Seraphina(97)

I had duties, of course, assisting Viridius and preparing the entertainments. That would be my focus until the ball itself, when I’d take turns babysitting the Ardmagar.

Privately, I set a few additional tasks for myself. I wanted all three of my fellow half-breeds present. We were going to need all the help we could get.

I looked for Abdo in the garden of grotesques as soon as I returned to my rooms. He was hanging upside down in his fig tree, but he leaped down at my approach and offered me gola nuts.

“I glimpsed your troupe today from afar,” I said, seating myself cross-legged on the ground beside him. “I wished I could have introduced myself because I feel awkward asking for your help when I haven’t even met you.”

“Do not say so, madamina! Of course I will help if I can.”

I told him what was afoot. “Bring your whole troupe. I will make space for you on the performance docket. Dress … er …”

“We know what is appropriate for the Goreddi court.”

“Of course you do. Forgive me. There will be others of our kind there, other … what was the Porphyrian word you used?”

“Ityasaari?”

“Yes. Do you know Loud Lad and Miss Fusspots, from the garden?”

“Of course,” he said. “I see everything you permit me to see.”

I suppressed a shudder, wondering whether he could taste my emotions in the wind as Jannoula had. “I will want you all to help each other and work together, just as you help me.”

“Yours are the orders, madamina. Yours the right. I will be there and ready.”

I smiled at him and rose to go, dusting off my skirts. “Is madamina Porphyrian for ‘maidy,’ like grausleine in Samsamese?”

His eyes widened. “No, indeed! It means ‘general.’ ”

“Wh-why would you call me that?”

“Why did you call me Fruit Bat? I had to call you something, and every day you come here as if reviewing your legions.” He smiled sheepishly and added: “Once, long ago, you told someone here—that girl with beautiful green eyes, the one you sent away. You said your name aloud, but I misheard it.”

All around us, an astonished wind blew.





I did not know where Lars slept at night, but there had been enough broad hints from various quarters that I feared I might end up seeing more of Viridius than I cared to.

I waited until morning, made myself a fortifying cup of tea, and went straight to the garden. I took Loud Lad’s hands, whirling out into a vision. To my astonishment, the whole world seemed spread below me: the city, glowing pink in the light of dawn; the shining ribbon of river; the distant rolling farmland. Lars stood upon the crenellations of the barbican, each foot on a separate merlon, playing his pipes for the dawn and for the city at his feet. My ethereal presence didn’t stop him; I let him finish, secretly relishing the feeling that I was flying above the city, buoyed by his music. It was exhilarating to be so high up and not fear falling.

“Is thet you, Seraphina?” he said at last.

It is. I need your help.

I told him I feared for the Ardmagar, that I might need him at a moment’s notice, that others of our kind—Abdo and Dame Okra—would be there to help, and how to recognize them. If he was astonished to hear there were other half-dragons, Lars’s Samsamese stoicism didn’t let it show. He said, “But how will this danger come, Seraphina? An attack on the castle? A traitor within the walls?”

I did not know how to tell him whom we suspected. I began cautiously: I know you don’t like discussing Josef, but—

He cut me off. “No. I hev nothink to say about him.”

He may be involved. He may be the one behind everything.

His face fell, but his resolve did not. “If so, I will standt with you against him. But I am sworn not to speak of what he is.” He fingered the chanter of his war pipes absently. “Perheps,” he said at last, “I come armedt.”

I don’t think Kiggs will allow anyone but the palace guard to arrive armed.

“Always I hev my fists and my war pipes!”

Er … yes. That’s the spirit, Lars.

It would be a memorable evening, if nothing else.





I knew better than to contact Dame Okra with my mind. I didn’t need my nose all black and blue for Treaty Eve.

I worked fast and crabby all morning, directing the hanging of garlands, the placing of chandeliers and sideboards, the moving of the harpsichord—which looked like a coffin as four men carried it through the door without its legs—and countless other lastminute details. All the while I conscientiously attempted to get Dame Okra’s attention without contacting her. My attempts to will her into appearing, to project fake need—my sighing and fretting and muttering, “I sure could use Dame Okra’s help!”—met with universal failure.

I barely had time to rush to my rooms and dress for dinner; I had already set out the scarlet gown Millie had given me, so I didn’t have do any thinking and only had to switch my outer garment. No risky nakedness for me: a maid might show up any minute to arrange my hair. Glisselda had insisted upon this point, going so far as to threaten me with Millie if I didn’t swear not to do my own hair.

The maid arrived; my hair was beaten into submission. My first reaction, upon seeing myself in the mirror, was shock at how long my neck was. My hair usually obscured that fact, but when it was all piled up on my head, I looked positively camelopardine. The décolletage of Millie’s gown wasn’t helping matters. Feh.