join with it.'

‘You make it sound so simple.'

‘Anyone can wear a cloak,' he said, with a shrug. ‘The hard part is in the construction of it. It's a game of measurement and precision. Of skill.'

Sera thought of Mama, and all the hours she spent hunched over her workbench, surrounded by a mass of decapitated boneshade plants, harvesting and grinding the root until it was just so. It was heavy work, which made for long hours and aching shoulders, and a weariness that lingered long after the day was done.

‘You must be very dedicated,' she murmured.

‘It's my passion.' Theo smiled at her, his face so full of pride that she smiled back. She ignored the gentle fluttering in her stomach and turned to the wardrobe.

‘So, when do I get mine?'

‘Eager, aren't you,' he remarked. ‘Right now, if you're willing.'

‘I'm willing,' said Sera, far too quickly.

His eyes danced as he pulled a pinned tape measure from his pocket. He placed the pin in his teeth and unfurled the tape, talking from the side of his mouth. ‘Hold still.'

She froze.

‘Don't forget to breathe, Sera.'

She laughed, awkwardly. ‘Sorry. I don't know why I'm so nervous.'

He winked at her. ‘I have that effect on people.'

She was too flustered to think of a reply, so she stood stock still as he carefully pinned the tape to the collar of her sweater, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He was so close, she caught a whiff of his cologne, a distracting mix of sandalwood and vanilla. It made her think of Lorenzo, who always smelled faintly of sunshine and salt. She frowned. For all he knew, she could be dead.

‘Are you all right?' said Theo.

She had stiffened again. ‘I'm fine. I just don't want you to prick me.'

He chuckled as he knelt at her feet, running his fingers along the tape. Sera looked down at him, marvelling at the moon-silver glint of his hair. She wondered how someone not much older than her had managed to obtain such an important role at House Armand.

‘Where did you come from, Theo?'

‘You mean before my impressive lunge from the shadows?'

‘Well, I assume you weren't born in a wardrobe.'

‘I grew up near the Pinetops, the low mountains in north Valterre.' A pause, as if he was considering whether to say more.

‘That's not far from Halbracht.' Sera recalled the maps on her bedroom walls. ‘Just like the Versini brothers.'

‘No.' The word came quick and crisp. ‘I'm not at all like the Versini brothers, and that's fine by me.' He swallowed the hardness in his voice and went on. ‘My father was the Shadowsmith at House Armand before me.' He paused to press the tape against her ankle, sending a shiver dancing up her leg. ‘I spent most of my childhood charging through these hallways, breaking every precious vase in sight. Not exactly the most reliable apprentice.'

Sera nurtured a smile, thinking of the first time she had helped Mama bottle Shade, only to smash an entire box of vials.

‘But Papa was patient,' said Theo. ‘He taught me everything I know. He passed just over a year ago. They said his heart gave out, but sometimes I wonder if the Shade had seeped into it by the end.' He cleared his throat, like he was angry at himself for saying that. ‘Anyway, I had learned enough by then to stay on.'

‘I'm sorry about your father,' said Sera.

‘So am I.' Theo pulled back, looking up at her again. ‘You're shorter than I expected.'

‘Won't that make me a better thief?'

‘Depends how limber you are.'

She pulled a face. ‘I'm a lot better on a horse.'

‘None of those in here, I'm afraid.'

‘Maybe you could make one for me,' she suggested.

He pretended to consider it. ‘You're high maintenance for a farmgirl.' At her look of mock offence, he laughed. The melody of it was so pleasant, she couldn't help but join in.

He stood up to measure the width of her shoulders, chewing on his lip as he adjusted the tape, making another silent calculation in his head. Then his gaze fell on the golden teardrop at her throat. He gently pressed a finger to it. ‘This is pretty,' he murmured. ‘Did you make it?'

She shook her head. ‘My mother made it for me.'

‘It catches the light beautifully,' he said, turning the bead in his fingers. ‘What's inside it?'

