Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(131)

He laughed. “I can barely get my head around one,” he admitted. “In any case, it’s just a metaphor.”

I smiled in the darkness. There was nothing “just” about metaphors, I was beginning to think; they followed me everywhere, illuminating and failing and illuminating again.

“I have missed you so much,” I said, overcome. “I could spend eternity here at your shoulder, listening to you muse about whatever takes your fancy.”

He kissed my forehead, and then he kissed my mouth. I kissed him back with an unanticipated urgency, thirsty for him, dizzy with him, filled with light. One of his hands lost itself in my hair; the other found itself at the hem of my doublet, fingering the linen shirt at my waist.

Alas, I was a dragon at my center, encircled in silver scales. That touch started me thinking, and thinking was the beginning of the end.

I spoke into the space between kisses—“Kiggs”—but then another kiss pulled me under. I wanted nothing but to forget all my promises and drown in him, but I couldn’t let myself. “Lucian,” I said more determinedly, taking his face in my hands.

“Sweet Heavenly Home,” he gasped. He opened his deep brown eyes and leaned his forehead against mine. His breath was warm. “I’m sorry, I know, we can’t.”

“Not like this,” I said, my heart still racing. “Not without discussing or deciding.”

Kiggs wrapped his arms around me, as if to still my trembling, or anchor me to the earth; I buried my face in his shoulder. I could have wept. I hurt all over like one suffering terrible insomnia, when the body aches with longing for sleep.

Somehow we both did find our portion of sleep there in each other’s arms.





I awoke, with my cheek against his shoulder and a terrible crick in my neck, to the sound of voices in the council chamber. The drapes filtered light greenly through a lattice in the door; we could see nothing but could hear everything clearly. The councilors, a couple of dozen ministers and nobles, filed into the room beyond and found their seats. A trumpet fanfare goaded everyone into standing for Queen Glisselda’s entry.

Kiggs shifted from floor to bench and leaned his elbows on his knees, listening.

Glisselda spoke in a voice subdued and mild: “Blessed, would you kindly open this session with a prayer?”

Blessed? Kiggs and I exchanged a glance.

“I am humbled and honored, Majesty,” said a contralto voice. It was Jannoula’s. Kiggs raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and I nodded. He twitched restlessly, as if fighting the urge to rush out and put an end to this false-Saint nonsense right now. I touched his arm to still him; he covered my hand with his own.

“Hark, ye lovely Saints above,” Jannoula began, in an unwieldy imitation of ecclesiastical language. “Gaze on us beneficently, and bless your Goreddi children and your worthy ityasaari successors. Give unto us the strength and courage it will take to fight the beast, thine unrighteous enemy, and bring us bold allies in our time of need.”

It was time. I nodded to Kiggs, who opened the door. I silently slipped through the curtains and stepped onto the dais beside the golden throne. Jannoula stood a few steps in front of the Queen. The ministers and courtiers of the Queen’s council had bowed their heads in prayer, as had the dozen ityasaari to the left of the aisle. They did not notice me.

I glanced over at the throne, looked again, stared. I had not recognized Glisselda. The full crown, not her usual diadem, was perched on her head, and in her pale hands she bore the orb and scepter, emblems of queenship that her grandmother had rarely brought out of storage, considering them an unbecoming ostentation. Queen Glisselda wore a stiff golden cape edged with ermine, prickly lace at the neckline, and a silk gown, embroidered gold on gold. Her fair hair seemed frozen in corkscrew curls; her face, already pale, had been whitened with cosmetics, her lips stained pomegranate red.

The lively, intelligent girl I knew was almost invisible under all that pomp. The blue eyes were familiar, but they pierced me with a terrible coldness.

We’d wondered how much influence Jannoula had gained over the Queen; the answer was visible in this change, I had no doubt.

I tore my gaze away from the glittering Queen. Jannoula, dressed in crisp white linen, stood before me with her head bowed. Her brown hair came to a point at the nape of her neck.

“Does Heaven ever grant you the bold allies you pray for, Jannoula?” I said, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

She whirled to face me, mouth agape and green eyes startled. “Y-you’re here,” she stammered. “I knew you would come.”

She hadn’t known; I’d caught her flat-footed. I found a small satisfaction in that.

“My Queen!” cried Jannoula, turning to Glisselda. “Look who’s come.”

Glisselda looked past us as if we weren’t there, but Jannoula didn’t seem to care. She turned back toward me, her hands tucked into the broad sleeves of her pale gown. “I knew you would return to me of your own accord, Seraphina,” she said ingenuously, surely playing to her audience. “Do you regret forsaking your dearest sister?”

It was a ludicrous, deplorable act, and yet even I wasn’t immune to it. She’d asked the one question that would hurt me. “I do,” I said, swallowing hard. Alas, it was true.

Was it possible for me to test the degree to which Queen and council were being manipulated by Jannoula? I wanted to shock them, and I wanted Kiggs to hear the reaction, too, from his hiding place. I cleared my throat and tugged at the hem of my doublet, buying time as I considered what to try. “I rushed back from Lab Four because I feared for you, sister,” I said slowly. “I heard news that worried me.”