Shadow Scale by Rachel Hartman
Hanse guided us toward the coastal plain, and the rain grew less constant. The drama with Rodya and the occasional appearance of the sun perked Abdo up for a few days, but it didn’t last. He wasn’t sleeping well; his eyes looked sunken. Around us the landscape flattened into broad farms, cultivated with barley and flax; columnar poplars lined both sides of the road, their round leaves shivering anxiously in the breeze.
The crenellated walls of Blystane finally came into sight one afternoon. The cathedral spire rose above all, but I also discerned a fortress, bristling with towers, which I took to be the seat of government. The city had leaked out of its walls and puddled upon the surrounding plain. There was even a tent village to the north, which struck me as curious—and uncomfortable in soggy weather.
Hanse reined in his horse; I pulled up alongside and gave him a questioning look.
“Your destination,” said Hanse, his eyes unaccountably sad. “You’ll arrive within three hours, if you don’t dawdle. Well before sunset.”
“You’re not coming with us?” I asked.
He scratched his bristly chin. “I can tell you are a decent person, grausleine, and I could not abandon you in the middle of nowhere, with no idea of your way forward. But I also cannot …” He paused so long I wasn’t sure he was going to continue.
In fact, he wasn’t. He turned his horse around and motioned us to be on our way. Abdo and I rode on, incredulous, turning to watch him over our shoulders. He did not look back as he rode away.
So he took Rodya’s part after all, said Abdo.
“He followed his conscience,” I said slowly, considering, “even when it went against his conscience.”
We spurred our steeds forward in somber silence.
The closer we drew, the less haphazard the tent village looked. The tents were laid out in an orderly fashion, many with identical blue and black stripes, many flying banners; there were horses and armed men and cook fires. Abdo, I said silently, what’s going on here?
It looks like an army, he said.
I thought so, too, but why was an army camped outside Blystane? I scanned the sky for smoke and strained my ears for cries, but there were none. A steady stream of farmers, merchants, and drovers passed us. The city seemed to be in no distress.
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?”
“It is,” said Josef, smiling tightly. “And what I’ve done is very simple. I marched on the capital. The Regent, believing my troops were intended to help fulfill our promises to Goredd, let me walk ri
“The capital, the court … had nothing to say about this?” I said.
“My brother earls might have been a thorn in my side, had they demanded consensus, but their Erlmyt was canceled due to rumors of plague in Fnark.” Josef exchanged a significant look with Jannoula. “By the time they learn what has happened, it will be a history lesson, not news.”
I stared hard at Jannoula, wondering what that look had meant. Had the rumor of plague been her idea? Was she advising Josef?
She stared back brazenly.
“I’ve sent messengers to the earls,” Josef was saying. “They’ll know in two days, and they’ll have no choice but to accept it. I can’t inform Ninys yet, since Count Pesavolta is bound to tell Goredd. Queen Glisselda is not to know until the time of my choosing.”
“Which is when?” I asked, tearing my gaze away from Jannoula. “When she needs Samsam’s aid and you’re not there?”
“Goredd has allied itself with dragons,” said Josef, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “A true follower of the Saints, any real Samsamese, cannot countenance that. I have Heaven on my side, Seraphina. Not only the valedictions of St. Ogdo and the strictures of St. Abaster, but the endorsement of a holy hermit.”
I glanced at Ingar in some confusion. Josef noticed where I looked and said, “Not him. He’s her disciple. Allow me to introduce Sister Jannoula.” He held out an arm toward her. She lowered her gaze and rose with a bashful curtsy.
We came to it at last. I folded my arms, unimpressed by Jannoula’s bashful act. By the look in Josef’s eyes, he was clearly smitten—though religiously or romantically, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was too fine a distinction to make.
She was no holy anything. I couldn’t fathom how this charade of hers connected to her gathering of the ityasaari.
“Well, you’ve thoroughly fooled the new Regent,” I said aloud, addressing her as if it were just the two of us, still in my head. As if we were old acquaintances. Josef would surely wonder about that. “Does a prison cell count as a hermitage now?”
“How dare you?” cried Josef, stepping between us.
Jannoula lay a hand on his elbow. “Please, Your Grace. I can defend myself from unbelievers.”
“I’ve seen miracles,” said Josef stoutly. “I’ve glimpsed the light of Heaven blazing around her, you soulless fiend.”
I met Jannoula’s eye and held it; she hadn’t told the new Regent that she was my fellow soulless fiend, it seemed. I had the advantage. I said, “It’s true that one of my parents was a dragon.” I pointed at Josef’s holy hermit and her walleyed sidekick, Ingar the Librarian. “It’s true of them as well.”
“You lie!” cried Josef.
I held my tongue, waiting to see how Jannoula would play this, trying to glean something of her purpose from how she treated the new Regent. Her face was inscrutable, a mask.
It was Ingar who broke the silence. “Is this not glorious, Blessed?” he said in Samsamese, clasping his fat hands together. “This is what we’ve been waiting for, the others of our kind.”
Josef turned the tiniest bit green. He swiveled slowly to face Jannoula and said, “Explain yourself.”
Her face became the picture of mournful contrition. I knew that face well; my heart hardened against it. She bowed her head and said, “Seraphina tells the truth, my lord. I … I did not wish you to know. I feared you would reject me, as so many have before. I was imprisoned for what I am, by people who could not see beyond it.”
She undid the silver buttons along the sides of her sleeves and then rolled the material back from her forearms. Even though I knew what I would see, the pity and horror of that day came back to me in a rush; apparently my heart was not as hard as I’d believed. Josef stared at the knotted, scarred skin where she’d been burned.
“They peeled off my scales,” she said softly, “and sealed the wounds with white-hot iron.”
I clapped a hand to my mouth. She’d never told me that part.
Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Heaven pitied me, and I lost consciousness. That’s when I saw the Saints, who spoke to me and blessed me.”
Josef’s sharp face had softened into sorrow. He was moved by her story and looked more sympathetic—dare I say human?—than I’d ever seen him. As I watched, his expression changed again; his eyes widened in awe and his mouth fell open. He gasped and dropped to his knees, his gaze transfixed on the air around and above Jannoula.
Ye gods, said Abdo, plainly awed. Her mind-fire is … it’s a conflagration.
Of course I could see nothing. Is she manipulating his mind?
Abdo tilted his head sideways, studying the situation. Not the way you mean; she’s not hooked into him the way she’s hooked into Ingar or me. It’s something else.
“Forgive me, Blessed,” said Josef, touching the hem of her gown. “Clearly, the Saints chose you in spite of your heritage.”
“Or because of it,” she said, eyeing him narrowly. “To teach you a lesson.”
“Then I will endeavor to be humble and learn it,” he said. He bowed his head and clasped his hands. “As St. Kathanda wrote, ‘Even the most grotesque insect may have divine purpose; gauge not Heaven’s favor by appearance alone.’ ”
This had passed beyond ridiculous. “St. Daan in a pan!” I cried. “You can’t possibly believe she’s—”
“Enough of your doubting and misdirection, Seraphina,” said Josef, getting to his feet and glowering. “Don’t imagine I consider you blessed through association.”
“Heaven forbid,” I said, folding my arms.
“It still remains what to do with you,” he said. “I can’t let you report back to your Queen. You will hand over every quigutl device you have.” When I balked, he added, “I won’t hesitate to have my guards strip you.”
I fished out my charm necklace. To my regret, the St. Capiti medallion Kiggs had given me was strung there with the two thniks. Josef took the chain, his eye scanning my person for anything else. “Your ring,” he said. I handed over Orma’s pinkie ring. He examined it, pinching and prodding the pearl, and I cringed, expecting Orma’s voice to crackle forth at any moment.
Nothing happened, which was both a relief and a disappointment.
Josef handed the ring back. A search of Abdo turned up nothing. “You’re my prisoners,” said the Regent. “Any attempt to contact your Queen or her spies will result in severe—”
“Forgive me, Lord Regent,” said Jannoula, raising her eyebrows mildly, “but you cannot keep Seraphina prisoner. She needs to go to Porphyry.”
Josef stared incredulously. I’m sure I looked no less flabbergasted.
“It’s holy work,” Jannoula insisted. “The Saints tell me not to detain her.”
Josef stood straighter, indignation written in his eyes, and I found myself hoping his truculent nature might prevail—not that I wished to stay locked up in Samsam, but I liked even less how powerful Jannoula’s influence seemed to be. Surely there were lines she couldn’t cross, however dazzlingly she glowed.
“We will discuss this in private, Blessed,” said Josef. His voice held a warning, but I suspected he’d already lost. Jannoula’s lips curled into her sly smile. Josef shouted, “Guards! Escort these two to rooms in the east corridor, for now, and keep them under watch.” The two who’d accompanied Abdo and me through the city stepped up, and two more from the foyer, absurdly carrying halberds indoors, entered the throne room behind them. Josef gave us over to their supervision.
As Abdo and I were escorted out, I glanced at Jannoula. She stared back intently, a calculating light in her eyes.
Abdo and I were put in separate rooms. My accommodations were quite comfortable, except for the guard at the door. I paced the hearthrug for hours, wondering what would become of us and lamenting the loss of my thniks. Glisselda and Kiggs needed to know about Josef and Jannoula. I finally crawled into the four-poster bed and soothed myself by settling my garden. No sooner had I fallen asleep, or so it
“Up,” she said sharply, giving me a pinch. “You need to be on the ship to Porphyry before this headstrong Regent changes his mind again.”
I stumbled into my clothes and followed her out. Ingar waited in the dim hallway, carrying a travel pack of his own, his gaze vague behind square spectacles. Beside him waited Abdo.
Jannoula took my arm; I cringed at her touch, but dared not pull away. I let her lead me up the corridor and down a spiral stair, into the lower parts of the castle, stealing glances at her all the way. She was a little shorter than me, now that I’d grown to full height, but was no less intimidating for that; her very presence seemed to shrink me, the weight of our history pulling me into myself.
Was she angry with me? Her fine-featured face let nothing slip.
We exited the castle through the harborside gate, and the cold wind off the water woke me fully. Jannoula led us under the pale pink sky, along the harbor wall, down slippery stone steps toward a dinghy, tied to an enormous iron ring. A grizzled oarsman was already aboard, asleep with his oiled rain hat over his eyes; he startled at Jannoula’s shout, knocking one of his oars overboard. “In, quickly, all of you,” she said, handing Abdo aboard. Ingar leaped across the dark channel with surprising agility.
“Ingar’s coming to Porphyry?” I asked.
“I’m sending him to help you,” said Jannoula, rubbing her hands to warm them.
“Why don’t you come, too?” I asked. Not that I wished her to, but it seemed preferable to leaving her here, persuading Josef to who knew what.
She didn’t answer, but I suspected I knew why. Abdo had mentioned the ityasaari priest Paulos Pende untangling her mind-fire from the others. The Porphyrians already knew who she was, and didn’t like her much.
I couldn’t leave with this many unanswered questions. “What do you hope to accomplish by ingratiating yourself with Josef?”
Her nostrils flared. “I’m looking out for our interests, don’t worry,” she said, hugging herself against the stiff breeze. “This Regent is a little … unpredictable. I had no idea he’d want to detain you, but of course I can’t allow it. You’ve got to finish gathering everyone. Ingar will help you stay on task and not let your awful uncle distract you.”