Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(61)

We were stopped at the city gate by guards in somber attire and questioned about our business. “We are envoys from Queen Glisselda of Goredd to His Grace the Regent of Samsam,” I said, fully expecting that to suffice. I had papers—only slightly damp—if he required more proof.

The guard, a mustachioed fellow with a distractingly pointy helmet, pursed his lips prissily. “Do you mean His Grace the Honored and Honorable Steadfast Servant of St. Abaster, Heaven’s Regent Until the Return, Harald Erstwhile Earl of Plimpi?”

“I suppose so,” I said. In Goredd, we never used his full title. I began to see why.

“You suppose wrong,” said the guardsman nastily. “He is no more—Saints judge him justly. Goredd won’t have heard that yet, it seems.”

The worst was confirmed. It took all my years of lying practice, plus the reserves of heraldic nerve I’d gained in Ninys, to appear unfazed. I looked down my nose at him and arched an eyebrow superciliously. “I’ll trot home and tell our Queen then, shall I? See how she wants me to proceed?”

“I’m only telling you for your own good,” he said, backtracking on his nastiness now that I’d shown myself uncowed. “You wouldn’t want to exhibit unseemly surprise when you meet our new ruler, His Grace the Honored and Honorable Steadfast Servant of St. Abaster, Heaven’s Regent Until the Return, Josef Erstwhile Earl of Apsig.”

That news almost knocked me off my horse.

Two gatehouse guards escorted us through the city to the castle—for our protection, they said. It was just as well, because I was too shocked to listen to directions. It took me half the length of the city to regain my wits. We passed half-timbered shop fronts and brick houses, all reassuringly solid. The cobbled streets were mostly empty, but I saw no sign that violence had occurred, or that the people were afraid.

So why was there an army outside? Had it been a peaceful succession? Had the old Regent died of anything resembling natural causes? I remembered Josef’s words the last time I’d seen him, that he was going to “make the Regent see sense … the kind that puts humans first over animals.” I should’ve told Kiggs or Glisselda what he’d said to me that day. I’d been so intimidated that I’d inadvertently kept a secret. I hoped we weren’t about to pay for my silence.

Goredd had had an ally in the old Regent. Josef was not nearly so predictable.

Our pointy-helmeted gatehouse guards accompanied us into the castle, all the way to the throne room, obviously keeping an eye on us.

The throne room, like St. Abaster’s Church in Fnark, reflected a Samsamese sensibility: dark wood paneling, tall glazed windows, perpendicular lines. What decor there was consisted of hunting trophies, including a grand chandelier of interwoven antlers, like the nest of some unfathomable eagle. At the far end of the hall, upon a dais, stood an alabaster throne, reserved for the blessed bottom of St. Abaster, should he make good on his threat to return. Beside it squatted the Regent’s modest chair of burnished wood, and before that was Josef, erstwhile Earl of Apsig, St. Abaster’s current deputy in this world.

I recognized him at once, dressed in his usual austere black doublet and white ruff. His blond hair was longer than he used to keep it; he tucked an itinerant lock behind his ear while I watched. He stood facing a long side bench, intended for counselors but mostly empty now, speaking quietly with the two people seated there.

The guards did not traverse the room but positioned themselves on each side of the door, breastplates clanking noisily, and waved us along. They would be blocking our exit. My heart quailed, but I took Abdo’s hand and led him the length of the hall, toward Josef and the others.

One of the people sitting on the bench was a bald, paunchy hunchback, dressed in a short brown houppelande cut to fit his odd figure. He glanced at us; I knew those square spectacles. It was the Librarian, whom Jannoula had called Ingar. That was fortuitous.

The second figure was a woman in a plain green surplice. Her head, perched on a swan-like neck, looked strangely small because of her short brown hair. Her fine-boned frame and porcelain complexion made her look fragile.

She looked up, directly into my eyes.

It was Jannoula.

Impossible. My mind rejected the notion outright—she was in prison, she couldn’t be here.

I glanced at Abdo, who had let go of me and was waving a hand in front of his face, as if shooing away invisible flies. He noticed me looking and said sheepishly, This close to her, I can see the line she’s caught me with. It doesn’t dissipate if I put my hand through it, though. He gestured toward Ingar with his bandaged hand. She’s got a line connecting him as well.

What comfort denial might have given me turned cold. How was this possible? What was she doing here? Had she been imprisoned in Samsam, and Josef let her out?

Josef followed Jannoula’s gaze and saw me. His handsome face broke into a sneer. “Seraphina! Now this is a surprise,” he said in flawless Goreddi.

I gave long, slow courtesy, stalling. It was hard enough to face Josef again, but Jannoula’s presence rattled me even more. “I come as Queen Glisselda’s envoy,” I said.

“She must be terribly hard up if she’s sending you,” he said, sauntering toward us. Josef had the same pointed nose as his half brother, but Lars never flared his nostrils so disdainfully.

“What have you done?” I asked Josef, my eyes involuntarily darting toward Jannoula. Perhaps the question was for her, too; I couldn’t get over the fact that she was here. I forced myself to focus on the new Regent. “Is that your army outside?”