Seraphina(108)

“You don’t care whether the peace fails?”

“We Censors predate the peace; we will be here long after it has crumbled.” He looked down at himself, seeming to notice for the first time that he was naked. He made for the mouth of the cave. Kiggs attempted to block his way; Basind rolled his eyes. “This silly body is cold. There is clothing on the floor. Hand it to me.”

Kiggs did as he was told without complaint. I was astonished by his alacrity until I saw with my own eyes what he had remembered: it was Lady Corongi’s gown. Basind put it on, grumbling that it was too tight but noticing nothing else wrong with it. He turned and sauntered away up the sally port, unchallenged.

“Lucian!” cried Glisselda. “Don’t let him go. I’m not convinced he’s friendly.”

“The tunnels are all blocked. He’ll be apprehended before he can do any harm.”

If only that were true. The harm was done. I turned back to the sky, where my uncle was still getting the worst of it. Even if he survived, he’d be sent back to the Tanamoot to have his brain pruned. I couldn’t bear it.

Imlann got the drop on him again, and this time Orma could not recover soon enough. He was on fire; he streaked through the sky and landed hard in the river, taking out the Wolfstoot Bridge. A cloud of steam billowed up where he had fallen.

I clamped a hand over my mouth. Imlann swirled the sky, screaming and flaming triumphantly, the newly risen sun glimmering upon his skin.

Treaty Eve was over. Usually we Goreddis toasted the new light and cried, “The dragon wars are done for good!” This year, however, everyone had run out into the streets to watch the dragons warring each other overhead.

I could still hear screams, but it was not the townspeople; it was the wrong pitch. Suddenly I realized the dark dots in the southern sky, which I had taken for a flock of birds, were flying too swiftly and growing far too large to be birds.

Eskar and the petit ard were returning.

The dragon Imlann, my maternal grandfather, did not attempt to flee and did not bite his own tail and surrender. He flew headlong at the approaching dragons, flaming and bellowing and utterly doomed.

As Lady Corongi, he had been devious, ruthless, and calculating. He had tried to kill the entire royal family and his Ardmagar; he might have succeeded in killing his own son. His final charge was nothing short of suicide. And yet, as I watched him in full battle fury, slashing and snapping as if he would rip the sky itself apart, I felt a terrible sorrow rising in me. He was my mother’s father. She had ruined his life as surely as her own by marrying my father, but had her stubbornness been so different from his doomed charge, in the end? Hadn’t she too gone up against unbeatable odds?

Eskar alone could not drop him. Three dragons together finally set him on fire, and even then he stayed airborne longer than I could have imagined possible. When Eskar finally decapitated him, it was more mercy killing than victory. I watched my grandfather’s body spiral down, bright as a comet, and I wept.

The church bells changed their pattern to the fire alarm as smoke began to billow up in the south part of town. Even dead, Imlann did a lot of damage.

I turned back toward the cave entrance, my eyes stinging, my hands and face bitterly cold, a dread emptiness in my chest. Kiggs and Glisselda stood together, both of them studying me anxiously but pretending not to. In the shadows behind them stood Lars, whom I’d all but forgotten. He clutched his pipes, white-knuckled.

“Phina,” he said when I met his eye, “what hes happendt to Abdo?”

The dragon Abdo clung to had been set aflame and decapitated. I saw little hope. “I can’t look for him, Lars,” I said. The idea of reaching for Abdo’s hand in my mind and coming up empty terrified me.

“Candt, or wondt?”

“I won’t!”

Lars glowered ferociously. “You will! You owe him thet! He gave everythink for you, gladtly! He foundt the way down the wall, he threw himself at thet dragon, he didt all you esked and more. Findt him.”

“What if he’s not there?”

“Then you will findt him in Heaven, but you will findt him.”

I nodded, picking my way through the snow toward Lars. Kiggs and Glisselda parted to let me pass, their eyes wide. “Keep me upright, will you?” I said to Lars, who silently put his bagpipe-free arm around me and let me lean my head against his chest. I closed my eyes and reached.

I found Abdo at once. Conscious, alert, almost unhurt, he was seated upon what at first appeared to be an island in the middle of the river. I swooped in with my vision-eye for a closer look. Abdo waved at me, smiling through tears, and only then did I realize what he was sitting on.

It was Orma.

Abdo, is that dragon alive or dead? I cried, but Abdo didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know. I circled. Orma’s chest rose—was that a breath? Crowds of people lined the riverbanks, shouting and waving torches but too frightened to go any closer to him. A shadow crossed them, and they scattered, screaming. It was Eskar: she landed on the strand and arched her neck down to my uncle in the river.

With a tremendous effort, he lifted his head and touched her nose with his.

“Abdo lives,” I croaked, bringing myself back. “He’s in the river with Uncle Orma. He must have switched dragons in mid-flight.”

Lars squeezed me and kissed the top of my head, then checked his exuberance. “Your uncle?”