Read Online Seraphina by Rachel Hartman - Free Book Online

why?”
    I recited along with the rest of the chorus, though it turned my insides cold: “Dragons have no souls!”
    “Exactly!” said Viridius, waving his gout-mangled fist in the air. “They cannot do this one thing—glorious, Heavensent, coming naturally to us—and it is up to us to rub their faces in it!”
    The choristers gave a little “Hurrah!” before disbanding. I let them flow out around me; Viridius would expect me to stay and speak with him. Of course, seven or eight singers had pressing questions. They stood around his gout couch, fondling his ego as if he were the Pashega of Ziziba. Viridius accepted their praise as matter-of-factly as if they were handing back their choir robes.
    “Seraphina!” boomed the master, turning his attention to me at last. “I heard complimentary words about your Invocation. I wish I could have been there. This infernal illness makes a prison of my very body.”
    I fingered the cuff of my left sleeve, understanding him better than he imagined.
    “Get the ink, maidy,” he said. “I want to cross things off the list.”
    I fetched writing implements and the roster of tasks he had dictated to me when I first began working for him. There were only nine days left until General Comonot, Ardmagar of All Dragonkind, arrived; there was to be a welcoming concert and ball the first evening, followed a few days later by the Treaty Eve festivities, which had to last all night. I’d been working for two weeks, but there was plenty left to do.
    I read the list aloud, item by item; he interrupted me at will. He cried, “The stage is finished! Cross it off!” and then later, “Why haven’t you spoken with the wine steward yet? Easiest job on the list! Did I become court composer through masterful procrastination? Hardly!”
    We arrived at the item I’d been dreading: auditions. Viridius narrowed his watery eyes and said, “Yes, how are those going, Maid Dombegh?”
    He knew perfectly well how they were going; apparently he wanted to watch me sweat. I kept my voice steady: “I had to cancel most of them due to Prince Rufus’s inconveniently timed demise—dine he with the Saints at Heaven’s table. I’ve rescheduled several for—”
    “Auditions should never have been put off until the last minute!” he shouted. “I wanted the performers confirmed a month ago!”
    “With respect, master, I wasn’t even hired a month ago.”
    “Do you think I don’t know that?” His mouth worked up and down; he stared at his bandaged hands. “Forgive me,” he said at last, his voice rough. “It is a bitter thing not to be able to do everything you are accustomed to. Die while you’re young, Seraphina. Tertius had the right idea.”
    I did not know how to respond to that. I said, “It’s not as dire as it seems. Each of your many protégés will attend; the program is half filled already.”
    He nodded thoughtfully at the mention of his students; the man had more protégés than most people have friends. It was nearly time for Princess Glisselda’s lesson, so I corked the ink and began hastily cleaning my pen with a rag. Viridius said, “When can you meet with my megaharmonium fellow?”
    “Who?” I said, placing the pen in a box with the others.
    He rolled his red-rimmed eyes. “Explain why I write you notes if you don’t read them. The designer of the megaharmonium wants to meet you.” Apparently I continued to look blank, because he spoke loudly and slowly, as if I were stupid: “The enormous instrument we’re building in the south transept of St. Gobnait’s? The me-ga-har-mo-ni-um?”
    I recalled the construction I’d seen in the cathedral, but not the note, which I must have overlooked. “It’s a musical instrument? It looks like a machine.”
    “It’s both!” he cried, his eyes alight with glee. “And it’s nearly finished. I funded half of it myself. It’s a fitting project for an old man on his way out of this life. A legacy. It will make a sound like