Seraphina(82)

“I suspect you of not taking me seriously,” grumped Viridius as I cleaned my pens and made ready to depart.

“Sir?” I said, stricken. I had spent the last hour in awe of his artistry. That qualified as taking someone seriously, to my mind.

“You are new enough to court that perhaps you don’t understand the damage rumors can do. Get gone, maidy. There is no shame in a strategic retreat while you wait for Scandal, that damned basilisk, to turn its withering gaze elsewhere—especially if you’re someone who, in fact, has something to hide.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I said, giving him half courtesy.

“No, you won’t,” he muttered as I turned to go. “You’re too like your mother.”





Daylight failed impossibly early, assisted by a glowering cloud cover; more snow was coming. After a full day of errands and tasks, I had only the princess’s harpsichord lesson left. She’d had a hectic day herself, overrun with council-related duties; five messengers found me over the course of the day, each requesting a further delay of her lesson until it had been pushed back to almost suppertime. As I approached the south solar one last messenger intercepted me; I must’ve rolled my eyes, because the lad stuck out his tongue before scurrying up the hall.

The note had clearly been dictated. It read: The princess requests that you meet her downstairs in the second laundry. It is urgent. Come immediately.

I blinked at the parchment in confusion. Why would Glisselda want to meet in such an obscure place? Perhaps she was afraid of being overheard.

I ducked down a servants’ stairway to the narrow, utilitarian passages below. I passed under the great hall and the chambers of state, past storerooms, servants’ quarters, and the barred, gloomy entrance of the donjon. I passed a sweltering laundry, but it was the wrong one—or so I deduced by the distinct absence of Princess Glisselda. I questioned a laundress, who pointed me further down the corridor into darkness.

I reached the furnace belonging to the hypocaust for the Queen’s bathroom. Three grimy men fed coal into its open mouth, which reminded me uncomfortably of Imlann’s.

The men leered at me, too, leaning on their shovels and grinning toothlessly.

I paused, the stink of coal heavy in my nostrils. Had I understood the laundress properly? Surely no one would want to wear clothing washed in such close proximity to coal fumes?

I considered asking the hypocaust stokers for directions, but there was something ominous in their aspect. I watched them shoveling; I could not seem to turn away. The heat blasted against my exposed face, even from this distance. Their silhouettes were dark holes in the frantic firelight. Acrid smoke permeated the entire room, making my eyes and lungs sting.

It was like the Infernum, the torments that awaited souls who rejected the light of Heaven. Somehow, eternal pain was still considered preferable to having no soul at all. I wasn’t sure I saw why.

I turned my back upon this hellish vision. A dark, horned figure stepped directly into my path.





To my dumbfoundment, it was Lady Corongi; I’d mistaken the two peaks of her old-fashioned butterfly hennin. “Is that you, Maid Dombegh?” she asked, peering as if her eyes were not adjusted. “You seem lost, dear girl.”

I emitted a small laugh of relief and gave courtesy, but did not think I should confess that I was to meet the princess somewhere down here. “I was just on my way to Glisselda’s music lesson.”

“You’ve chosen an eccentric route.” She glanced toward the grimy troglodytes behind me and wrinkled her powdered nose in distaste. “Come, I will show you the way back.” She stood waiting, her left elbow jutting out like a chicken’s wing; I deduced I was supposed to take it.

“So,” she said as we walked back up the narrow corridor together. “It has been some time since we spoke.”

“Er … I suppose it has,” I said, uncertain as to her point.

She smirked under her veil. “I hear you’ve become quite the brave adventuress since then, dallying with knights, sassing dragons, kissing the second heir’s fiancé.”

I went cold. Was that story going around too? Was this what Viridius had meant, that rumors gained momentum as they careered along until they were utterly beyond our power to halt? “Milady,” I said shakily, “someone has been telling you lies.”

Her hand upon my arm had tightened into a claw. “You think you know so much,” she said, her voice incongruously pleasant. “But you are outmaneuvered, my pet. Do you know what St. Ogdo says about arrogance? ‘There is blindness in sight, and folly in cleverness. Be patient: even the brightest fire burns itself out.’ ”

“He was talking about dragons,” I said. “And what have I done to make you think me arrogant? Is it because I criticized your teaching?”

“All shall become clear, to the righteous,” she said lightly, dragging me along. We turned west; we entered a laundry.

The second laundry.

The cauldrons were all upturned and the laundresses gone up to supper, but the fires still roared. Bedsheets hung from the ceiling racks, their hemlines grazing the floor, wafting like gowns at a ghostly ball. Shadows flickered grotesquely against these pale screens, growing and shrinking with the fickle firelight.

One shadow moved with purpose. There was someone else here.