Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(52)

“Sweet Heavenly Home!” I cried. “Was anyone hurt? The dragon scholars—”

She laughed unexpectedly. “New St. Jobertus’s, which was empty at the time. The Sons wouldn’t dare crawl around under the old one in Quighole. It’s full of quigs,” she chirped. “Lucian knows whom he’s looking for, but I can’t say more over this device. It’s not secure enough, although I can’t envision a Son of St. Ogdo listening in with a quigutl device of his own. I’d think he would die of irony poisoning.”

I emitted a short chuckle. “I would hope so, but fear not.”

“There you go,” said Glisselda. “That made you laugh. You sounded so grim I’d have thought you were the one slogging through tunnels in darkness.”

I felt like I had been, at that. “I have more news,” I said, leaning my forehead against the windowpane. I took a deep breath and told her about Jannoula, all of it, from my own struggle to her possession of Gianni Patto. How Jannoula had walked Od Fredricka here from the Pinabra and altered Dame Okra’s personality. How she meant to gather all the half-dragons together.

Glisselda was quiet a long time. “Phina, you should have told us,” she said at last.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d be back,” I said hopelessly. “I didn’t know she could find the others, or that she’d want to gather them, or—”

“Of course not,” said Glisselda, sounding cross with me now. “That’s not what I meant. You should have told us how she hurt you.”

“Why?” I asked, my throat tightening.

“Because we’re your friends, and we might have helped you bear it,” said the Queen. “I know Lucian feels just the same, and if he were here, he’d say so.”

It was never my first instinct to tell anyone anything personal. Uncle Orma, my only confidant for years, had been the one person who knew about Jannoula, and he hadn’t truly known. He couldn’t have understood how it felt.

I forgot that other people might care what went on inside my heart.

Glisselda’s words were a comfort, but I’d been more comfortable before she uttered them, when I’d had everything tidily tucked away. Sympathy seemed only to bring all the pain I carried—all the feelings it couldn’t address—to the fore.

She was a sharp little Queen; she gleaned something from my silence. “Tell me,” she said, artfully changing tack, “can Jannoula affect everyone’s mind like this, or is it limited to ityasaari?”

I stepped back from the window, rubbing my eyes with one hand. “Um. Only ityasaari, as far as I know, or else surely she’d have forced her captors to let her out of prison.” I assumed she was still in prison; I hadn’t looked in on her for five years.

“What does she want?” asked Glisselda. “However delightful it must be to occupy Gianni Patto’s mind, I can’t imagine that being an end in itself, can you? She can’t mean to spend all her time being other people.”

“She meant to occupy me and never leave,” I said, my voice quivering.

“But for what? Merely to escape prison, or to use you to some evil purpose? I mean, was she selfish and uncaring, or was she actively malevolent?”

It was the kind of question Lucian Kiggs would have asked. I paced in front of the window, thinking. Was there a difference between doing evil and being evil? I still pitied Jannoula’s imprisonment, her pain and torment, and felt guilt for having sent her back to it. If the misery she experienced every day had been warping her sense of right and wrong even during the time I knew her, how much further had it bent her by now?

“I can’t believe she’s irredeemably bad,” I said slowly, “but she’d stop at nothing to escape her imprisonment. Maybe Gianni’s mind wasn’t ideal for the long term, but she’s got Dame Okra now. That’s real power. The ambassadress has Count Pesavolta’s confidence—and yours.”

“Not mine anymore,” said Glisselda, “but I see. She’s coming back to Goredd.”

“They all are—even Od Fredricka—if you still intend to pursue St. Abaster’s Trap,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Do you think we shouldn’t?” she asked.

I closed my eyes. I wanted to say, No, we absolutely shouldn’t. We don’t know what she’ll do. I didn’t trust myself to be fair, however; the problem needed a clearer, more objective set of eyes. I said, “I leave for Samsam tomorrow. I’ll keep searching until you call me home. Tell Prince Lucian everything. He’ll have ideas. He always does.”

“Of course,” she said, her voice brightening. “And I charge you not to fret unduly.”

“I hear and obey.” I smiled in spite of myself; unduly gave me room to maneuver.

“I kiss your cheeks,” she said, “and Lucian would, too, if he were here.”

I switched off the thnik and flopped back onto the bed, trying to gather all my scattered pieces: gladness at Glisselda’s stouthearted, unflinching friendship; regret that Kiggs was going to hear my history from someone else; and that particular flavor of sorrow that came over me when I pitied Jannoula. I remembered her burned and blistered arms. To some degree, she could not help what she was, any more than Gianni Patto could. Our history—and my fear—got in the way of my trying to reason with her, but what if Kiggs or Glisselda could earn her trust and cooperation? There had to be some way to make this work.