Storm Glass

by Jeff Wheeler

  That he was even there, in the room, filled her with wonder and gratitude. His face had become a mask of controlled rage battling with intense relief. When he saw her, staring at him in wonder, he smiled and sighed. Then he marched over to where Lieutenant Staunton was trying to recover.

  “V-vice Admiral!” Staunton stammered.

  Fitzroy jerked the butt of the arquebus and slammed it into Staunton’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. “I know all, Staunton,” Fitzroy said with fury. “I’ve been chasing you down like a stag in the hunt all day. Your alliance with Mrs. Pullman is over. She’s been dismissed from my household, permanently. If you had come to me or tried to warn me, this would have turned out very different for you. But your ambition blinded you to the risks. How dare you.” Fitzroy shook his head, looking as if he was only barely restraining himself from striking the man again with the arquebus. “Pray the Law saves you. I will be prosecuting you myself.”

  Staunton’s eyes were wide, and he trembled with misery and buried his face in his hands.

  “Raj Sarin, take them out of my sight,” Fitzroy said gruffly.

  “With pleasure,” the Bhikhu replied, and began corralling the officers away.

  Cettie ran up to Fitzroy and hugged him fiercely, pressing her tears against his familiar coat. She sobbed without words, squeezing him harder and harder.

  “How is your friend?” Fitzroy asked, tousling her hair. She pulled away, looking up at him with newfound misery. He handed the arquebus to her and stooped over Joses. He leaned down and put his ear against the boy’s mouth.

  “Well, he lives . . . if barely,” he said after a moment’s concentration. “His name is Joses, is it not?”

  Cettie nodded quickly, staring at him. Fitzroy wasn’t a doctor. What could he do?

  “Close your eyes, please,” Fitzroy said. “This is one of the Mysteries.”

  She obeyed without hesitation. After a moment, she heard Fitzroy say in a clear, calm voice, “Joses of the Fells, I gift you with healing. Your wound is severe, but I grant you your life. Blood and sinew, mend as one. Make it so.”

  The feeling that came into the small upstairs room was one of peace and gentle power. Cettie felt the throb against her mind again, but there was no stone channeling it this time. A queer sensation that all would be well filled her bosom. Of course it would all be well.

  Fitzroy had found her.

  Again.

  The wind blew through Cettie’s hair as the zephyr streaked through the sky. She would never grow tired of that feeling. Joses was wrapped in his blanket, a silly grin spread on his mouth. He was weak still, but he was awake again and improving. For the first time in his life, his belly was full.

  Fitzroy finished consulting with the pilot, nodding and clapping the man on the back, before he returned to where Cettie and Joses were sitting near the prow.

  “We should be at Fog Willows soon,” Fitzroy said with a smile. Cettie looked eagerly at him, but he shook his head. “We will not be there long, however. Just long enough to set Joses in a bed to rest and to collect some things. You cannot stay at Fog Willows.”

  Cettie stared at him in horror, her heart beginning to ache. Tears sprang into her eyes, but she struggled to hold them back. Perhaps she deserved to be sent away. She had brought evil to Fitzroy’s house.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “No, Cettie. I’m not sending you away. You must start school to learn the Mysteries. I thought we could wait two more years, that you would be safe at Fog Willows until then.” He shook his head. “But you need to learn how to protect yourself from the beings that haunt you. To be given power over them. And I need to take you there to remove the binding that afflicts your tongue.”

  She felt such a surge of relief that she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest.

  He hugged her back and then pulled slightly away. “I must give the credit to Raj Sarin,” Fitzroy said, gazing back at the dozing Bhikhu. “Before we left for Lockhaven, he was concerned that something was wrong. You had not been yourself. Neither had Anna. He was concerned that both of you were being mistreated by Mrs. Pullman. I’ve come to rely on Raj Sarin’s wisdom.” He gave the other man a kindly look. “I also harbored concerns that the prime minister might have a hand in this, that he might try some trickery to win our invention for himself. So I made it appear to everyone that I was obeying his summons. But we returned shortly after leaving Fog Willows. That was when I discovered the full extent of Mrs. Pullman’s treachery. I reclaimed the keys from her, and the manor revealed to me the things she has kept hidden from me these past years. Not only has she tortured you and Anna and my servants, but she is also responsible for my wife’s malaise.” His face hardened with disapproval. “She will be there when we land but has been relieved of her duties. I’ve summoned Sir Jordan’s wife to fill the role of keeper of the house. Lady Maren was given the keys while I set off to look for you, young lady. Without them, Mrs. Pullman has no power at Fog Willows. I was never far behind you, yet it would have been enough time for you to disappear. It’s a miracle I found you at all.”

