Seraphina

  “Sir Karal Halfholder,” he said, sitting up straighter. He was dressed like a peasant, tunic, clogs, grubbiness, and all, but his mien was that of a well-bred man. “My brother-in-arms, Sir Cuthberte Pettybone.”

  It was Sir Cuthberte who’d taken me for a strumpet. He bowed, saying, “My apologies, Maid Dombegh. I should not have been so boorish.”

  Sir Karal attempted to preempt my next question: “We’ll never tell you where our brothers are hiding!”

  “You’d have to seduce us first!” Sir Cuthberte twirled his mustache. Sir Karal glared at him, and Cuthberte cried, “She’s smiling! She knows I jest!”

  I did know. For some reason, it kept being funny. Old men, hidden for decades with only other old men for company, found me worth flirting with. That was something.

  “The Crown knows where your order is,” I said, suspecting that was likely true. “I don’t care about that; I want to know where you saw the dragon.”

  “It came right up to our camp!” said Sir Karal. “We said that!”

  Oops. I’d have known that if I weren’t lying. I tried to sound impatient: “From which angle? From the north? The village? The wood?” Saints in Heaven, let there be a village and a wood nearby. In Goredd, both were a good bet but not guaranteed.

  However, I’d got them thinking, so they didn’t notice my ignorance. “It was dark,” said Sir Karal, scratching the stubble on his skinny chicken neck. “But you’re right, the beast could be staying in the village as a saarantras. That hadn’t occurred to us; we’d been looking to the limestone caves, south.”

  My heart sank. If it was dark, they hadn’t seen much. “You’re certain it was a dragon?”

  They looked at me disdainfully. “Maidy,” said Sir Karal, “we fought in the wars. I was left punch in a dracomachia unit. I have soared through the sky, dangling by my harpoon from a dragon’s flank while flaming pyria whizzed around me, scanning the ground desperately for a soft place to land when the beast finally caught fire.”

  “We all have,” said Sir Cuthberte quietly, clapping his comrade on the shoulder.

  “You don’t forget dragons,” snarled Sir Karal. “When I am blind and deaf, senile and stroke-addled, I will still know when I’m in the presence of a dragon.”

  Sir Cuthberte smiled weakly. “They radiate heat, and they smell of brimstone.”

  “They radiate evil! My soul will know, even if body and mind don’t work!”

  His hatred hurt me more than it had any right to. I swallowed and tried to keep my voice pleasant: “Did you get a good look at this particular dragon? We suspect we know who he is, but any confirming detail would help. Distinctive horn or wing damage, for example, or coloration—”

  “It was dark,” said Sir Karal flatly.

  “It had a perforation in its right wing,” offered Sir Cuthberte. “Closest membrane to its body. Shape of a … I don’t know. A rat, I want to say. The way they hunch their backs when they eat.” He demonstrated, realized how silly he looked, and laughed.

  I laughed back, and pulled out my charcoal pencil. “Draw it on the wall, please.”

  Both knights stared at the pencil, horror writ large on their faces. St. Masha and St. Daan. It was a draconian innovation.

  Mercifully, they blamed not me but the peace. “They infiltrate everything, these worms,” cried Sir Karal. “They’ve got our women carrying their blasted devices as casually as smelling oils!”

  Sir Cuthberte took it nonetheless and drew a shape upon the wall’s graying plaster. Sir Karal corrected the shape. They squabbled a bit but finally settled on something that did, indeed, look like a rodent eating corn.

  “That was his only distinguishing mark?” I asked.

  “It was dark,” said Sir Cuthberte. “We were lucky to make out that much.”

  “I hope it’s enough.” Long experience with Orma told me the odds weren’t good.

  “Whom do you suspect it is?” said Sir Karal, his fists clenched in his lap.

  “A dragon called Imlann.”

  “General Imlann, who was banished?” asked Sir Cuthberte, looking unexpectedly delighted. The knights both whistled, long and low, producing an interval of rather apropos dissonance.

  “Did you know him?”

