Shadow Scale (54 page)

“General Zira’s current estimate, based on Comonot’s progress reports, is three weeks,” said Sir Maurizio. “He’s just taken Lab Six, if that means anything to anyone, and he wants to connect with more Loyalist enclaves before he enters the capital.”

I gaped at Maurizio. “So we could be fighting the Samsamese before the Old Ard even get here?”

“Could be,” he said. “We’re not entirely sure what the Regent thinks he’s doing.”

“When the Samsamese took Fort Oversea,” said Sir Cuthberte
grimly, “I said to myself that Josef must be itching to fight dragons. I didn’t see how he was going to persuade the Ninysh and Goreddi dracomachists to cooperate with him.” From inside his tabard he untucked a silver chain holding a pendant in the shape of a dragon’s head. “You remember Sir Karal, my comradein-arms?”

“Of course,” I said. Karal had been imprisoned with Cuthberte when I’d interviewed them about a rogue dragon. He’d been much surlier than Cuthberte.

“You recall what a skeptical old nut he was. He never would have agreed to Samsamese treachery.” Cuthberte waved the dragon-head thnik. “I can speak to him with this. For a few days after our escape, he was plotting and scheming, looking for a way to free the lot of them from Samsamese tyranny. Then something happened.”

I had a terrible feeling I knew what it was.

“The knights and dracomachists were visited by ‘a living Saint,’ ” said Cuthberte bitterly. “Sir Karal told me—joyfully!—that he’d seen the light of Heaven in her, that it was lucky he hadn’t escaped with the rest of us, or he’d have missed his higher purpose.”

“And what is that higher purpose?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“To kill dragons,” said Sir Cuthberte, glaring under his brows like a formidable owl. “All dragons, even Goredd’s allies.”

I tried to make sense of this. If Jannoula was General Laedi, working for the Old Ard, why would she raise an army of Samsamese to fight against the dragons? Did she think they’d kill
more Loyalists than Old Ard dragons, or that they’d fight Goredd, too, and weaken us? It reminded me of the Old Ard victories she’d plotted, where so many dragons had died on both sides that
victory
was hardly the word for it. Did she consider those losses worth it?

The Old Ard seemed to, with their new logic. I felt like I had all the pieces in front of me and couldn’t put them together.

“Anders saw the light of Heaven, too,” Kiggs was saying. “Phina should hear his story.”

Maurizio unfolded his lanky frame and left the tent. He soon returned, leading a callow young dracomachist with a shock of straw-like hair. The fellow had been apprehended in the middle of breakfast; his upper lip was foamy with goat’s milk. He wiped it on his sleeve.

“Squire Anders,” said Sir Cuthberte sternly, drawing his frosty brows down. “This is Seraphina. She wishes to hear about your meeting with the Queen.”

“I delivered your missive, as per your command,” said young Anders, standing stiffly at attention. “An’ I made sure the Queen read it and all. She threw it in the fire and said under no circumstances is Prince Lucian to set foot in the city, and that he could obey his Queen for once in his life, the villain.” The squire paled and nodded courtesy at the prince. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness.”

Kiggs gave a desultory nod and gestured for him to continue.

“What happened as you were leaving?” Sir Cuthberte prompted.

Anders’s expression softened and his gaze grew distant. “Ah,
that’s when I saw the living Saint, sir, coming in as I were leaving. She knew my name an’ touched my chin an’ said, ‘Count yourself among the blessed, and take my word to your squadmates.’ And then she … she …”

“Tell the rest,” said Sir Cuthberte.

Anders kicked at the ground with his toe. “No one believes me. If you’ve brought me in so this maidy can laugh at me, I don’t—”

“No, no,” said Sir Maurizio gently, clapping the squire’s shoulder. “She’s well brought up; she’ll wait until you’ve gone.”

“Well,” said Anders, peeking shyly at me, “then I saw the light of Heaven. I swear by St. Prue, it were all around her, glowing like a Speculus lantern, or the moon, or … or like the heart of the whole world.”

I didn’t laugh. I felt a terrible sadness, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because Jannoula was preying on the gullible; maybe because even the gullible could see this light that I could not.