  She sighed with relief—Fitzroy finally knew the truth, and Mrs. Pullman could no longer control her. How dearly she wished she could speak to him and ask him questions.

  “I thought to go after the one who had taken you away,” Fitzroy continued. “I followed Staunton’s zephyr from a distance. I wanted to search for you myself, but I felt I’d find you faster if I kept my eye trained on him.”

  “Sir?” Joses asked, then coughed into his hand.

  “Yes, lad?”

  “Why is it that Cettie can’t speak? What did they do to her?”

  “It’s not an easy question to answer. And I cannot tell you in full because it is part of the Mysteries. Apparently, Mrs. Pullman is more adept at the Mysteries of Thought than I was ever aware. I don’t know how it is done, but information can be recorded and sealed in such a way that it prevents someone else from uttering it. The power is even strong enough to remove someone’s voice, which is quite remarkable for anyone to accomplish. It’s a dangerous thing and prohibited under normal circumstances. What Mrs. Pullman practiced on the servants of Fog Willows . . . and on Cettie . . . is not an approved use of the Mysteries. And she did it under my authority, which heightens the crime. While she claims her motives were honorable, her means to that end were not. Thankfully, the master of the school Stephen and Phinia attend is knowledgeable about these matters and can remove such a binding. She will speak again soon.”

  He rested his hand on Cettie’s shoulder. “The school I’m taking you to is an ancient one. It is also a well-guarded secret. There are no roads that lead there. One can only arrive by sky ship and . . . well, another means. It is the place where the first empress, Maia, was taught after her father disinherited her. That was before the empire, before she set up the current system of government. Before there were flying manors. It is where I studied, and it is where you will be studying. The school is called Muirwood Abbey, and we will go there this evening.”

  “Approaching Fog Willows,” said the pilot from his perch.

  “I think Cettie would want you to see this, Joses,” Fitzroy said. The young man clutched the blanket to his chest and winced as he rose. Cettie saw the look of wonder on his face as they descended toward the glowing manor still shining from the various stone faces hidden behind opaque glass. She felt that same emotion as she looked down at it . . . at her home. Joses would be fully healed there. She trusted Fitzroy to see to his protection.

  As they came to the landing platform, Cettie saw Lady Maren and Anna waiting down below, waving frantically. Behind them, she saw Mrs. Pullman surrounded by two officers of Law and Mr. Sloan, the advocate. The old woman’s face was a mask, but Cettie could sense the depths of her suffering as the zephyr hovered lower. Mrs. Pullman was in anguish as she watched her master return to the manor with the child she hated.

  Finally, after sending so many servants down to meet thei
r fate in the Fells, she herself would be sent there in disgrace to face a magistrate for her crimes.

  Cettie gazed at her, feeling just a little glimmer of pity. For all the harm she had done, Mrs. Pullman had been her own worst enemy. Then she looked up to the keeper’s tower and saw that all the lights were out.

  SERA

  CHAPTER THIRTY–EIGHT

  SERAPHIN FITZEMPRESS

  The sunrise over Muirwood Abbey was spectacular. The sky was full of clouds, and the sun made them shine in a brilliant array of color. Ever since Sera had arrived, her world had expanded, and she thrilled at the possibility of studying the Mysteries and earning her right to become the empress. Her parents had kept so much from her; her world had been so limited.

  “Oh, look, that is Fitzroy’s tempest moored over there,” Durrant said as he walked side by side with her. “I thought he was at Lockhaven?”

