Seraphina(28)

“Your choice,” laughed his friend.

“No, I mean which one is a ‘her’? They’re so mannish, these dragon females.”

I bristled at that, but why? They weren’t talking about me—except that, in some oblique way, they were.

“The real difficulty with these worm-women,” said Josef, “is their extremely inconvenient dentition.”

“Dentition?” asked his friend, who was apparently slow on the uptake.

I felt my face grow hot.

“Teeth,” said Josef, spelling it out. “In all the wrong places, if you follow me.”

“Teeth in … Oh! Ow!”

“ ‘Ow’ is understating it, friend. Their males are no better. Picture a harpoon! And they’d like nothing better than to impale our women and rip out their—”

I could take no more; I rushed away, skirting the dance floor, until I found a window. I unlatched it with trembling hands, desperate for air. Eyes closed, I pictured the tranquility of my garden, until my embarrassment had been replaced by sorrow.

It was just a joke between gentlemen, but I heard in it all the jokes they would tell about me if they knew.

Damn Viridius. I couldn’t stay. I would tell him tomorrow that I had been here; there were witnesses. As the patron Saints of comedy would have it, however, I met the old man in the doorway on my way out. He blocked my path with his cane. “You can’t be leaving already, Seraphina!” he cried. “It’s not even ten!”

“I’m sorry sir, I—” My voice choked up; I gestured hopelessly at the gathering, hoping he would not perceive the tears in my eyes.

“Lars wouldn’t come either. He’s as shy as you are,” said Viridius, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Have you paid your respects to the princess and prince? No? Well, you must do that at least.” He took my right arm with his bandaged hand, leaning on his cane with the other.

He guided me toward Princess Glisselda’s couch. She glittered like a star upon the blue upholstery; courtiers orbited her like planets. We waited our turn, and then Viridius pulled me forward.

“Infanta,” he said, bowing. “This charming young person has a great deal of work to do—for me—but I let her know, in no uncertain terms, how inexcusably rude it would be to leave without paying her respects.”

Glisselda beamed at me. “You came! Millie and I had a wager on whether you ever would. I owe her an extra day off now, but I’m glad of it. Have you met cousin Lucian?”

I opened my mouth to assure her I had, but she was already calling the prince to her side. “Lucian! You were wondering how it was that I suddenly held such interesting opinions on dragons—well, here she is, my advisor on dragon affairs!”


The prince looked tense. My first assumption was that he was offended, that I’d been rude without even noticing, but then I saw him glancing over at Eskar and her little group, standing uselessly in a nearby corner. Perhaps he felt uneasy about the princess discussing “dragon affairs” so loudly within earshot of the real, live dragons she pretended not to see.

Princess Glisselda looked puzzled by the awkwardness in the air, as if it were a smell she had never encountered before. I looked to Prince Lucian, but he stared fixedly elsewhere. Did I dare to point out what he did not?

It was fear that permitted the Thomas Broadwicks of the world to flourish: fear of speaking up, fear of the dragons themselves. The latter didn’t apply to me, and surely conscience must trump the former.

I could speak for Orma’s sake.

I said, “Your Highness, please pardon my forwardness.” I gestured toward the saarantrai with my eyes. “It would suit your kindly nature to invite the saarantrai to sit by you, or even if you danced a measure with one.”

Glisselda froze. Theoretical discussion about dragonkind was one thing; interacting with them was something else entirely. She cast her cousin a panicked look.

“She’s right, Selda,” he said. “The court follows our lead.”

“I know!” fretted the princess. “But what am I … how am I to … I can’t just—”

“You must,” said Prince Lucian firmly. “Ardmagar Comonot arrives in eight days, and what then? We can’t shame Grandmother.” He tugged the ends of his doublet sleeves, straightening them. “I’ll go first, if it’s easier.”

“Oh yes, thank you, Lucian, of course it’s easier,” she gushed, relieved. “He’s so much better at these kinds of things than I am, Phina. This is why marrying him will be so useful; he understands practical things and common people. He’s a bastard, after all.”

I was awed, at first, that she could call her own fiancé a bastard so casually without him minding, but then I saw his eyes. He minded. He minded a great deal, but maybe felt he had no right to say so.

I knew what that was like. I permitted myself the smallest of small feelings. Sympathy. Yes. That’s what it was.

He gathered his dignity, which was considerable; as a military man, he knew how to carry himself. He approached Eskar as one might sensibly approach a flaming, hissing hell-beast: with a wary calmness and extreme self-possession. All around the room conversations trailed off or were suspended as heads turned toward the prince. I found myself holding my breath; I surely wasn’t the only one.