Shadow Scale (39 page)

“I believe the prince considered throwing
himself
overboard during the storm,” said Kiggs earnestly, his brown eyes laughing. “In the end, he decided it might be worth the effort to hang on.” All cleverness failed me. “I’m glad to see you, Prince.”

Kiggs stepped up as Comonot had done and kissed my cheeks without the ear pulling. I managed air-kisses at the edge of his silly little beard. He smelled of salt and musty ship innards and himself.

I felt suddenly shy. The months had made strangers of us.

The Ardmagar inserted himself between us and took my arm. “I joked—did you notice? I said I didn’t know, when in fact I did, and then I pretended to wonder—”

“Indeed, Ardmagar. Well done,” I said.

“He’s been testing jokes on me since we left Lavondaville,” said Prince Lucian Kiggs, smiling over Comonot’s head. “It only took me a week to notice they were jokes.”

“Old saar, new tricks,” I said, smiling back.

“Don’t imagine I’m as slow to recognize mockery as I once was, either,” said the Ardmagar, but he didn’t seem angry. He was gazing wide-eyed at the harbor crowds, the ships, the warehouses. Months of close dealings with humans had done nothing to diminish his naked fascination with human variety.

Kiggs excused himself to have words with their retinue, who seemed to be in some confusion over baggage and porters.
Comonot, at my shoulder, said quietly, “So. After trying everything else, it’s down to Eskar’s plan after all. Sneaking in the back door while my Loyalists feint south. This is all assuming I can persuade the Porphyrians to let me break a centuries-old treaty and travel up the Omiga Valley.”

“And that they’ll let the exiles go,” I said. “I’ve met a few already. Eskar has been preparing your way, it seems. Do you know where she is?”

“She’s here,” Comonot said. “You just said so.”

“No, she
was
here. She’s been missing for almost a month,” I said, adding the last fortnight to Lalo’s reported two weeks. “You don’t keep better track of your operatives than that?”

“I don’t worry about them, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Comonot. He pulled a mass of gold chains out of the neck hole of his robe and sorted through their pendants for the right thnik.

Kiggs was returning to us through the harborside crowd. “We sent a runner ahead to House Malou,” he called, “and they’ve hired some bearers to—” He cut himself short at the sight of the Ardmagar’s jewelry. “Don’t dangle your thniks,” he said, hurrying to block Comonot from the prying eyes of passersby.

“Porphyrians aren’t alarmed by dragons,” I assured him.

The Ardmagar rolled his eyes at the pair of us. He’d found the communicator, a silver oblong, and spoke into it: “Eskar. Where are you? Report at once.”

We all strained to hear over the milling crowd, the washing sea, the screams of two gulls fighting over a fritter—possibly one of mine—but the thnik didn’t peep. Comonot shrugged. “Silence
proves nothing. Maybe she can’t answer at the moment. She’ll get back to me as soon as she can.”

I felt the dizzying rush of panic postponed. “Orma’s gone, too.”

“Ah. Well, in that case, I’d guess that the Censors got wind of them and they had to go deeper into hiding,” said the Ardmagar, turning away. One of his secretaries came running up to lead the old general to the litter they’d hired for him.

“Doesn’t the Tanamoot’s treaty with Porphyry forbid the Censors from coming after exiles here?” I asked, dogging his steps. Kiggs followed right behind me.

“Only registered exiles,” said Comonot over his shoulder as he reached the boxy conveyance. A bearer held open the purple-and-white-striped curtain as the Ardmagar clambered clumsily inside. “Your uncle would not have been registered.”

Kiggs, at my elbow, said quietly, “Don’t worry, we’ll find out what’s happened.”

I nodded stupidly. The effervescent fear was back, the rush under my ribs. I had pushed down my worries about Orma, but Comonot’s talk of Censors brought it gushing to the surface. I took a tight breath and gestured at the litter. “Where are you going now?”

“House Malou. They’re expecting us,” said the prince, making no move to get in after Comonot, but studying my expression. His own held a mix of concern and regret. The breeze tossed his hair around and blew through the gap between us.