  “He led the Fifth Ard, didn’t he?” Sir Cuthberte asked his fellow.

  Sir Karal nodded gravely. “We fought the Fifth twice, but I never grappled the general. Sir James Peascod, at our camp, specialized in identification. He’d be your best bet. I don’t suppose you asked Sir James if he knew this dragon, did you, Cuthberte?”

  “Didn’t occur to me.”

  “Pity,” sniffed Sir Karal. “Still, how does knowing his name help you catch him?”

  I didn’t know, now that he mentioned it, but tried to answer logically: “We can’t catch him without the embassy’s help, and they won’t help us if they don’t believe us. They might be motivated if we had proof it was Imlann.”

  Sir Karal turned dangerously red; I could see his pulse at his temple. “That baby-eating worm was in clear violation of the treaty. You’d think that would be enough for them, if they had any honor! Be it known that we upheld our part of that accursed agreement. We didn’t attack it, although we could have!”

  Sir Cuthberte snorted. “Who could have? Pender and Foughfaugh? That would have been over in seconds.”

  Sir Karal glared venom at Sir Cuthberte. “I tire of this. Where’s Captain Kiggs?”

  “Good question,” I said, rising and dusting off my skirts. “I’ll look for him. Thank you for your time, gentle knights.”

  Sir Karal rose and bowed. Sir Cuthberte said, “What? No kiss?”

  I blew him a kiss, laughing, and left.

  Outside, the guards seemed surprised to see me. “Captain Kiggs still hasn’t arrived, Maid Dombegh,” said John, pushing back his helmet.

  I smiled, merry with relief that this was over and I’d gotten away with it. I would return to my rooms, contact Orma on the kitten spinet, and see whether he could identify his father from the perforation. “Captain Kiggs must have been detained. No matter—I’m finished here. I’ll go see whether I can find him.”

  “You won’t have far to go,” said a voice from halfway up the stairs.

  Prince Lucian descended the stairs, and my heart descended into my stomach.

  I dared not let my eyes widen in horror or the guards would be on to me; to buy myself some time, I curtsied deeply, to a slow count of three.

  The prince, when I finally dared to look at him again, seemed amused. He gestured broadly. “You are finished here, one hopes?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, managing to keep any tremor out of my voice. “If you wish to question the knights yourself, perhaps I can meet you tomorrow morning—”

  “Oh no,” he said lightly, his smile hardening. “I rather think you’re meeting with me now. Wait for me upstairs, if you would be so kind.”

  I had no option but to climb the stairs. Behind me, the prince said, “Who remembers what my token looks like? Right. And did Maid Dombegh bear my token?”

  “But, sir, we weren’t to start that protocol until Comonot arrives!”

  “We’re starting it tonight. Only someone with my token speaks in my name.”

  “Were we wrong to let her down here, Captain?” said John.

  Lucian Kiggs paused before answering: “No. You followed your instincts about her, and they did not lead you astray. But it’s time to tighten things up, hm? The palace will be full of strangers soon.”

  He started up the stairs; I hurried to reach the top before he did. The look he gave me when he reached the top was less amused. He acknowledged Mikey the Fish’s salute, grabbed me by the right elbow, and marched me up the corridor.

  “Who are you working for?” he asked when we were out of earshot.

  Was this a trick question? “Viridius.”

  He stopped and faced me, his brows pulled together darkly. “This is your chance to tell the truth. I dislike ga
mes of cat and mouse. You’re caught; don’t toy with me.”

  Sweet Heavenly Home, he thought I was some sort of agent for a foreign government, perhaps—or for some individual. A dragon, say. Maybe he wasn’t wrong. “Could we talk somewhere besides the hallway, please?”

  He glanced up and down the passage, frowning. The east wing was full of servants and storage, kitchens and workshops. He led me up a short hallway and unlocked the heavy door at the end with a key. He lit a lantern at the hall sconce, ushered me through the door, and closed it behind us. We were at the bottom of a spiral stair leading up into blackness. Instead of climbing the stairs, however, he seated himself about five steps up and set the lantern beside him.

