Seraphina(46)

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.”