Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(145)

She lowered her gaze. “My heart, alas. She talks about you, and tells me how sad she is that you despise her, and then I pity her, because it would be a terrible thing to lose your … I mean …”

Her cheeks had gone very pink. I waited for her to gather herself.

“Bah!” said Glisselda, stamping her foot. “You and Lucian are so very smart, but you walk around with your eyes closed.”

Glisselda rose on her toes and kissed me on the mouth.

And then I understood why she’d been the first to flee the breakfast table; why she cared more about whether I loved Lucian than whether Lucian loved me; why she’d always been so happy to hear from me, whatever else was happening. I understood something about myself as well, even if I didn’t have the will to examine it just then.

I managed merely an “Oh.”


“Oh, indeed,” she said. Her face in the twilight looked unexpectedly old. She valiantly tried to smile. “Go now, and stay safe. Lucian would never forgive me if I sent you out to be killed. He has his faults—like not obeying my simple request to stay out of the city—but he would’ve insisted on accompanying you into the unknown.”

“You could come,” I said, and meant it.

She laughed in earnest then, like welcome rain. “No, I could not. You’ve witnessed the full extent of my stupid bravery. But please, if there’s to be peace in our time, bring yourself back whole.”

She retreated into darkness. I turned to face the slate-blue world. Abdo was out there somewhere. We’d find the way to free my mind-fire. In any case, he was my last, best hope.

I hefted my baggage and picked my way down the rocky, weedy slope.





The sun was rapidly rising. I needed cover or I’d soon be visible to the city walls, to sharp-eyed dragons in the sky, and to Jannoula up in the Ard Tower. I doubled my pace down the scrubby hill, then across two lowlying pastures, scattering sleepy sheep before me. Over one last stone wall, across a culvert, the wetlands began, full of dense foliage to conceal me.

I sat in the shadow of an orange beesuckle to see what Alberdt and Glisselda had packed in the satchel. Besides the sword, there was bread and cheese, a pair of sturdy boots, and a change of clothes. I put on the boots at once, then devoured the food. I’d eaten nothing since breakfast in Glisselda’s suite the day before, and not much then.

As I chewed, I considered. I wasn’t confident that Glisselda’s subterfuge would last long; the guards would notice they were watching an empty room, or Jannoula would try to throw Orma in my face again. Jannoula could trace any ityasaari’s mind-fire to my head and speak to me in my garden—she’d done it through Gianni and through Abdo. I didn’t think she would be able to find me that way, but I wasn’t completely certain. If their lines of mind-fire came out of my head like snakes—to which Abdo had so charmingly compared them—could she see them? Could she follow them back to me?

It hit me: What if the way to unbind myself was to release everyone from my garden? The garden hadn’t started shrinking until I’d unbuttoned Gianni Patto. That might be a clue. If the wall was no longer necessary, might it disappear?

Unfastening Gianni and Pende had hurt terribly. I curled into a ball, steeling myself. I had to do this all at once, like jumping into icy water, or I would lose my nerve.

Lars Brasidas Mina Okra Gaios Od Fredricka Phloxia Ingar Gelina Nedouard Blanche Pandowdy Camba. One after the other, in rapid succession, I unfastened the ityasaari from my mind.

And then, lastly—O Heaven, it would shatter me—Abdo.

I flopped back on the damp ground, my arms wrapped around my head, sobbing and retching, grief clamping my heart, my lungs full of needles. I had never felt so empty or alone, all the way to my core. The hole must collapse. I would cave in on myself.

Dragons were already engaging in the pink morning sky overhead. The screams of generals rousing their troops echoed off the walls of the city. I felt dark shadows cross my eyelids.

I opened my eyes just as the invisible hand of St. Abaster’s Trap began batting dragons aside. They fell like birds hitting a window.

The trap was still invisible to me. I had not found the way to release my mind-fire. I had pulled myself to pieces for nothing.



The city blocked my view of the armies on the ground, but I saw endless sky battles as I crossed the swamp toward Abdo’s shrine. Dragons swooped and circled, flamed and grappled, trying to drop their enemies out of the sky or bite off their heads. Through a blaze of autumn leaves, I saw dragons skim along the city wall, setting soldiers and war engines on fire, only to be slammed by St. Abaster’s Trap.

I kept moving, staying under foliage. Around midday, I flopped down upon a mossy hillock under a willow and let myself rest. The percussive thud of scaly bodies hitting the swampland woke me again and again; only the dampness of their landing place prevented their setting the wetland on fire. Smoke curled above the Queenswood, which was drier. In the late afternoon, I awoke when the fighting changed timbre. I squinted at the bright sky. Above me, five young dragons had taken on a much larger specimen.

With a net. The Porphyrian five were alive and biting.

Only when darkness fell did the cries abate and the dragons regroup at their own camps. I wondered how the human armies had fared, how many dead they would gather, a bitter harvest off the plains.

Crossing the wetland at night was perilous business. I mentally thanked Alberdt for the sturdy boots, because I was often up to my knees in muck. My white gown, though I hoisted it up, grew sodden around the hem. I finally called a halt on higher ground and dug through my bag for something drier to wear. I changed into a tunic and trousers and launched myself at the swamp once more.