Seraphina: A Novel Part 32

"Y-you're not a bad singer. You could join the castle choir," I said, casting about for something neutral to say so I wouldn't cry. My mother was as reckless as his, but she'd believed in this; she'd given everything she had. What if our mothers were not the fools we had taken them for? What was love really worth? A hundred thousand wars?

He smiled at his hands upon the parapet, and continued: "You sang, and then it hit me like a lightning strike, like the clarion of Heaven: the voice of St. Clare, saying, The truth will out! You yourself embodied the truth that could not be concealed or contained-not by a hundred fathers, or a hundred nursemaids-that would burst forth unbidden and fill the world with beauty. I knew I was to investigate the truth of things; I had been called to do this. I fell to my knees, thanked St. Clare, and swore I would not forget my vow to her."

I was staring at him, thunderstruck. "I was the truth, and beautiful? Heaven has a terrible sense of humor."

"I mistook you for a metaphor. But you're right about Heaven because otherwise how is it that I am in this position now? I made a promise and have kept it to the best of my ability-though I have lied to myself, may St. Clare forgive me. But I hoped to avoid this very trap where I am caught between my own feeling and the knowledge that uttering the truth aloud will hurt someone very important to me."

I barely dared think which truth he meant; I both hoped and dreaded that he would tell me.

His voice grew dense with sorrow. "I have been so preoccupied with you, Phina. I keep second-guessing myself. Could I have kept Aunt Dionne from Comonot's suite if I hadn't been dancing with you? I was so intent upon giving you that book. We might never have noticed Comonot leaving the ball but for Dame Okra."

"Or you might have stopped them both, and then gone up and toasted the New Year with Lady Corongi," I said, trying to rea.s.sure him. "You might be dead in that other scenario."

He threw up his hands, despairing. "I have struggled all my life to put thought before feeling, not to be as rash and irresponsible as my mother!"

"Ah, right, your mother, and her terrible crimes against her family!" I cried, angry with him now. "If I saw your mother in Heaven, you know what I would do? I would kiss her right on the mouth! And then I would drag her to the bottom of the Heavenly Stair and point at you down here, and say, 'Look what you did, you archfiend!' "

He looked scandalized, or startled anyway. I could not stop myself. "What could St. Clare have been thinking, choosing me as her unworthy instrument? She would have known I couldn't speak the truth to you."

"Phina, no," said Kiggs, and at first I thought he was scolding me for maligning St. Clare. He raised a hand, let it hover a moment, and then placed it over mine. It was warm, and it stole my breath away. "St. Clare did not choose wrongly," he said softly. "I always saw the truth in you, however much you prevaricated, even as you lied right to my face. I glimpsed the very heart of you, clear as sunlight, and it was something extraordinary."

He took up my hand between both of his. "Your lies didn't stop me loving you; your truth hasn't stopped me either."

I looked down reflexively; he was holding my left hand. He noticed my discomfiture and with a deft and delicate touch folded back my sleeve-all four of my sleeves-exposing my forearm to the frigid air, the fading sunset, and the emerging stars. He ran his thumb along the silver line of scales, his brow puckering in concern at the scab, and then, with a sly glance at me, he bowed his head and kissed my scaly wrist.

I couldn't breathe; I was overcome. I didn't usually feel much through my scales, but I felt that to the soles of my feet.

He replaced my sleeves, respectfully, as if draping a Saint's altar. He kept my hand between his, warming it. "I was thinking about you, before you came up. Thinking, praying, and reaching no conclusion. I was inclined to leave love unspoken. Let us get through this war; let Glisselda grow into her crown. The day will come, please Heaven, when I can tell her this without throwing us all into chaos. Maybe she would release me from my promise, but maybe not. I may have to marry her in any case, because she must marry, and I remain her best option. Can you live with that?"

"I don't know," I said. "But you're right: she needs you."

"She needs us both," he said, "and she needs us not to be so distracted by each other that we are unable to do our parts in this war."

I nodded. "Crisis first, love later. The day will come, Kiggs. I believe that."

His brow creased fretfully. "I hate keeping this from her; it's deceit. Small lies are no better than big ones, but if we could please keep everything to a minimum until-"

"Everything?" I said. "Porphyrian philosophy? Amusing tales of b.a.s.t.a.r.dy?"