  Sera did indeed recognize the ship from its long-ago visit to her manor. Excitement shot through her. She had always longed to meet Lord Fitzroy and his young ward.

  “He must have arrived last night, for I don’t recall seeing it yesterday,” Sera said.

  “Those of the ministries rarely come here anymore. Perhaps the Aldermaston of Muirwood invited Fitzroy to celebrate his new invention. He is going to be a very rich man, Sera. Or so I’ve been told. You should seek his goodwill.”

  “He is also a very honorable man,” Sera said.

  “He is that, of course,” said Durrant wryly. “But it was the ‘very rich’ part I was referring to.” He pursed his lips. “No one has rivaled Pavenham Sky in a long time. The winds are changing, Sera. I can smell it in the air.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think you mean the smell of the lavender bushes,” Sera said with a smile.

  “They make me sneeze, unfortunately,” he quipped. “No, things are changing. Your father’s attempts to delegitimize you have been put to an end by the privy council.”

  And Sera was relieved that they had finally intervened. They had warned her father that if he tried to exercise the deed on her, they would remove him from power as prince regent and appoint one of his brothers instead. That threat had cowed him in short order. On the council’s command, she had been sent to Muirwood to begin studying the Mysteries so that she could at least have an opportunity of fulfilling her destiny.

  “I’m grateful they did,” Sera said. “And grateful for your help on my behalf.”

  “You can thank me when you become empress, I’m sure,” he drawled. “Oh, look, the family is leaving the Aldermaston’s manor. That building has stood there for generations. I’ve heard the kitchen itself is five hundred years old!”

  “It’s a quaint little building. But I like all the dormitories in the village that lead up to the abbey. The small stone houses and chimneys. Where all the students live.”

  “Yes, the dormitories—Vicar’s Close,” said Durrant. “But you won’t be staying there, naturally. You will be staying at the Aldermaston’s manor. You are, after all, royalty.”

  Sera pursed her lips. “But I don’t want to be set apart. I want to live at Muirwood like all the other learners.”

  Durrant winced. “You are rather young still, Princess.”

  “I’m not asking for your permission, Mr. Durrant,” Sera said, adopting her authoritative voice. “I’m telling you what to do. I want to live in Vicar’s Close. Make it happen.”

  He gave her an arch look. “So you have been listening to me. I’m astonished. Whatever will happen next? Ah, as I see the Aldermaston just ahead, I will broach the subject with him. And, of course, introduce you to Vice Admiral—”

  “Brant Fitzroy,” Sera said, interrupting him. “I know his name already, Durrant. Don’t be tedious.”

  “I try never to be tedious, Your Highness,” he replied, and gave her an approving look.

  As they approached the family, Sera felt a little strange intruding on the scene. It was the kind of moment she had never experienced with her own parents. Fitzroy and his wife, Lady Maren, were holding hands and smiling as they watched their children. Their son was rather handsome, Sera admitted to herself, but he lacked Will’s warmth, his drive to rise above his father’s fall. The eldest sister was talking fast and playfully swatting at her brother’s arm. There was another young man beside Fitzroy’s eldest who was plain and stood slightly to the side of the gathering. He wasn’t family. But her interest was more focused on the youngest two . . . one of whom was Cettie of the Fells. She was the darker-haired girl, the one who appeared more calm and tranquil. She had a bruise on her cheek. She was hugging her sister, the small, blond-haired one, with loving tenderness. Sera couldn’t remember the girl’s name, but she felt a pang of jealousy for being deprived of siblings.

  The Aldermaston was a wizened man with a frizzy gray beard, which was the size of a small wolf, and a crown of equally gray hair on each side. He wore a set of spectacles high on his nose and a dark gray vest that buttoned up to his throat beneath his coat. Sera would never want someone like him to kiss her on the cheek because that beard would tickle her half to death. It was positively enormous. It was a disrespectful thought, and she internally chided herself for it, but she was prone to disrespectful thoughts.

  “Aldermaston,” Durrant said, waving as they approached. “Pardon the intrusion.”

  The Aldermaston had bushy dark eyebrows joined in the middle by three equal-sized furrows that lent him an austere appearance. Sera had already found him to be a very alert listener. He never said anything that showed disapproval, but he was stern and quiet.