She shrugged, embarrassed not to know the answer, to have never asked. ‘Um. A mother's love?'

‘Powerful stuff.' He let go of the necklace. ‘Right, I think I've got everything I need.'

He went to the wall of cloaks and trailed his hand along them, until he came to one hanging near the end. Sera marvelled at his sureness. To her, every single cloak looked exactly the same.

She moved in front of the mirror, while he cast the cloak over her shoulders. It fell with a flutter, the material so light she barely noticed she was wearing it at all. ‘This is one of my newer designs,' he said, looking at her in the mirror. ‘It's lighter. It moves with the wearer, instead of catching between their legs. We've had some trouble with that before.'

His fingers moved, brushing against her necklace as he fastened the cloak. His eyes met hers and she looked away. He reached behind her to pull up her hood, and she caught another whiff of that heady cologne. She wondered what she smelled like to him. Dog fur and anxiety, probably.

‘Do you feel that?' he said, in a low voice.

For a moment, Sera thought he meant the butterflies rioting in her stomach, but then she felt the cool tingle of Shade against the bare skin of her neck. She shuddered. ‘It's cold .'

He smiled. ‘You'll get used to it.'

She winced at her reflection. ‘I look like a ghoul.'

‘I'm afraid you're far too pretty to be a ghoul,' said Theo, with such off-handed casualness she assumed he flirted with everyone.

‘Gloves next,' he said. ‘Wrists up.'

He laid his right hand against hers, dwarfing it. His lips twitched.

‘They're dainty,' she said, defensively. ‘Don't make fun of me.'

‘I wouldn't dream of it.' She caught the rumble of his laughter as he retrieved a pair of perfectly sized gloves from a nearby drawer. They were black, made from leather and Shade. She put them on, feeling a slick of coolness settle on her skin.

‘The Shade you use,' she said casually. ‘Where do you keep it?'

‘In the cloakroom,' he said, as he hunted for the right pair of boots. ‘Where else?'

‘Yes, but where in the cloakroom?' she clarified. ‘I don't see it.'

‘That's because it's hidden.' He stood up, boots in hand, and reached for a velvet hanger that protruded ever so slightly more than the others. He tugged it, and the entire left side of the wardrobe groaned as it gave way. The wood shifted to reveal a large black safe, with a brass dial.

Sera's eyes grew wide, but Theo released the hanger, and the wardrobe swung back into place. ‘Why do you look so intrigued? You grew up with a smuggler. You've probably handled more Shade than I have.'

‘Never unsupervised,' she admitted. Not that she had cared back then. ‘I wasn't even allowed to touch the bloom of the boneshade plant. Mama said it was just as dangerous as the root. Once, when I was eight, she caught me playing kickabout with one.' She pulled a face at the memory. In all her life, she had never seen Mama so angry. ‘She grounded me on the spot. I had to pick one thousand grapes to earn my freedom back.'

‘Grapes, huh?' Theo scrubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘What an odd punishment.'

‘Mama was a winemaker,' said Sera, as she kicked off her shoes. ‘It was a hobby of hers.'

‘I don't know about the grapes, but she was right about the Shade,' he said, kneeling to help her with the boots. ‘It can be tempting.'

Sera slipped her foot inside the first boot. ‘You seem to be doing all right with it.'

He paused with his hand on her ankle. ‘I have remarkable self-control, Sera.'

She watched his fingers move, as he laced up her boot, and asked him, ‘Have you ever tasted it?'

He looked up. ‘You mean, have I ever felt like taking a mallet to my soul?' He splayed his hands, showing her the absence of shadow-marks. ‘Even wearing Shade comes with its own risks. The gloom. The exhaustion. But at least you can take it off.' He finished lacing her boots, sighing as he stood up. ‘Right, then, farmgirl. Pick your shadow.'

She gripped her cloak. ‘What? Just like that?'

He flashed his teeth. ‘No time like the present.'

She nervously adjusted her hood. Magic prickled against her hair, making the strands static. ‘Do I at least look the part?'