He smiled. Ah, I could last a long time on those smiles. I would sow and reap them like wheat.

"You know what I mean," he said.

"You mean you're not going to kiss my wrist again," I said. "But that's all right, because I am going to kiss you."

And I did.

If I could keep a single moment for all time, that would be the one.

I became the very air; I was full of stars. I was the soaring s.p.a.ces between the spires of the cathedral, the solemn breath of chimneys, a whispered prayer upon the winter wind. I was silence, and I was music, one clear transcendent chord rising toward Heaven. I believed, then, that I would have risen bodily into the sky but for the anchor of his hand in my hair and his round soft perfect mouth.

No Heaven but this! I thought, and I knew that it was true to a standard even St. Clare could not have argued.

Then it was done, and he was holding both my hands between his and saying, "In some ballad or Porphyrian romance, we would run off together."

I looked quickly at his face, trying to discern whether he was proposing we do just that. The resolve written in his eyes said no, but I could see exactly where I would have to push, and how hard, to break that resolve. It would be shockingly easy, but I found I did not wish it. My Kiggs could not behave so shabbily and still remain my Kiggs. Some other part of him would break, along with his resolve, and I did not see a way to make it whole again. The jagged edge of it would stab at him all his life.

If we were to go forward from here, we would proceed not rashly, not thoughtlessly, but Kiggs-and-Phina fas.h.i.+on. That was the only way it could work.

"I think I've heard that ballad," I said. "It's beautiful but it ends sadly."

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against mine. "Is it less sad that I'm going to ask you not to kiss me again?"

"Yes. Because it's just for now. The day will come."

"I want to believe that."

"Believe it."

He took a shaky breath. "I've got to go."

"I know."

I let him go inside first; my presence was not appropriate for tonight's ritual. I leaned against the parapet, watching my breath puff gray against the blackening sky as if I were a dragon whispering smoke into the wind. The conceit made me smile, and then an idea caught me. Cautiously, avoiding ice, I hauled myself up onto the parapet. It had a wide bal.u.s.trade, adequate for sitting, but I did not intend merely to sit. With comical slowness, like Comonot attempting stealth, I drew my feet up onto the railing. I removed my shoes, wanting to feel the stone beneath my feet. I wanted to feel everything.

I rose to standing, like Lars upon the barbican, the dark city spread at my feet. Lights twinkled in tavern windows, bobbed at the Wolfstoot Bridge construction. Once I had been suspended over this vast s.p.a.ce, hanging and helpless, at a dragon's mercy. Once I had feared that telling the truth would be like falling, that love would be like hitting the ground, but here I was, my feet firmly planted, standing on my own.

We were all monsters and b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and we were all beautiful.

I'd had more than my share of beautiful today. Tomorrow I'd give some back, restore and replenish the world. I'd play at Princess Dionne's funeral; I'd put myself on the program this time, on purpose, since there was no longer any need for me to stay out of the public eye. I might as well stand up and give what I had to give.

The wind whipped my skirts around, and I laughed. I stretched my arm up toward the sky, spreading my fingers, imagining my hand a nest of stars. On impulse, I threw my shoes as hard as I could at the night, crying, "Scatter darkness! Scatter silence!" They accelerated at thirty-two feet per second squared, landing somewhere in Stone Court, but Zeyd was wrong about the inevitability of hurtling toward our doom. The future would come, full of war and uncertainty, but I would not be facing it alone. I had love and work, friends and a people. I had a place to stand.

AT DOMBEGH HOUSE.

Seraphina Dombegh-our charming heroine, often called Phina.

Claude Dombegh-her father, a lawyer with a secret Amaline Ducanahan-Phina's counterfeit mother.

Linn-Phina's real mother, alas Orma-Phina's mysterious mentor.

Zeyd-Phina's former tutor, a dragon Anne-Marie-Phina's not-so-wicked stepmother Tessie, Jeanne, Paul, and Nedward-the moderately wicked stepsiblings.

THE GOREDDI ROYAL FAMILY..

Queen Lavonda-a monarch who faces down dragons Prince Rufus-the Queen's only son, inexplicably murdered.

