"We can dispense with some formality," he said when I rose, his eyebrows raised in plain amus.e.m.e.nt. He put a hand to his crimson doublet, right over his heart, and said earnestly, "Right now I'm merely Captain of the Guard. Half courtesy is adequate, and you may call me Captain Kiggs-or simply Kiggs, if you will. Everyone else does."

"Princess Glisselda calls you Lucian," I said breezily, covering my fl.u.s.ter.

He gave a short laugh. "Selda's an exception to everything, as you may have noticed. My own grandmother calls me Kiggs. Would you gainsay the Queen?"

"I wouldn't dare," I said, trying to echo his levity. "Not about something this important."

"I should think not." He gestured grandly toward the steps up the bridge. "If you've no objection, let us walk while we talk; I have to get back to Castle Orison."

I followed, unsure what he wished to speak with me about, but recalling that Orma had given me a task. I put a hand to the purse at my waist, but the little lizard figurine made me anxious, as if it might pop its head out without permission.

How would this prince react if he saw it? Perhaps I could just tell him the story.

A guildsman of the town watch stood on the bal.u.s.trade as Lars had done, lighting lamps in antic.i.p.ation of sunset; laughing merchants dismantled their stalls. Prince-Kiggs strolled through the thinning market crowd, perfectly at ease among them, as if he were simply another townsman. I started up the gently sloping Royal Road, but he gestured toward a narrow street, the more direct route. The road, not wide to begin with, narrowed even further above us; the upper stories cantilevered over the street, as if the houses were leaning together to gossip. A woman on one side might have borrowed a lump of b.u.t.ter from her neighbor on the other without leaving home. The looming buildings squeezed the sky down to a rapidly darkening ribbon.

When the noise of the marketplace had faded and only the sound of his boots echoed up the street, Lucian Kiggs said, "I wanted to thank you for your intervention with the saarantrai the other evening."

It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about. Dame Okra beating me with a book had rather eclipsed the other events of that day.

He continued: "No one else dared speak so plainly to Selda-not even I. I suffered the same paralysis she did, as if the problem might solve itself if we all refused to acknowledge it. But of course, Selda says you know a great deal about dragons. It seems she was right."

"You're very kind to say so," I said evenly, giving no hint of the anxious knot his words produced in my chest. I did not like him a.s.sociating me with dragons. He was too sharp.

"It raises questions, of course," he said, as if he'd read my mind. "Selda said your knowledge comes from reading the treaty with your father. Maybe some of it does, but surely not all. Your comfort with saarantrai-your ability to talk to them without breaking out in a cold sweat-that's not something one gains from studying the treaty. I've read the treaty; it makes you wary of them, rather, because it's as full of holes as a Ducanahan cheese."

My anxious knot tightened. I reminded myself that the cheese of Ducana province was famously riddled with holes; he was making a simple a.n.a.logy, not some veiled reference to Amaline Ducanahan, my fictional human mother.

Kiggs looked up toward the purpling sky, his hands clasped behind his back like one of my pedantic old tutors, and said, "My guess is that it has something to do with your dragon teacher. Orma, was it?"

I relaxed a little. "Indeed. I've known him forever; he's practically family."

"That makes sense. You've grown easy with him."

"He's taught me a lot about dragons," I offered. "I ask him questions all the time; I am curious by nature." It felt nice to be able to tell this prince something true.

The street was so steep here that it had steps; he hopped up ahead of me like a mountain sheep. Speculus lanterns hung along this block; broken mirrors behind the candles cast dazzling flecks of light onto the street and walls. Beside them hung Speculus chimes, which Kiggs set ringing. We murmured the customary words beneath the bright cacophony: "Scatter darkness, scatter silence!"

Now seemed a reasonable moment to bring up Orma's concern, since we had just been talking about him. I opened my mouth but didn't get any further.

"Who's your psalter Saint?" asked the prince with no preamble.

I had been mentally arranging what I should say about Orma, so for a moment I could not answer him.

He looked back at me, his dark eyes shining in the fragmented lantern light. "You called yourself curious. We curious types tend to be children of one of three Saints. Look." He reached into his doublet, extracting a silver medallion on a chain; it glinted in the light. "I belong to St. Clare, patron of perspicacity. You don't appear obsessed with mystery, though, or social enough to be one of St. Willibald's. I'm going to guess St. Capiti-the life of the mind!"

I blinked at him in astonishment. True, my psalter had fallen open to St. Yirtrudis, the heretic, but St. Capiti had been my subst.i.tute Saint. It was close enough. "How did you-"

"It's in my nature to notice things," he said. "Both Selda and I have noticed your intelligence."