“Thank you, Anders, that’s all,” Sir Maurizio said, letting the lad out. The tent flap swung behind him, and Maurizio sat back down.

Kiggs met my eyes, a quiet outrage in his. “How are people taken in by this?” He didn’t say it out loud, but I suspected there was another question behind the first:
Do you think Glisselda has been fooled as well?

“I warned the Queen about it,” I said, trying to reassure him. “It’s the ityasaari mind-fire, the stuff they weave St. Abaster’s Trap with.” I waved a hand around my head, as if I had this unseen corona. “Jannoula can make hers visible to humans. That’s how she could influence Josef even though he hates and fears half-dragons.”

Kiggs slapped his thigh. “I knew there had to be a trick to it! She’s no more Saint than you are.”

His words hit me hard; he was right in more senses than he knew, but I couldn’t tell him about Orma’s theory, St. Yirtrudis’s testament, or the Great Mistake. Not now, in front of everyone. I didn’t know how the knights would take it.

I wasn’t sure how Kiggs would take it, either. He’d be interested, I had no doubt, but he was more religious than I was. Would it also be upsetting?

Kiggs, who was studying my expression, said gently, “There was something you needed to tell Selda. What was it?”

I took a deep breath and dove in. “I learned some things about Jannoula at Lab Four. Her uncle, General Palonn—is that a name you’re familiar with?”

Sir Cuthberte nodded solemnly. “He’s the Old Ard’s most aggressive general. Likely to be the next Ardmagar, if and when they finish the current one off.”

I grimaced. “Palonn gave Jannoula to the Censors as an infant, and they experimented on her.” There was a sharp intake of breath around the tent. I continued: “The Old Ard learned she was a talented strategist. They nicknamed her General Laedi.”

“The butcher of Homand-Eynn?” said Sir Cuthberte incredulously.

“And she’s in the palace with Selda!” cried Kiggs, who seemed ready to leap up and storm the gates of Lavondaville himself.

Sir Maurizio was shaking his head, coming up with an argument of his own. “I can’t make it make sense,” he said, scratching his shaggy head. “If Jannoula is working for the enemy, and she’s
the strategist you claim, why would she goad the Samsamese into biting her masters in the arse?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The Old Ard believe she’s acting in their interests, but they also plan to kill her when she stops being useful. She’s astute enough to realize this, I should think. Might she be taking countermeasures to save herself?” It still didn’t add up. “We need to learn her true purpose, and how much influence she has over Queen Glisselda.”

“If the Queen won’t let her own fiancé into the city, I’d guess Jannoula has far more influence than she should,” said Sir Cuthberte grimly. “We can’t have Jannoula running Goredd’s war, whatever the devil she’s up to.”

We were all agreed, but our best course of action was unclear. The knights halfheartedly suggested marching into the city and seizing Jannoula, but it seemed foolish to provoke a fight with the city garrison on the eve of an actual war. All our troops needed to conserve their resources for the fight ahead, not go around injuring each other.

“No military action,” I said. I looked to Kiggs as I spoke, hoping he at least would understand. “I feel partly responsible for Jannoula. If there’s any way to save her, I have to try that first.”

Kiggs’s gaze was gentle and humane. I could not hold it; I looked at my hands.

“You’ve got guilt,” he said, his voice like an audible pat on the head, a palpable comfort. “Guilt and I are old friends. It’s the gadfly that stings all night, the never-ending banquet. It’s what you feel when you rush back home to your fiancée, intending to tell her all that’s in your heart, but she won’t even see you.”

I was slightly shocked that he would speak so plainly in front of the knights, but they seemed to have gleaned nothing from his speech. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and said, “What would you have us do, Phina?”

I frowned, staring at the rustic battle map. The Ninysh, Goreddi, and Loyalist clods were scattered about, indistinguishable from one another.

“Sneak me into the palace,” I said slowly. “She has wanted nothing more than for me to join her Heaven on earth. I’ll join her; I’ll be her friend, as close as I can, until I understand what she’s about and how to stop her. I’ll disentangle Glisselda from her influence.” Around the map the three men nodded. We put our heads together and planned.

