Seraphina(110)

Princess Glisselda folded her small hands on the desk before her and cleared her throat. She wore a white houppelande and the circlet of the first heir; golden netting restrained the exuberance of her curls. Small though she was, she seemed to fill the room with light. She said, “My mother is dead and my grandmother extremely ill. I am first heir by rightful succession. The incapacity of the Queen—St. Eustace leave her lie long as he may—necessitates my speaking, deciding, and taking action on her behalf.” The Regent and Count Pesavolta shifted in their seats, grumbling. Glisselda snapped: “Counselor Dombegh! Precedent!”

My father cleared his throat. “When Queen Favonia II was incapacitated by stroke, Princess Annette served as acting Queen until she recovered. No Goreddi would question your right, Your Highness.”

“You are but fifteen years old,” said Count Pesavolta, his round face smiling but his eyes hard. “No disrespect intended.”

“Queen Lavonda was but seventeen when she treated with me,” said Comonot unexpectedly. He rested his hands on his knees, several quig-made rings on each finger; they gleamed like a miniature hoard against the dark blue of his houppelande.

“Her youth did not excuse her foolishness,” said the Regent, glaring down his narrow nose.

Comonot did not acknowledge the comment; he was speaking only to Glisselda. “She was already Queen in her own right. Already a mother. She climbed Halfheart Pass through a raging snowstorm with only two goat-girls from Dewcomb’s Outpost to guide her. I had assumed no rational being would brave that kind of weather, so I was not even in my saarantras to greet her. My scouts brought her into our cavern, this tiny, half-frozen girl, snow whirling around her. We all stared at her, not sure what to think, until she threw back her furlined hood and unwrapped the woolen shawl from over her face. She looked me in the eye, and I knew.”

There was a long pause until Glisselda said, “Knew what, Ardmagar?”

“That I had met my match,” said Comonot, his face sharp, remembering.

Glisselda nodded at the Ardmagar, a small smile on her lips. She held a hand out to Kiggs, who passed her the folded parchment. “We received a letter this morning. Ambassador Fulda, would you please read it aloud?”

The ambassador fished a pair of spectacles out of his vest and read:

We the undersigned have seized the Kerama as of yesterday. We proclaim ourselves rightful rulers of the Tanamoot, all its lands and armies, until we are in turn removed by force.



The traitor Comonot yet lives. He is wanted for crimes against dragonkind, including but not limited to: making treaties and alliances against the will of the Ker, detrimental to our values and way of life; indulging in excessive emotionality; fraternizing with humans; indulging deviants; seeking to alter our fundamental dragon nature and make us more human-like.



We demand his immediate return to the Tanamoot. Failure to comply will be tantamount to an act of war. Recognize, Goreddis, that you are in no position to fight. We expect you to act in accordance with your interests. You have three days.



“It’s signed by ten generals,” said Ambassador Fulda, refolding the parchment.

Comonot opened his mouth, but Glisselda silenced him with a gesture. “The dragon Imlann, as my governess, taught me that Goredd is mighty and the dragons are weak and demoralized. I believed it until I saw for myself how dragons fight. Orma destroyed the Wolfstoot Bridge and sheared off the top of St. Gobnait’s; where Imlann fell, an entire city block burned. How much worse if they’d been fighting us and not each other? The dracomachia is a shambles. I fear the cabal is right: we would not last alone against dragons. As much as I admire you, Ardmagar, you’re going to have to persuade me not to give you back.”

She turned to Fulda. “Ambassador, will dragonkind stand with their Ardmagar?”

Fulda pursed his lips, thinking. “It’s not a legal succession while Comonot lives. There may be those who reject the cabal for that reason alone, but I suspect the older generation will largely be in sympathy with their goals.”

“I dispute that,” said the Ardmagar.

“The younger generation,” Fulda said, pressing on, “will likely stand firm in favor of the peace. This could turn into an inter-generational war.”

“Infanta!” said the Regent of Samsam, shaking a bony finger as if to scold her. “Surely you have no intention of giving this creature political asylum? It was degrading enough that your noble grandmother—St. Eustace blindly pass her by—should have negotiated with it. Do not show it mercy when its own kind wants it dead.”

“You would be inserting your country—and the unwilling Southlands with you—into a dragon civil war,” drawled Count Pesavolta, drumming his fingers on his ample gut.

“If I may,” interjected my father. “The treaty contains a clause forbidding Goredd from interfering in internal dragon affairs. We could not meddle in a civil war.”

“You’ve tied our hands, Ardmagar,” said Glisselda, her pretty little mouth curling sardonically. “We would have to break your own treaty to save you.”

“We may have to break the treaty to save the treaty,” said the Ardmagar.

Glisselda turned to Ninys and Samsam. “You wish Comonot returned. I may decide I cannot do that. If it comes to war between Goredd and the dragons, can I rely on you? If not for help, then at least not to take arms against us opportunistically?”