I suddenly found myself warm from the exertion of climbing and cold at this reminder that he was so observant. I needed to be careful. His friendliness notwithstanding, the prince and I could not be friends. I had so many things to hide, and it was in his nature to seek.

My right hand had wormed as far as it could under the binding of my left sleeve and was fingering my scaly wrist. That was exactly the sort of unconscious habit he would notice; I forced myself to stop.

Kiggs asked after my father; I said something noncommittal. He solicited my opinion of Lady Corongi's pedagogy; I expressed a small amount of polite concern. He gave his own opinion of the matter, in blunt and unflattering terms; I kept my mouth shut.

The road flattened out, and soon we pa.s.sed through the barbican of Castle Orison. The guards saluted; Kiggs inclined his head in return. I began to relax; we were almost home and this interview was surely over. We crunched across the gravel yard of Stone Court, not speaking. Kiggs paused at the steps and turned toward me with a smile. "Your mother must have been very musical."

The box of maternal memories gave a sickening twitch in my head, as if it would have liked to answer him. I tried to get away without speaking, with just a curtsy. It came out poorly: my arms were gripped so tightly around my middle that I could barely bend.

"She was called Amaline Ducanahan, right?" he said, scrutinizing my face. "I looked her up when I was young, intrigued by your father's mysterious first marriage, the one no one had heard of until you popped out like a cuckoo at his second. I was there. I heard you sing."

Every part of me had turned to ice except my hammering heart and the memory box, which bucked like a colt in my mind.

"It was my first mystery: who was that singing girl, and why was Counselor Dombegh so very embarra.s.sed when she appeared?" he said, his eyes distant with memory. His silent laugh manifested as a cloud of vapor in the air, and he shook his head, marveling at his youthful obsession. "I couldn't let it go until I'd uncovered the truth. I may have been hoping you were illegitimate, like me, but no, everything was in order. Congratulations!"

Everything would have been in impeccable order, surely; my father's paranoia had omitted no detail-marriage contract, birth and death certificates, letters, receipts....

"Have you been back to Ducana province?" Kiggs asked out of nowhere.

"Why?" I'd lost the thread of his thought. I felt like a crossbow being drawn: everything he said wound the cranequin a little further.

"To see her stone. Your father had a nice one made. I didn't go myself," he added hastily. "I was nine years old. One of Uncle Rufus's men had family at Trowebridge, so I asked him. He made a rubbing. I might still have it, if you'd like it."

There was no answer I could give. I was so horrified to learn that he'd investigated my family history that I was afraid of what I might say. How close had he come? I was wound to full tension; I was dangerous now. I waved the last white flag I had: "I don't wish to talk about my mother. Please excuse me."

His brow furrowed in concern; he could tell I was upset, but not why. He guessed exactly wrong: "It's hard that she left you so young. Mine did too. But she did not live in vain. What a wonderful legacy she left you!"

Legacy? Up my arm, around my waist, and scattershot through my head? The hooting memory box, which I feared would burst open at any moment?

"She gave you an ability to touch people's very souls," he said kindly. "What is it like to be so talented?"

"What is it like to be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" I blurted.

I clapped a hand to my mouth, horrified. I had felt the shot coming; I hadn't realized the bow was loaded with this very quarrel, perfectly calibrated to hit him hardest. What part of me had been studying him, stockpiling knowledge as ammunition?

His open expression slammed shut; suddenly he looked like a stranger, his gaze unfamiliar and cold. He drew himself up in a defensive posture. I staggered back a step as if he'd pushed me.

"What's it like? It's like this," he said, gesturing angrily at the s.p.a.ce between us. "Almost all the time."

Then he was gone, as if the wind had whisked him away. I stood in the courtyard alone, realizing that I had failed to speak with him about Orma. My annoyance at forgetting paled before everything else that was clamoring to be felt, so I clung to it tightly, like a stick of driftwood in a tempestuous sea. Somehow, my aching legs carried me indoors.

I took comfort in the normalcy and routine of my garden that evening. I lingered a long time at the edge of Loud Lad's ravine, watching him build a tent out of cattails and Pandowdy's shed skin. Loud Lad, like Miss Fusspots, looked sharper and more detailed now that I had seen him in the real world; his fingers were long and nimble, the curve of his shoulders sad.

Fruit Bat was still the only grotesque who looked back at me. Despite my having asked him to stay in his grove, he came and sat beside me at the edge of the gorge, his skinny brown legs dangling over the edge. I found I didn't mind. I considered taking his hands, but just thinking about it was overwhelming. I had enough to worry about right now. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Besides," I told him, as if we'd been having a conversation, "the way things are going, I have only to wait for you to drop in on me."