I’d been nocturnal so long that by noon I was no longer functioning well. They let me nap in a command tent; the field cot felt like the comfiest bed I’d ever known.

I awoke midafternoon to the sound of dracomachists training in a nearby pasture, but didn’t get up right away. Before I entered Lavondaville, I needed as much information as I could gather about the Ninysh ityasaari, Lars, and Jannoula. Had she finally gotten her hooks into Blanche and Nedouard? What was she doing with them?

I steadied my breathing, spoke the ritual words, and entered my … well, I still thought of it as a garden, no matter how it had withered and shrunk. The place hadn’t changed since the day I’d
called each avatar by name. The sky still sagged, propped up by Jannoula’s cottage and the trees of Pandowdy’s swamp. The denizens lay in a line on the lawn, inert as dolls. Tending the garden took no time now; I walked in and counted.

I located doll-Nedouard. If Jannoula had gotten her hook in him, she could easily find out that I’d looked in on him. I would have to be careful not to reveal anything sensitive. I didn’t think she could tell where I was, but she’d guess I was near. The visit itself would raise her suspicions. I didn’t see what choice I had, however; I couldn’t go in guessing.

I took doll-Nedouard’s tiny hands in mine and braced myself for the terrifying vortex of consciousness, but the vision didn’t suck me under quite like it usually did. It felt distant and false, like I was peering through a spyglass.

My vision-eye hovered at ceiling level, looking down; that was normal, at least. I saw a narrow, whitewashed room with simple wooden furniture. The beaked plague doctor, below me, fetched a kettle from the hearth, its handle wrapped in a handkerchief against the heat. He poured steaming water into a pewter basin on the table, and then unbuttoned his shirt. His caved-in chest and bony shoulders were paved with silver dragon scales. He wrung out a cloth, wincing as it scalded his fingers, and began to clean his scales.

I watched him some moments, pondering the paradox of reaching inward to look outward. I spoke to Nedouard in my head:
Good afternoon, friend
.

“I thought I felt you watching,” he said, wringing out his
washcloth gingerly. “I must admit, I prefer your approach to hers. It’s less intrusive.”

I didn’t have to ask whom I was being contrasted with.
Jannoula got to you at last. I’m so sorry. How did it happen?

The old doctor dabbed at his shoulder; steam rose off his speckled back. “Blanche was hit first. She tried to fight, which caused her terrible pain. She raided my store of poppy tears, wanting to die, but missed the dose and became very ill.

“So I said, ‘Blanche, I can give you a more effective poison, if that’s what you want, or you can stop fighting Jannoula for now, and I’ll help you find another way out.’ ”

I shuddered at his matter-of-factness, but Nedouard merely opened the unguent pot beside the pewter basin, took up a horsehair paintbrush, and began slathering salve onto his scales.

Surely I would know if Blanche had died. Surely the bit of mind-fire I had taken into my garden would dissipate.

Nedouard continued, “Blanche took my advice, for what it was worth, and when the Saint—as Jannoula calls herself—came knocking on my door, I welcomed her in.”

Why would you do that?
I asked, horrified.

He was silent for a moment as he oiled his scales. “I’d hoped,” he said at last, buttoning his shirt, “that I might find a way to free Blanche from the inside, but I don’t have the requisite mental abilities. The best I can say for myself is that I’m so boring and cooperative that Jannoula pays little attention to me. There are plenty of others drawing her energies elsewhere.”

He pulled a leather satchel from under the table. “I can’t free
anyone with my mind, but I still have some hope of influencing her. Maybe she can be reasoned with, talked into releasing everyone. To that end, I’ve been studying her mental state. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s missing some basic qualities—empathy, caring—but she mirrors them to manipulate people. I’d hoped to find a way toward rehabilitating her, but she’s so broken.…” He shrugged bleakly.

You don’t think she can be?
I asked. I did not even want to entertain that idea; if she couldn’t be saved, then my guilt was preserved for the ages, like an ant in amber.