‘If you did, then I wouldn't be able to see you,' he reminded her.

‘Right. Good point.' Sera approached a shadow on the wardrobe. She pressed her hand against it, feeling the magic in her glove tingle. As shadow recognized shadow, she felt a faint pulling sensation, as though the darkness was reaching for her. She gasped as her hand appeared to melt into the wardrobe, the glove disappearing before her eyes.

‘Good,' said Theo, coming to her side. ‘Now step into it.'

The idea of stepping into a solid piece of wood sounded absurd to Seraphine, but when she raised her boot and pressed it against the shadow, it yielded like a cloud of dust. Suddenly, she was inside it, the rest of the shadow expanding to welcome her, and then folding around her like a blanket. She looked out at Theo and saw that he was squinting at a spot over her left shoulder.

‘Ha! You can't see me!'

‘You're not supposed to talk.'

‘But then how can I taunt you?' she crowed. She hadn't expected it to be this easy. Or enjoyable. She turned, searching for another shadow. She found one and pounced, her cloak reappearing and then vanishing as the darkness engulfed her once more. She laughed again. ‘Maybe I'll make an expert thief after all.'

‘It's just a shame about those tiny hands,' he said, turning to follow her voice.

She took off her glove and flung it at him.

He caught it easily. ‘Breach!'

She waggled her fingers at him. He lunged to catch her, but she hopped again, folding herself into a shadow on the wall. The darkness tickled her skin, welcoming her. A laugh bubbled out of Sera, the sound so strange and carefree, she hardly recognized it. It was followed by a twist of guilt. How could she laugh after what had happened to Mama? The underworld had claimed her, and now here Sera was, dancing inside it, playing with Shade like it hadn't torn her life apart. Killed her mother.

But no – Mama had told her to come here if something bad happened. She had told Sera it was the only place she would be safe. The better Sera hid, the better she could protect herself. The better she could sneak, and pounce. It would take more than a vial of Shade to take down a Dagger at the height of his power. She needed to be quick, stealthy. She needed to be a good Cloak. Otherwise, how could she sneak up on Dufort?

Sera pushed her guilt away, folding herself into darkness and distraction. As she hopped from one shadow to the next, playing cat and mouse with Theo, she realized she didn't want the game to end. Once it did, the spell would be broken.

All too soon, they were interrupted by an urgent knocking at the door. It swung open to reveal Valerie's ashen face. ‘There's been an incident,' she said, in a strangled voice.

Theo stiffened, the game forgotten. ‘What is it?'

Val's bottom lip trembled, and Sera saw her eyes were filled with tears. Her careful composure had fallen away, revealing the girl trembling beneath. There was a commotion in the hallway behind her, raised voices and hurried scuffling.

‘It's Griffin. They found him down by the harbour.'

Theo followed Val out into the hallway.

Sera stumbled out of the shadows, untying the cloak at her neck. She let it pool on the floor as she scurried after them.

Out in the hallway, a group of Cloaks were carrying a body towards the other room in the basement. Sera rose to her tiptoes, straining to see over Theo's shoulder, and caught a glimpse of Griffin's greying skin. His eyes were black as ink. His lips too.

A Dagger's kill.

Theo muttered a slew of swearwords. ‘What the hell are they playing at?'

‘Isn't it obvious?' said Val in a hollow voice. ‘They've declared war.'

Sera stumbled back into the cloakroom, trying to catch her breath. She picked her cloak off the floor and held it to her chest. As its magic brushed against her skin, she thought of Mama lying in their farmhouse, just as grey. Just as dead. A familiar heat rushed through her, the red wave of her rage scorching the fear from her bones.

Monsters, all of them. Twisted, hateful bastards. She moved her gaze from the door to the wardrobe that hid the black metal safe, to the cloaks in the wardrobes and the drawers that held every kind of weapon imaginable. She would not cower. She would not be afraid. If Dufort wanted a war, he could have it.