He did not speak, but his eyes gleamed.

The next morning, I dawdled over washing and oiling my scales. I dreaded facing Princess Glisselda's lesson; surely Kiggs would have spoken to her about me. When I finally arrived at the south solar, however, she wasn't there. I sat at the harpsichord and played to comfort myself; the timbre of that instrument is, to me, the musical equivalent of a warm bath.

Today it was cold.

A messenger arrived with a message from the princess, canceling the lesson without explanation. I stared at the note a long time, as if the handwriting could tell me anything about her mood, but I wasn't even sure she'd written it herself.

Was I being punished for insulting her cousin? It seemed likely, and I deserved it, of course. I spent the rest of the day trying not to think about it. I went about my (sulking) duties to Viridius, drilling the symphonia on the (pouting) songs of state, supervising construction of the (glowering) stage in the great hall, finalizing the lineup for the (self-pitying) welcome ceremony, now just two days away. I threw myself (stewing) into work to stave off the (moping) feeling that descended when I stopped.

Evening fell. I made for the north tower and dinner. The quickest route from Viridius's suite led past the chambers of state: the Queen's study, the throne room, the council chamber. I always pa.s.sed quickly; it was the sort of place my father would haunt. This evening, almost as if he'd heard me thinking about him, Papa stepped out of the council chamber and into my path, deep in conversation with the Queen herself.

He saw me-Papa and I have a cat's-whisker sensitivity to each other-but he pretended he didn't. I was in no mood for the humiliation of being pointed out to him by the Queen in the belief he hadn't noticed me, so I ducked down a little side corridor and waited just on the other side of a statue of Queen Belondweg. I was not hidden, exactly, but out of the way enough that I wouldn't be noticed by anyone who wasn't looking for me. Other dignitaries streamed out of the council chamber; Dame Okra Carmine, Lady Corongi, and Prince Lucian Kiggs all pa.s.sed my corridor without looking down it.

A merry voice at my back said, "Who are we spying on?"

I jumped. Princess Glisselda beamed at me. "There's a secret door out of the council room. I'm evading that withered courgette, Lady Corongi. Has she pa.s.sed?"

I nodded, shocked to find Princess Glisselda her usual impervious, friendly self. She was practically dancing with delight, her golden curls bouncing around her face. "I'm sorry I had to miss my lesson today, Phina, but we've been dreadfully busy. We just had the most exciting council ever, and I looked very clever, largely due to you."

"That's ... that's wonderful. What's happened?"

"Two knights came to the castle today!" She could barely contain herself; her hands fluttered about like two excitable small birds. They lit briefly on my left arm, but I managed not to cringe visibly. "They claim to have spotted a rogue dragon, flying around the countryside in its natural shape! Isn't that awful?"

Awful enough to have her grinning ear to ear. She was a strange little princess.

I found myself fingering my scaly wrist; I hastily crossed my arms. "Prince Rufus's head went missing," I half whispered, thinking out loud.

"As if it had been bitten off, yes," said Princess Glisselda, nodding vigorously.

"Does the council suspect a connection between this dragon and his death?"

"Grandmamma doesn't like the notion, but it seems unavoidable, does it not?" she said, bouncing on her heels. "We're breaking for dinner now, but we'll take the rest of the evening to figure out what to do next."

I was fingering my wrist again. I clamped my right hand under my armpit. Stop that, hand. You're banished.

"But I haven't told you the best part," said Glisselda, putting a hand to her chest as if she were about to make a speech. "I, myself, addressed the council and told them dragons view us as very interesting c.o.c.kroaches, and that maybe some of them intended the peace as a ruse! Maybe they secretly plan to burn the c.o.c.kroaches' house down!"

I felt my jaw drop. Maybe this was why her governess didn't tell her anything: give her an inch and she took it all the way to the moon. "H-how did that go over?"

"Everyone was astonished. Lady Corongi stammered something stupid, about the dragons being defeated and demoralized, but that only made her look a dunce. I believe we made the rest of them think!"

"We?" St. Masha's stone. Everyone would think I was giving the princess mad ideas. I'd made the c.o.c.kroach a.n.a.logy, yes, but the house of burning bugs-to say nothing of the peace being a ruse!-was her own extrapolation.

"Well, I didn't credit you, if that's what you're hoping," she sniffed.

"No, no, that's fine," I said hastily. "You never need to credit me!"