  Sera felt his gaze on her, and her bravado began to melt. It was difficult being in his presence when his look was so piercing.

  “Yes, Mr. Durrant?” the Aldermaston said in a deep voice.

  “Again, pardon the intrusion,” Durrant said. “Greetings, Vice Admiral. All the Fitzroys are here. How wonderful. Plus two additions? The young man and the young lady?”

  Fitzroy had an amiable voice. He didn’t seem offended at all. “This is my ward, Adam Creigh. He’s studying to become a doctor.”

  Sera thought the ward somewhat handsome upon closer inspection, but not in a brooding way like Fitzroy’s son. No, the ward was smiling too pleasantly. And why was he standing so close to Cettie?

  Well, it hardly mattered; she still preferred Will Russell above all others.

  “And this is Cettie,” Fitzroy continued, gesturing to the person Sera had long wanted to meet. “A young woman that I’m still trying to adopt.”

  Cettie gave a small curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said in a clear, charming voice.

  “Cettie, this is Seraphin Fitzempress. If I’m not mistaken.”

  The look that came over them all nearly made Sera giggle. They seemed flummoxed—all except for Cettie, who gave her an intrigued look.

  “She’ll do,” Sera whispered to Durrant, and gave him a knowing look.

  Durrant sighed. “Aldermaston, I hate to impose on you. It is manifestly clear that your authority on these grounds supersedes even that of the prince regent himself. The charter of that authority is an ancient one. But the princess would like to stay in Vicar’s Close instead of your manor, and she will need a companion, as is the custom. Would you consider allowing Miss Cettie to be her companion? They seem of an age, and Lord Fitzroy has an impeccable reputation.”

  The Aldermaston had not reacted at all to the request. It was almost as if he had expected it. “I think something suitable can be arranged,” he said. “This young lady is also in need of a companion, as it happens. It seems rather . . . fortuitous that both of you arrived simultaneously. I will consider it.”

  “Thank you,” Durrant said.

  Sera didn’t bother waiting. She had spent her whole life waiting, confined to Lockhaven. Now she was at Muirwood, and she finally felt free. There wouldn’t be much time for her to study the Mysteries, however. She would need to master them quickly and efficiently if she wanted the privy council to consider her c
laim above her father’s . . . if she wanted to save her people. With the emperor’s frail health, he could pass at any time. But that was a problem that lay ahead of her. She was finally about to meet Cettie of the Fells, after months and months of wishing. And so she approached the other girl and took her hand.

  “I think we are going to be great friends,” Sera said.

  Even the ancient believers of the Mysteries were called the mastons. They recognized that when certain eternal laws are obeyed, the results come promptly. A wise Aldermaston once said that when riches begin to come, they come so quickly, and in such abundance, that one wonders where they hid during the lean years. Yes, riches do come suddenly, as I can attest to in my own life. But they flee just as quickly. Now that Fitzroy has begun to summon his fortune, will he be able to hold on to it? I’ve not known many men, my husband excluded, who did not let their riches ruin their good judgment. The mastons have withstood murders, poverty, war, and all manner of persecution, and remained true to their beliefs. But can they withstand wealth? They have been tried with riches. And when you count the number of the poor, they are already failing.

  —Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  When I was in high school, I loved my British Lit class. I first read Charles Dickens’s Great Expectations then, and I’ve read it multiple times since. It’s always been my favorite of his, followed by Bleak House. I’m also a huge fan of Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell, Anthony Trollope, the Brontë sisters, and many other period novels, and I’ve watched the various films since Sense and Sensibility was first made into a movie.

  So for years I have wanted to write a period novel based on that era. I hesitated because switching genres from fantasy to historical would be a really big jump, and I knew I’d possibly lose many readers. I kept the ideas bubbling in the back of my head while working on other novels. It was finishing the Kingfountain Series that gave me the idea that instead of using Regency England, I could invent that kind of setting in one of my own worlds. And not just one world. The barriers that separate my worlds can be crossed, as some of you have seen in the final Kingfountain books.