Seraphina(10)

Half of Lavondaville had flocked to the square for the pleasure of being terrified, if so. Only the old remembered when dragons were a common sight, when a shadow across the sun was enough to shoot panic down your spine. We all knew the stories—how whole villages had burned to the ground, how you’d turn to stone if you dared look a dragon in the eye, how valiant the knights were in the face of terrifying odds.

The knights had been banished years after Comonot’s Treaty took effect. Without dragons to fight, they’d turned to antagonizing Goredd’s neighbors, Ninys and Samsam. The three nations engaged in festering, low-grade border wars for two decades, until our Queen put an end to it. All the knightly orders in the Southlands had been disbanded—even those of Ninys and Samsam—but rumor had it that the old fighters lived in secret enclaves in the mountains or the deep countryside.

I found myself glancing sidelong at the old man, Karal; with all his talk of sacrifice, I wondered whether he’d ever fought dragons. He’d be the right age.

The crowd gasped in unison. A horned monster was rounding the block of shops, his arched back as high as the second-story windows, his wings demurely folded so as not to topple nearby chimney pots. His elegant neck curved downward like a submissive dog’s, a posture intended to look nonthreatening.

At least, I found him innocuous enough with his head spines flattened. Other people didn’t seem to be catching on to his body language; all around me horrified citizens clutched at each other, made St. Ogdo’s sign, and muttered into their hands. A nearby woman began shrieking hysterically—“His terrible teeth!”—until she was hustled away by her husband.

I watched them disappear into the crowd, wishing that I could have reassured her: it was good to see a dragon’s teeth. A dragon with his mouth closed was far more likely to be working up a flame. That seemed completely obvious.

And that gave me pause. All around me, the sight of those teeth was making citizens sob with terror. What was obvious to me was apparently opaque to everyone else.

There were twelve dragons altogether; Princess Dionne and her young daughter, Glisselda, brought up the rear of the procession in a sledge. Under the white winter sky the dragons looked rusty, a disappointing color for so fabled a species, but I soon realized their shades were subtle. The right slant of sunlight brought out an iridescent sheen in their scales; they shimmered with rich underhues, from purple to gold.

Karal had brought along a flask of hot tea, which he doled out stingily to Maurizio. “It’s got to last till evening,” grumped Karal, sniffling up a drip at the end of his nose. “If we must celebrate Comonot’s Treaty, you’d think Ard-braggart Comonot could be bothered to show. He scorns to come south, or take human form.”

“I heard he fears you, sir,” said Maurizio blandly. “I think that shows sense.”

I wasn’t sure, afterward, how it all turned ugly. The old knight—I felt the “sir” confirmed it—called out insults: “Worms! Gasbags! Hell-beasts!” Several solid citizens around us joined in. Some of them began throwing snowballs.


A dragon near the center got spooked. Maybe the crowd drew too close, or a snowball hit him. He raised his head and body to full height, as tall as the three-story inn across the square. The spectators closest to him panicked and ran.

There was nowhere to run. They were surrounded by hundreds of half-frozen fellow Goreddis. Collisions ensued. Collisions led to screaming. Screaming made more dragons raise their heads in alarm.

The lead dragon screamed, a blood-chilling bestial cry. To my shock, I understood him: “Heads down!”

One of the dragons opened his wings. The crowd reeled and churned like a storm-tossed sea.

Their leader shrieked again: “Fikri, wings folded! If you take off, you will be in violation of section seven, article five, and I will have your tail before a tribunal so fast—”

To the crowd, however, the dragon’s exhortation sounded like feral screams, and their hearts were stricken with terror. They stampeded toward the side streets.

The thundering herd swept me away. An elbow banged my jaw; a kick to the knee toppled me. Someone trod on my calf; someone else tripped over my head. I saw stars, and the sound of shouting faded.

Then suddenly there was air again, and space.

And hot breath on my neck. I opened my eyes.

A dragon stood over me, his legs four pillars of sanctuary. I nearly fainted again, but his sulfurous breath jolted me conscious. He nudged me with his nose and gestured toward an alley.

“I’ll escort you over there,” he cried, in the same horrible scream as the other dragon.

I rose, putting a shaky hand against his leg to steady myself; it was rough and immovable as a tree, and unexpectedly warm. The snow beneath him was melting to slush. “Thank you, saar,” I said.

“Did you understand what I said, or are you responding to my perceived intent?”

I froze. I did understand, but how? I’d never studied Mootya; few humans had. It seemed safer not to reply, so I started toward the alley without a word. He walked behind me; people scrambled out of our way.

The alley led nowhere and was full of barrels, so the crowds were not frantically squeezing through it. He planted himself at the entrance nonetheless. The Queen’s Guard arrived, trotting in formation across the square, plumes waving and bagpipes brawling. Most of the dragons had organized themselves in a circle around Princess Dionne’s carriage, shielding her from the mob; they exchanged this duty with the Guard. The remnants of the crowd cheered, and confidence, if not order, was restored.