Seraphina(79)

The feather bed had stopped trying to devour me; it seemed a cloud, rather, lifting me toward some bright epiphany: she had uncovered the existence of a cabal hostile to the Ardmagar. However personally difficult it was, however much more Kiggs despised me or the Ardmagar condemned me, I could not hoard these words.





But whom could I tell?

Kiggs was mad at me. Glisselda would wonder how I knew and why I had not come forward sooner. I supposed I could lie and say Orma had only just told me, but the very thought of Orma made me sick at heart.

I should tell Orma. It struck me that he would want to know.

I rose at first light and sat at the spinet, hugging myself against the morning chill. I played Orma’s chord, having no idea whether he would answer or whether he had already departed for parts unknown.

The kitten buzzed to life. “I’m here.”

“That’s eighty-three percent of what I wanted to know.”

“What’s the other seventeen?”

“When do you leave? I need to talk to you.”

There was a silence punctuated by thumps, as if he were setting down heavy books. If he was packing up every book he owned, he’d be lucky to be gone within the week. “Do you remember that newskin I was burdened with? He’s still here.”

Saints’ dogs. “Haven’t you been deemed unfit to mentor him?”

“Either no one cares that I’m leading him toward deviancy—possible, given how useless he is—or they think he’ll be a help packing, which he is not.”

The kitten broadcast some disgruntled muttering, and then my uncle said clearly, “No, you’re not.” I smiled wan sympathy at the kitten eye. “In answer to your question,” he said at last, “I will depart for home and the surgeons in three days, upon your New Year, after I’ve packed up everything here. I will do exactly what is required of me by law. I am caught, and I am chastened, and there is no other alternative.”

“I need to talk to you alone. I want to say goodbye while you still know me.”

There was a very long pause, and for a moment I thought he had gone. I tapped the kitten eye in concern, but at last his voice came through, weakly: “My apologies, this body’s ridiculous larynx seized up, but it seems to be functioning again. Will you come into town tomorrow with the rest of the court, to watch the Golden Plays?”

“I can’t. Tomorrow is dress rehearsal for the Treaty Eve concert.”

“Then I don’t see how it will be possible to speak with you. Here’s where I emit a thunderous oath, I believe.”

“Do it,” I urged him, but this time he really was gone.

I puzzled over all his odd emphases while I tended my scales and dressed and drank my tea. I may have witnessed the first known incidence of a dragon attempting sarcasm. It was a pity I didn’t know how the spinet device worked because it surely could have recorded his utterance for future generations of dragons to learn from: This, hatchlings, is a valiant effort, but not quite it.

I tried to laugh at that, but it rang hollow. He was leaving; I did not know when or where or for how long. If he was fleeing the Censors, he couldn’t risk staying near me. He would be gone for good. I might get no chance to say goodbye.





Something had changed during the day I’d spent abed. The halls were devoid of chatter; everyone went about their business looking grim and anxious. Dragons loose in the countryside didn’t sit well with anyone, apparently. As I walked to breakfast, I noticed people scuttling into side rooms at my approach, refusing to meet my eye or bid me good morning if they found themselves forced to pass me in the corridor.

Surely no one was blaming me? I’d found Imlann, but I hadn’t sent the petit ard after him; that had been up to the Queen and the council. I told myself I was imagining things until I entered the north tower dining hall and the entire room fell silent.

There was space on the bench between Guntard and the scrawny sackbutist, if either of them moved over an inch. “Your pardon,” I said, but they pretended not to hear. “I would like to sit here,” I said, but each had an extremely interesting bowl of groats in front of him and couldn’t look up. I hoisted my skirts and stepped over the bench in unladylike fashion; they couldn’t scoot fast enough then. In fact, the sackbutist decided his breakfast wasn’t that fascinating after all and abandoned it entirely.

I couldn’t catch the serving lad’s eye; nobody at the table would acknowledge me. I couldn’t take it: these fellows were, if not exactly friends, colleagues and the authors of my praise song. Surely that counted for something. “Out with it, then,” I said. “What’ve I done to earn the silent treatment?”

They looked at each other, sidelong and shifty-eyed. Nobody wanted to be the one to talk. Finally Guntard said, “Where were you last evening?”

“In bed, asleep, making up for a sleepless night the night before.”

“Ah, right, your heroic expedition to find the rogue dragon,” said a crumhornist, picking his teeth with a kipper bone. “Well, now you’ve given the dragons an excuse for roaming Goredd freely, and Princess Glisselda an excuse for having us all jabbed!”

“Jabbed?” All around the table, musicians held up bandaged fingers. Some of the fingers were rude ones. I tried not to take that personally, but it wasn’t easy.