  “What is this place?” I said, craning my neck to peer upward.

  “My ‘beastly tower,’ Glisselda calls it.” He seemed disinclined to discuss it further. The lantern lit him eerily from below, making it difficult to interpret his expression; he wasn’t smiling, in any case. “It would have been easy enough to interview the knights with my blessing. You had only to ask. I dislike your invoking my name under false pretenses.”

  “I—I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry,” I stammered. Why had it seemed like a good idea? Why was I more prepared to bluff complete strangers than to speak plainly to this prince? I opened my purse cautiously, blocking any glimpse of the quig figurine, and passed the gold coin to the prince. “My teacher, Orma, also has a concern regarding a possible rogue dragon. I promised him I’d speak to you.”

  Lucian Kiggs silently examined the coin in the lantern light. He’d been so chatty before; his silence unnerved me. But of course he was doubtful when I claimed to speak on someone else’s behalf. How could he not be? Saints’ dogs, I’d miscalculated in bluffing his guards.

  “A messenger gave him that coin after your uncle’s funeral,” I pressed on. “Orma claims it belonged to his father.”

  “Then it probably did,” he said, studying the back. “Dragons know their coins.”

  “His father is General Imlann, disgraced and banished for hoarding.”

  “Hoarding doesn’t usually merit banishment,” said the prince, his mouth set in a line. Even his looming shadow seemed skeptical.

  “Imlann committed other crimes too, I believe. Orma didn’t lay it all out in detail.” Here I was, already lying. It never ended. “He believes Imlann is here, in Goredd, and may be planning some harm to the Ardmagar or mischief to the celebrations or … he doesn’t know what. It’s all vague supposition, alas.”

  Lucian Kiggs glanced from me to the coin and back. “You’re uncertain whether he’s right to be worried.”

  “Yes. My hope in speaking to the knights was that they could give me some identifying details, enabling me to confirm with Orma that their rogue dragon is Imlann. I didn’t want to waste your time with guesses.”

  He leaned forward intently. “Might Imlann have wished to harm my uncle?”

  He was interested now; that was an immeasurable relief. “I don’t know. Did the council conclude that the rogue had something to do with Prince Rufus’s death?”

  “The council concluded very little. Half the people there suspected the knights of fabricating the whole thing to stir up trouble and prevent Comonot’s visit.”

  “What do you think?” I pressed.

  “I think I was on my way to speak with the knights myself when I learned that someone was already speaking to them in my name.” He wagged a finger at me, but it was only a mock scolding. “What’s your impression? Did they truly see a dragon?”

  “Yes.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”

  “I—I suppose it had to do with the kinds of detail they were and weren’t able to give me. I wish I could say it was more than just an intuition.” I also wished I could say that being a liar myself gave me some insight into these things.

  “Don’t shrug off intuition so blithely! I advise my men to notice gut reactions. Of course, they were wrong about you.” He flashed me an irritated look, then seemed to think better of it. “No, let me amend that. They were wrong to believe I’d given you permission to speak with the prisoners, but they were not wrong about you.”

  How could he still think well of me after I’d been so awful to him? A warm wash of guilt rolled over me. “I—I’m sorry—”

  “No harm done.” He waved off my confusion. “In fact, this has turned out very well. You and I appear to be working toward a common purpose. Now that we know, we can help each other.”

  He thought I was apologizing for the lie; I’d already done that. “I’m, uh, also sorry for what I said to you. Yesterday.”

  “Ah!” He smiled at long last, and a knot of anxiety in my chest released. “There’s the other half of your hesitation. Forget it. I already have.”

  “I was rude!”

  “And I was offended. It was all very by-the-book. But let us set that aside, Seraphina. We’re pulling in the same team.” I wasn’t buying such easy forgiveness; he noticed my doubt and added: “Selda and I had a long talk about you. She spoke quite eloquently in your defense.”

  “She didn’t say I was prickly?”

