Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(95)

“I don’t want to go to the Tanamoot!” cried Brisi, speaking over her mother. “It’s not my home. I am Porphyrian, whether you admit it or not. You can’t make me go. I’m an adult under Porphyrian law. I could live here on my own.”

“You are not an adult,” said Ikat, switching to Porphyrian. “And under Porphyrian law, even adults are subject to the head of the family.”

Brisi harrumphed, turned on her heel, and stomped off. Ikat called after her, “I plan on being around for another two hundred years. You had better make peace with that notion.”

Somewhere deep in the house, a door slammed. Ikat released a slow breath through flared nostrils, then said quietly, “It’s hard for her. The playmates of her early childhood are not merely grown, they’re grandparents. She won’t reach intellectual and sexual maturity for another five years. She doesn’t understand our ways, and we’re a long way from understanding her.”

“Bite her,” said Comonot reasonably. “Right on the back of the neck.”

Ikat shook her head. “The Porphyrians have laws against harming children.”

“What harm?” cried Comonot. “My mother bit me every day for thirty years.”

“I told you,” said a male saarantras from across the circle. “They’re legislating against our cultural traditions. They see barbarism in things they don’t comprehend.”

“But a human bite isn’t safe,” offered Lalo. “The skin is frail, and infection—”

I was so astonished at this turn of conversation that I’d stopped translating. Kiggs nudged me. “Why are they arguing?”

I opened my mouth, at a loss to explain, when suddenly there came a rapping at the front door. Brisi scurried out of the shadows to answer it, and moments later, tall, black-haired Eskar stepped into the garden. Everyone stared openmouthed, myself not least or last, but she didn’t acknowledge our gazes or say hello. She approached one of the benches and waited silently while the saarantrai on it made room for her to sit.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. Comonot said, “You’re late.”

“Indeed,” said Eskar, tossing her bangs out of her eyes. She looked around, taking account of who else was in the garden, and nodded terse recognition at Kiggs and me. “I’m here now. I presume we’re discussing the logistics of traveling up the Omiga? Carry on.”

“Where have you been?” said Comonot, skewering her with his glare. “I expected you to be here. I expected your help with planning this operation.”


“I have been helping,” said Eskar coldly. “I’ve scouted ahead, plotting our route beyond the Omiga Valley. The Old Ard’s patrols are thin in that part of the Tanamoot, but they’re there.”

“You’ve learned their routes?” said Comonot.

Eskar shifted in her seat. “Some of them. But we’re going to need places to conceal ourselves. I propose seizing Censor facilities on the way to the Kerama. Lab Four is easily reached if we follow the Meconi River, and—”

“Slow down,” said Comonot, beetling his brows. “I have no quarrel with the Censors.”

“Did you not just promise to ease up on the repression of deviants?” Ikat interjected. “The Censors are the primary enforcers of those policies.”

“And if you bring these exiles home, the Censors are going to have a quarrel with you,” said Eskar flatly. “The location makes strategic sense. It’s poorly guarded; patrols avoid it. I used to work there and am still in contact with the quigutl in the boiler rooms.”

Comonot was shaking his head. “You overstep yourself, Eskar. I need to consider all the possible—”

“It’s a sound plan,” said Eskar, an unexpected tension in her voice, like a bowstring strung too tight. Her eyes, two pools of blackness, met mine, and my stomach clenched. “Orma is at Lab Four.”





The world went muzzy; the air was viscous around me; it was hard to think.

By the time I realized I was walking, we were nearly at the harborside, as if I had fallen asleep and the smell of fish had awakened me.

Kiggs held my hand. I stopped short and blinked at him stupidly. The street around us was dark and empty.

Thinking hurt. Memory evaporated like a dream if I grasped it too tightly.

Kiggs scrutinized my face. “How are you feeling?”

I checked, finger in the bathwater of my brain. “I—I’m not. Nothing.”

“We’re nearly at Naia’s,” he said. “Do you think you can make it?”

The Censors had been after Orma a long time. They would cut out his memories, and my beloved uncle wouldn’t know me when he saw me again.

I gripped Kiggs’s hand tighter. The world reeled; he was the only point standing still. He’d asked a question. I tried to remember. “Uh, I don’t … it doesn’t … I’m sorry.”

The only light came from windows and the heartless moon, barely enough to illuminate the prince’s worry. He cupped my cheek in his free hand.

I observed this from a cautious distance, the way one observes a wasp.

He pulled me eastward (I also observed). We passed Naia’s building because Kiggs didn’t know which one it was. I had to speak to tell him where to go (I noticed myself speaking).