Princess Dionne-the Queen's surly daughter, first heir to the throne Princess Glisselda-Princess Dionne's cheerful daughter, second heir to the throne Princess Laurel-the Queen's other daughter, dead of elopement Prince Lucian Kiggs-Princess Laurel's embarra.s.sing b.a.s.t.a.r.d, fiance of Princess Glisselda, Captain of the Queen's Guard, possessor of too many descriptors AT COURT.

Viridius-the irascible court composer Guntard-a professional musician scrawny sackbut player-exactly as you imagine Lady Miliphrene-Princess Glisselda's favorite lady-in-waiting, called Millie Lady Corongi-Princess Glisselda's governess, an antique despot Dame Okra Carmine-the Ninysh amba.s.sador, an antique darling Josef, Earl of Apsig-a Samsamese lordling Regent of Samsam-the regent of Samsam Count Pesavolta-the ruler of Ninys OUR DRACONIC FRIENDS.

Ardmagar Comonot-the leader of the dragon world Amba.s.sador Fulda-the dragon with the best manners Undersecretary Eskar-Fulda's laconic second-in-command Basind-a walleyed newskin n.o.bLE BANISHED KNIGHTS.

Sir Karal Halfholder-obeys the law, even if the infernal fiends do not Sir Cuthberte Pettybone-his somewhat less humor-impaired comrade Sir James Peascod-once knew General Gann from General Gonn Squire Maurizio Foughfaugh-one of the last pract.i.tioners of dracomachia Squire Pender-the other one IN TOWN.

Sons of St. Ogdo-unhappy with the treaty Lars-the genius behind the clock Thomas Broadwick-a cloth merchant Silas Broadwick-the reason they call them Broadwick Bros. Clothiers Abdo-a dancer in a pygegyria troupe A pygegyria troupe-and there's the rest of them now IN PHINA'S HEAD Fruit Bat-the climber Pelican Man-putting the grotesque in "grotesque"

Miserere-the feathery one Newt-the wallowing one Loud Lad-the noisy one Jannoula-too curious for her own good Miss Fusspots-the finicky one Pandowdy-the swamp thing Nag and Nagini-the speedy twins Gargoyella and Finch-mentioned in pa.s.sing Five more-to be named in a future publication IN LEGEND AND IN FAITH.

Queen Belondweg-the first Queen of united Goredd, subject of the national epic Pau-Henoa-her trickster rabbit companion, also called the Mad Bun and Hen-Wee St. Capiti-representing the life of the mind, Phina's patroness St. Yirtrudis-the spooky heretic, Phina's other patroness, alas St. Clare-lady of perspicacity, Prince Lucian Kiggs's patroness Allsaints-all the Saints in Heaven, invoked as a unit. Not a deity, exactly; more like a collective apse-part of a cathedral behind the quire and altar (and Golden House, in Goreddi cathedrals), often with radiating chapels ard-Mootya for "order, correctness"; may also denote a battalion of dragons Ardmagar-t.i.tle held by the leader of dragonkind; translates roughly to "supreme general"

aurochs-large, wild cattlebeast; extinct in our world, but existed in Europe until the Renaissance binou-type of bagpipe, used in traditional Breton music in our world cloister-peaceful garden surrounded by a colonnade, where monks may engage in peripatetic meditation Comonot's Treaty-agreement that established peace between Goredd and dragonkind Daanite-h.o.m.os.e.xual; named for St. Daan, who was martyred for that particular quality, along with his lover, St. Masha dagged-deep scalloping, as of houppelande sleeves dracomachia-martial art developed specifically for fighting dragons; according to legend, it was invented by St. Ogdo Golden House-model of Heaven found in the center of Goreddi cathedrals and larger churches Golden Plays-dramas depicting the lives of the Saints, put on by the guilds of Lavondaville during Golden Week Golden Week-cl.u.s.ter of Saints' days at midwinter, bookended by Speculus and Treaty Eve. It is traditional to see the Golden Plays, walk circuits around the Golden House, hang Speculus lanterns, throw parties, give gifts to friends and charities, and make grandiose p.r.o.nouncements for the coming year.

