Seraphina(92)

Ah, now the lying had to start: there was a collapse and vision in the middle of this story, tangling it up with shame and fear. I said, “He saw the transaction. He was very upset, and he called me all kinds of terrible things.”

“And yet he brought you back to the palace,” said Kiggs quietly.

I looked up, shocked that he knew, but of course the barbican guard would keep records and report to him. His eyes were tranquil, but it was the calm of a cloudy summer sky: it could change to stormy with little warning. I had to tread carefully: “His brother Silas insisted that they offer me a ride to make up for Thomas’s rudeness.”

“He must have been exceedingly rude.”

I turned away from him, tucking my purse back into my bag. “He called me a worm-riding quig lover, and told me women like me get thrown into the river in sacks.”

Kiggs was silent long enough that I looked up and met his gaze. His expression was a tangle of shock, concern, and annoyance. He turned away first, shaking his head and saying, “It’s a pity the Ardmagar killed him; I’d have liked to discuss these women in sacks. You should have brought this to my attention, or your father’s.”

“You’re right. I should have,” I murmured. My need to conceal myself was a hindrance to doing right, I was beginning to notice.

He returned his attention to the figurine in his hand. “So what does it do?”

“Do?” I hadn’t bothered to check.

He mistook the question for a deeper ignorance. “We confiscate demonic devices every week. They all do something, even the legal ones.”

He turned it over in his hands, prodding it here and there with curious fingers. We were both leaning over the thing now, like two small children who’ve captured a cicada. Like friends. I pointed out a seam at the base of its neck; Kiggs grasped my meaning at once. He pulled its head. Nothing. He twisted it.

“Thluuu-thluuu-thluuuuu!”

The voice rang out so brightly that Kiggs dropped the figurine. It did not break, but bounced under the lectern, where it continued to jabber while Kiggs groped around for it. “That’s quigutl Mootya, isn’t it? Can you understand it?” he asked, turning his head toward me as he searched for it by feel.

I listened carefully. “It seems to be a rant about dragons transforming into saarantrai. ‘I see you there, impostor! You think you’ve fooled them, that you pass invisibly in a crowd, but your elbows stick out funny and you stink. You are a fraud. At least we quigutl are honest.… ’ It goes on in that vein.”

Kiggs half smiled. “I had no idea quigs held their cousins in such contempt.”

“I doubt they all do,” I said, but realized I didn’t know. I was less frightened of quigs than most people, but even I had never bothered to learn what they think.

He twisted the figurine’s head back, and the grating, lisping speech ceased. “What horrible tricks one could play with a device like this,” mused the prince. “Can you imagine setting it off in the Blue Salon?”

“Half the people would leap up on the furniture, shrieking, and the other half would draw their daggers,” I said, laughing. “For additional amusement, you could bet on who would do which.”

“Which would you do?” he said, and there was suddenly a sharpness in his tone. “My guess is neither. You’d understand what it was saying, and you’d be standing stock-still, listening hard. You wouldn’t want anyone to hurt a quig, not if you could stop that from happening.”


He stepped toward me; every inch of me quivered at his proximity. “However practiced you are at deception, you cannot anticipate every eventuality,” he said quietly. “Sooner or later, something takes you by surprise, you react honestly as yourself, and you are caught out.”

I reeled a bit, in shock. How had he turned interrogator so fast? “Are you referring to something specific?” I said.

“I’m just trying to understand what you were doing here with Ardmagar Comonot, and why you were stabbed. This does not explain it.” He wagged my figurine, pinched tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “It was no spur-of-the-moment crime; the man was disguised as a priest. Who told him Comonot would be here? Did he expect Comonot to meet someone else—someone he also intended to kill—or were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

I stared, openmouthed.

“Fine,” said Kiggs, his expression closed. “Better silence than a lie.”

“I have never wanted to lie to you!” I cried.

“Hm. That must be a wretched existence, forced to lie when you don’t want to.”

“Yes!” I could hold back no longer; I wept, hiding my face in my hands.

Kiggs stood apart from me, watching me weep. “That all came out harsher than I intended, Phina,” he said, sounding miserable. “I’m sorry. But this is two days in a row that someone has stabbed you.” I looked up sharply; he answered my unasked question. “Aunt Dionne confessed, or rather lamented Lady Corongi’s faulty intelligence to anyone who would listen. Selda was heartsick to learn it was her own mother who cut you.”

He stepped closer; I kept my eyes on the gold buttons of his doublet. “Seraphina, if you are in some sort of trouble, if you need protection from someone, I want to help. And I can’t help if you give me no indication of what’s going on.”