The Ardmagar popped his head out of the striped curtains.
“Quit lollygagging, Prince. You have Agogoi to meet, and a nation to represent.”

“Give me a minute,” said Kiggs, waving a hand irritably at Comonot, his eyes never leaving my face. The Ardmagar snorted and pulled his head back inside the litter.

Kiggs leaned in; my breath caught foolishly. He said, “Selda has kept me apprised of your progress here. She’s worried that you’ll feel you’ve failed.”

I looked down at the sea-beaten stone pier; his eyes were too much for me.

“And she told me,” he continued doggedly, “ ‘Lucian, you are to take good care of her, for she may be feeling fragile. Tell her we love her just the same, and we’re so pleased she tried, and it’s going to be all right.’ ”

I had not been aware of fragility, but his words brought a raging tide of emotion to my shores. I had failed to find Orma, to protect Abdo from Jannoula, to gather the ityasaari. The garden I’d longed for was here, and I couldn’t have it; the prince I’d longed for was here, and the answer was exactly the same. For a moment it was too much. I waited until I trusted myself to answer. “She is very kind. Kinder than I deserve.”

“We will discuss your deserving,” he said, and though my eyes were still lowered, I could hear the smile in his voice. “We’ll have plenty of time.”

“Yes, you will!” cried Comonot behind us, popping his head out again like some impatient turtle. “Prince, now. Seraphina, come to House Malou tonight. There’s to be a welcoming dinner;
they won’t mind one more. Say whatever you need to say to each other then.”

I met Kiggs’s eyes at last, all full of hope and worry. He pulled himself away and climbed into the litter. The bearers hefted it up and trundled slowly away from me, up the hill, toward the colorful marble facades of the western heights.

I watched it go, wondering if Kiggs and I would indeed be able to say all we needed to say to each other, and how long that would take. High above me, a gull laughed.

I desperately needed a bath if I was going into high company this evening. I returned to Naia’s apartment for my things, and to check on Abdo.

His extended family was there en masse today; I could tell from the solemn expressions that nothing had changed. I crossed the crowded flat to retrieve my bathing box from behind the curtain, which took some time. I had finally understood, after broad hints from the aunties and a straightforward talking-to from Naia, that it was rude to greet the room at large. I had to greet my elders individually, by name. After fetching my box, I crossed the room again, saying farewell to everyone individually. Abdo’s aunties laughed and called after me, “We’ve almost civilized you!” and “Don’t forget to tip the attendant!”

I’d been to the baths several times now, thrice on my own. I still went at Old-Timers’ Hour; my bravery had limits. When the
old people stared, at least I could pretend it was due to poor eyesight.

I left my clothes in a cubbyhole (not neglecting to tip the attendant), walked underneath a cold torrent rushing from a decorative dolphin’s mouth (an excruciating procedure that Naia had insisted was crucial for sanitation), and climbed into the warm communal pool. Oldsters—of every gender Porphyry had to offer—lined the perimeter, seated upon a long underwater bench; their heads bobbed at the surface like cheerful cabbages. Some nodded at me in recognition. Some stared, but they seemed more agog at my ghostly pale body than at the scales shingling my middle.

“Do the people down south live in caves?” an old man had once asked loudly, unconcerned with whether I might understand what he was saying. “Like those spidery crickets, you know. You can almost see through her.”

No one had ever commented on the scales, to my immeasurable relief. Today, however, a finger ran across my back, right along the line where my human skin gave way to dragon. The flesh there was often red and angry, as if it resented the sharp scales pushing through, and the unexpected touch hurt. I flinched, biting back a cry, and the toothless granny to my right grinned up at me, her eyes two crescents of mischief.

She mumbled something I had no hope of understanding. The woman on her other side, her body jiggling with giggles, spoke loudly and slowly: “Lend her your silver teeth, you stingy foreigner. You have too many, and she has none of her own.”

I couldn’t help it: I laughed, and the whole pool laughed with
me. Naia had said that awe of an ityasaari would clash with bemusement at a foreigner. It looked like the two had finally resolved into plain amusement.