  “Oh, she absolutely did. And you are.” He looked vaguely amused by whatever expression sprawled across my face. “Stop glowering. There’s nothing wrong with letting people know when they’ve stepped on your tail. The thing to ask ourselves when you bite is, why?”

  Bite. Tail. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Selda has observed that you dislike personal questions, and certainly I was getting a bit personal. So. My apologies.”

  I looked at my feet, embarrassed.

  He continued: “In this particular case, I think there was more to it than that. You honestly answered my question.” He sat back smugly, as if he’d solved a difficult riddle. “I asked what it’s like to be so talented, and you gave me a straightforward comparison: like being a bastard! And with a little extra thought, I get it. Everyone gawps at you for something you can’t help and did nothing to deserve. Your very presence makes other people feel awkward. You stand out when in fact you’d rather not.”

  For the merest moment I couldn’t breathe. Something inside me quivered, some oud string plucked by his words, and if I breathed it would stop.

  He did not know the truth of me, yet he had perceived something true about me that no one else had ever noticed. And in spite of that—or perhaps because of it—he believed me good, believed me worth taking seriously, and his belief, for one vertiginous moment, made me want to be better than I was.

  I was a fool to let myself feel that. I was a monster; that could never change.

  I almost snapped at him, almost played the monster in earnest as only I could play it, but something stopped me. He wasn’t some dragon, coldly observing me. He was offering me something true about himself in return. It shone like a diamond. That wasn’t trivial; that was generous. If I knocked this gift out of his hand, I wasn’t getting another. I inhaled shakily and said, “Thank you, but …” No, no buts. “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “There’s more to you than meets the eye. I’ve observed that more than once. Which of the Porphyrian philosophers do you favor?”

  It was such a non sequitur that I nearly laughed, but he kept talking, finally at ease with me again. “You recognized that quote the other evening, and I thought, ‘At long last, someone else who’s read Pontheus!’ ”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t, much. Papa had his Analects—”

  “But you’ve read other philosophers. Confess!” He leaned forward eagerly, elbows on his knees. “I’d guess you like … Archiboros. He was so keen on the life of the mind that he never bothered to determine whether his theories worked in the real world.”

  “Archiboros was a pompous ass,” I said. “I preferred Necans.”

  “That morose old twig!” cried Kiggs, slapping his leg. “He takes it too far. If he had his way, we’d all be nothing but disembodied minds, floating and ephemeral, completely d
isconnected from the matter of this world.”

  “Would that be so awful?” I said, my voice catching. He’d hit upon something personal again, or else I was so raw I could be hurt by anything, no matter how innocuous.

  “I’d have thought you preferred Pontheus, is all,” he said, examining an invisible speck on the sleeve of his doublet, giving me a little space to collect myself.

  “A jurisprudence philosopher?”

  “Clearly you’ve only read his early work. All his genius is in his later writings.”

  “Didn’t he go mad?” I was aiming for supercilious, but the look on his face told me I’d missed and landed squarely on amusing.

  “If it was madness, Phina, it was such a madness as you or I could only dream of! I will find you his last book.” He looked at me again and his eyes shone in the lamplight, or with the inner light of delighted anticipation.

  His enthusiasm made him beautiful. I was staring; I looked at my hands.

  He coughed and rose, tucking the coin into his doublet. “Right. Well. I’ll take Orma’s coin to Eskar tomorrow morning and see what she says. With my luck, she’ll conclude we’re harboring criminals; I don’t think she’s forgiven me for letting that newskin get hurt—or for dancing with her, for that matter. Ask your teacher about the details the knights gave you; I’d appreciate that. If we could identify this rogue, that might impress upon the embassy that we are making a good-faith effort to … I was going to say ‘maintain order,’ but it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

  I said, “Until tomorrow, then.” Of course, it was up to him to dismiss me, not the other way around. I cringed at myself.

  He seemed not to register the breach in manners. I curtsied to make up for it. He smiled and opened the tower door for me. My mind was racing, scrambling to think up one more thing to say to him before I left, but it came up empty. “Good evening, Seraphina,” he said, and closed the door.