Princess Glisselda looked suddenly stern. "I wouldn't say never. You're smart. That's useful. There are people who would appreciate that quality. In fact," she said, leaning in, "there are people who do, and you do yourself no favors alienating them."

I stared at her. She meant Kiggs, there was no mistaking it. I gave full courtesy and she smiled again; her elfin face wasn't made for sternness. She skipped off, leaving me to my thoughts and my regrets.

I mulled over her news on the way to supper. A rogue dragon in the countryside was unprecedented. Whose responsibility was it? I knew the treaty well, but that specific question wasn't answered anywhere. On the Goreddi side, we would doubtless try to make the dragons deal with it-and yet how could they, without sending dragons in their natural shape to apprehend the rogue? That was unacceptable. But then what?

We relied heavily upon dragon cooperation in the enforcement of the treaty. If even a few of them refused to accept it anymore, what recourse had we but the help of other dragons? Wouldn't that effectively invite them to battle each other in our skies?

My steps slowed. There wasn't just the one rogue dragon. My own grandfather, banished General Imlann, had attended the funeral and sent Orma that coin. Could there be illegal, unregistered dragons all around, eschewing the bell and blending into crowds?

Or was there just the one after all? Could the knights have seen Imlann?

Could my own grandfather have killed Prince Rufus?

The idea made my stomach knot; I almost turned away from dinner, but I took a deep breath and willed myself forward. Dining hall gossip was a chance to learn more about the rogue, if more was known.

I crossed the long dining room to the musicians' table and squeezed onto a bench. The lads were already deep in conversation; they barely noticed I was there. "Twenty years underground-are the old codgers even sane?" said Guntard around a mouthful of blancmange. "They probably saw a heron against the sun and took it for a dragon!"

"They want to stop Comonot's coming by stirring up trouble, like the Sons," said a drummer, picking raisins out of his olio. "Can't blame 'em. Does it just about make the hairs on your neck stand up, dragons walking among us like they was people?"

Everyone turned in unsubtle unison to peer at the saars' table, where the lowest-ranking members of the dragon emba.s.sy took dinner together. There were eight of them tonight, sitting like they had rods up their spines, hardly speaking. Servants shunned that corner; one saarantras returned the serving bowls to the kitchen if they needed a refill. They ate bread and root vegetables and drank only barley water, like abstemious monks or certain austere Samsamese.

A scrawny sackbutist leaned in close. "How do we know they all wear the bell? One could sit among us, at this very table, and we'd have nary an inkling!"

My musicians eyeballed each other suspiciously. I conscientiously followed suit, but curiosity had seized me. I asked, "What happened to the knights in the end? Were they released back into the wild?"

"Banished men, and likely troublemakers?" scoffed Guntard. "They're locked in the eastern bas.e.m.e.nt, the proper donjon being full of wine casks for some significant state visit coming up."

"Sweet St. Siucre, which one might that be?" someone asked with a laugh.

"The one where your mother beds a saar and lays an egg. Omelette for all!"

I laughed mechanically along with everyone else.

The conversation turned to the concert schedule, and suddenly all inquiries were directed at me. I'd had an idea, however, and was too preoccupied with it to focus on their questions. I referred everyone to the schedule posted on the rehearsal room door, handed my trencher to the little dogs under the table, and rose to take my leave.

"Seraphina, wait!" cried Guntard. "Everyone-how were we going to thank Mistress Seraphina for all the work she's doing?" He blew a pitch whistle while his fellows hastily swallowed their mouthfuls and washed them down with wine.

To the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the rest of the dining hall, the saarantrai alone excepted, they began to sing: O Mistress Seraphina, Why won't you marry me?

From first I ever seen ya, I knew you were for me!

It's not just that you're sa.s.sy, It's not just that you're wise, It's that you poke Viridius In his piggy little eyes!

"Hurrah!" cried all my musicians.

"Boldly taking on Viridius, so we don't have to!" cried a lone smarty-breeches.

Everyone burst out laughing. I smiled as I waved farewell-a real smile-and kept grinning all the way to the east wing. It had occurred to me that these knights might be able to describe the dragon in enough detail that Orma could identify it as Imlann. Then I would have real, concrete evidence for Lucian Kiggs, more than just a coin, a dragon's worry, and the vaguest of vague descriptions.

Then perhaps I might work up enough courage to speak to him again. I owed him an apology, at the very least.

A single guard manned the top of the eastern bas.e.m.e.nt steps. I stood a little straighter and wiped the leftover grin off my face; I needed all my serious concentration if I was to pull this off. I tried to make my steps ring out confidently as I approached. "Excuse me," I said. "Has Captain Kiggs arrived yet?"