But the most surprising thing was that I really didn’t mind. These scales, my visible emblem of shame, which had so terrified Rodya, which I had hidden, suppressed, and even once tried to pry off with a knife—how was I now able to laugh about them with strangers? Something had changed in me. I was such a long way from where I had started.

After I dried myself, I changed into the nicest outfit I owned, a lapis-blue tunic embroidered with red and gold flowers and chips of mirror, its skirt longer and fuller than the usual, falling in crisp pleats past my knees. I had bought it at a harborside shop, thinking I might someday have to go into company and disliking the sort of filmy sleeveless gowns the highborn ladies wore.

Comonot had said evening, but I had no address for House Malou. I left my bath box with the attendant (overnight, for a more generous tip) and wandered along to the library, pausing halfway up the hill to admire the orange and lilac of the setting sun.

House Malou (the librarians informed me, eyeing my new tunic with interest) was four streets from Camba’s, not hidden behind shops but unabashedly occupying an entire block. I found it easily. Its blue door had a shiny brass knocker shaped like an acanthus leaf. I worried the doorman wouldn’t let me in, but apparently he’d been warned to expect me. He led me into a high-ceilinged atrium, newer and fancier than Camba’s; mosaics of sea horses, octopuses, and mer-dogs covered the ceiling, glass and gilt
tiles catching the light. There was a murmur of water and of voices from deeper inside the house. The fountain’s statue was of a man balancing what looked like a pink cathedral on his head. A closer look revealed a miniature city, complete with temples and markets, carved of rosy coral. The allegorical name on the base of the statue was a word I didn’t know.

“Duty,” said a familiar baritone, startling me so I almost put a foot in the pool. Kiggs made a move to catch my elbow, but I regained my balance on my own.

“You have good Porphyrian,” I said.

He smiled self-effacingly. “I asked the doorman.”

He’d cleaned up and changed into his crimson dress doublet; his hair was still damp from the bath. I was pleased to note that he’d kept the beard, and then surprised that I was pleased. He noticed me staring and ran a self-conscious hand down his face. “I’m told the Agogoi take you more seriously if you have a beard,” he said.

“I’ll have to try that,” I said.

His mouth twitched as he held in a laugh. I remembered why I liked this prince.

“Comonot’s in the dining room with our hosts,” said Kiggs, ushering me forth. “In
a
dining room, more accurately. I’ve found three so far; there may be more.”

“This is just dinner?” I asked, following him up the corridor. “No politics?”

“Oh, it’s all politics,” said Kiggs, his eyes keen. “The kind Comonot sometimes unwittingly excels at, wherein he meets
everyone and charms them with his, uh, charm. We should keep an eye on him.”

We passed through the depths of the house, glimpsing a vast domed chamber, a private bath like an artificial lake, a library, and two formal gardens before arriving at an open courtyard paved in five colors of tessellated marble. Couches lined the perimeter; a fountain of wine burbled in the center amid tables of towering delicacies. Nearly a hundred people milled around, helping themselves to food and wine, lounging languidly on couches, eating and laughing.

“It’s an egalitarian gathering,” Kiggs whispered delightedly in my ear. “There’s no hierarchy of seating; we may eat or sit where we like. I want to try this in Goredd.”

I didn’t wish to contradict his enthusiasm; maybe he didn’t see all the servants maneuvering through the cracks and crannies of the crowd, refilling glasses and removing empty platters. Maybe I saw them only because I’d been staying harborside. Two of Abdo’s aunties were servants in the great houses.

Kiggs steered me through the chattering guests toward a stout older woman with a face like a bulldog’s. Her head was shaved, which meant she was a widow—there were several at Old-Timers’ Hour—but she still wore the golden Agogoi circlet. It creased her bare scalp. She raised her eyebrows expectantly at Kiggs as if she knew him already.

“Madam Speaker,” he said, bowing respectfully. “May I present Seraphina Dombegh, Queen Glisselda’s emissary to your ityasaari. Seraphina, this is Her Honor, Phyllida Malou Melaye.”