The Dagger and the Flame (The City of Fantome, #1)

by Catherine Doyle

For it was in the falling shadows of Fantome that the Cloaks and Daggers roamed. The rival guilds, one of thieves and the other of assassins, were both powered by Shade—the

Shade was the dust that lost golden age had left behind. A volatile substance that bent shadows to the will of man. For those skilled in the art of dark magic and trained by the Orders, Shade could be used to steal. To spy. To kill. To avenge. To survive.

The Daggers consumed Shade in small doses, temporarily turning their bodies into deadly weapons where one touch alone could kill. The Cloaks never consumed Shade. Rather, they wore it, allowing them to blend in with the night and take from it whatever they wished. They might have considered themselves nobler than their rivals, but to dance with Shade at all was to tempt fate.

“The Dancing Swan.” It was an antidote to fear. A promise of freedom. And Seraphine had played it for him under the Saint of Destiny. The only one of the thirteen saints Ransom ever bothered to pray to. Not Calvin, Saint of Death. Or Maud, of Lost Hope. But Oriel, weaver of fate. Oriel, cruel and cunning. What a wicked little game. And yet, in that moment, he had wanted to play it.

Around the time Dufort figured out just how malleable broken children were. What perfect weapons they made.

“Have you ever tasted it?” He looked up. “You mean, have I ever felt like taking a mallet to my soul?”

Sera didn’t dare. But her competitive streak meant she sure as hell thought about it.