Goredd-Seraphina's homeland (adjective form: Goreddi) Heaven-Goreddis don't believe in a singular deity, but they believe in an afterlife, the dwelling of Allsaints houppelande-robe of rich material with voluminous sleeves, usually worn belted; women's are floor-length; a man's might be cut at the knee ityasaari-Porphyrian for "half-dragon"

Ker-council of dragon generals that advises the Ardmagar Lavondaville-Seraphina's hometown and the largest city in Goredd, named for Queen Lavonda Mootya-language of dragons, rendered in sounds a human voice can make nave-main body of a cathedral, where the congregation gathers for services newskin-dragon who is inexperienced at taking human form and living among humans Ninys-country southeast of Goredd (adjective form: Ninysh) oud-lutelike instrument, common in Middle Eastern music in our world, often played with a pick, or plectrum Porphyry-small country, almost a city-state, northwest of the Southlands; originally a colony of dark-skinned people from even further north psalter-book of devotional poetry, usually ill.u.s.trated; in Goreddi psalters, there's a poem for each of the major Saints pygegyria-Porphyrian for "b.u.m-waggling"; an acrobatic variation of belly dancing pyria-sticky, flammable substance used in dracomachia for setting dragons on fire; also called St. Ogdo's fire Quighole-dragon and quigutl ghetto in Lavondaville quigutl-subspecies of dragon, which can't transform. They are flightless; they have an extra set of arms and terrible breath. Often shortened to "quig."

quire-enclosed area behind the altar of a cathedral (or behind the Golden House in a Goreddi cathedral), where the choir and clergy sit facing each other on benches saar-Porphyrian for "dragon"; often used by Goreddis as a short form of "saarantras"

saarantras-Porphyrian for "dragon in human form" (plural form: saarantrai) sackbut-medieval ancestor of the trombone St. Bert's Collegium-once St. Jobertus's Church, now a school in Quighole where saarantrai scholars teach mathematics, science, and medicine to those brave enough to attend St. Capiti-patroness of scholars; carries her head on a plate.

St. Clare-patroness of the perceptive.

St. Gobnait's-cathedral in Lavondaville; St. Gobnait is patroness to the diligent and persistent. Her symbol is the bee, hence the skep in her cathedral.

St. Ida's-music conservatory in Lavondaville; St. Ida is the patroness of musicians and performers St. Masha and St. Daan-the lovers; often invoked in anger, perhaps because it's safe-it's hard to imagine paragons of romantic love actually smiting anyone St. Ogdo-founder of dracomachia; patron of knights and of all Goredd.

St. Vitt-champion of the faith; this one will smite people, particularly unbelievers St. Willibald's-covered market in Lavondaville; St. Willibald is the patron of marketplaces and news St. Yirtrudis-the heretic; it's an open question how there can be a heretical Saint.

Samsam-country south of Goredd (adjective form: Samsamese).

shawm-medieval instrument similar to an oboe skep-old-fas.h.i.+oned beehive made of woven straw Southlands-three nations cl.u.s.tered together at the southern end of the world: Goredd, Ninys, and Samsam Speculus-Goreddi holiday on the winter solstice, intended to be a long night of reflection.

Tanamoot-dragons' country.

transept-wings of a cathedral built perpendicular to the nave Treaty Eve-celebration commemorating the signing of Comonot's Treaty, concurrent with New Year's Eve Ziziba-very distant land indeed, far to the north; home to many strange beasts such as crocodiles and camelopards (adjective form: Zibou) My heartfelt thanks to: my sisters (including Josh); my parents, stepparents, and in-laws; Dr. George Pepe; Mac and the Children's Book World gang; my intrepid Beta Readers; the Sparkly Capes and Oolicans; Epicurus; George Eliot; Lois McMaster Bujold; and Arwen, Els, and Liz.

Thanks to Dan Lazar, my agent, who has the singular ability to see things that aren't there yet. Thanks to Jim Thomas, my editor, who understands the correlation between laughing at my jokes and getting me to work hard.

To Scott and Byron, who made me laugh when I was grumpy and gave me reasons to keep working. And thanks to Una, whose tiny whippet bladder ensured that I went for several walks each day.

As a child, RACHEL HARTMAN played cello and lip-synched Mozart operas with her sisters. The famous Renaissance song "Mille Regretz" first moved Rachel to write a fantasy novel rooted in music, but her inspiration didn't end there. She wrote Seraphina while listening to medieval Italian polyphony, Breton bagpipe rock, prog metal, Latin American baroque, and Irish sean nos.

Rachel Hartman lives with her family in Vancouver. To learn more about her, visit her website at RachelHartmanBooks.com.

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