by Jeff Wheeler
Sera smiled and turned back to her view of the clouds and turrets. “I like him already.”
“Goodness, Sera, the Fells in the north! Do you think living there would be romantic? I assure you, the waif that Vice Admiral Fitzroy rescued doesn’t want to go back there. The average child there dies before reaching fifteen.”
“Is that true?” Sera gasped in shock.
Hugilde nodded emphatically. “Of course it’s true. I would not lie to you, Sera.”
“But if so many die, why doesn’t the emperor do something about it? That is awful!”
“What can be done?” the baroness asked helplessly. “The world is this way. Has been for some time. Someone must raise cattle and slaughter them. Someone must grow the wheat. The dress you are no doubt ripping was made down there.”
“But if someone is hungry, you feed them, Baroness,” Sera said, feeling her passions flare.
“In the tenements, they die of cold and sickness as well as hunger. They die because they have no hope and fling themselves off bridges. What would you have the ministry do, Your Highness? Erect nets to catch them? Many of them are too proud to ask for help. They see death as an escape from misery. But not everyone who lives down there is desperate. Many of them live very comfortably.”
“Do you hear yourself, Hugilde?” Sera said, her voice beginning to quaver. “It is wrong.” She felt tears prick her eyes. “At least Fitzroy did something about it. He took in one of them. I should like to meet her.”
“But he left a dozen and took only one,” the governess said, shaking her head. “What good can that do?”
“But does it stand to reason, Hugilde, that because you cannot serve all you shouldn’t serve any? At least Fitzroy did something. That’s more than Mother or Father do, and they’ve the means to help.” She began to nip at her fingernail again.
It was precisely at that moment her parents entered the garden. She saw them coming together.
Sera had meant to climb down the tree earlier. And here she was, still in it, leaning against the wall and chewing her fingernail. The misery of the people—their people—had always afflicted her, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes. A blaze of defiance sizzled up her spine. Part of her wanted to climb up onto the wall, run to the far end, and jump into the neighbor’s garden and escape. Maybe their gates were unlocked, and she could finally wander the streets of Lockhaven alone. Maybe she could meet someone who was not part of the household staff.
Her parents approached rapidly.
“Get down, young lady,” Father said in a warning voice.
Baroness Hugilde turned, stammering an apology, her cheeks flaming with mortification.
Sera’s mother was still quite young, for they had had their first and only child early. Their marriage had been arranged by their parents and was a sham. When they were out in society, they feigned happiness and ease and gave compliments to each other. But at the manor, there was needling and badgering and no attempt to conceal their dislike for one another. Still, they could show a surprising unity when it came to trying to govern their daughter’s interests. One of the only things they’d agreed upon was that neither of them could see their daughter alone, so as not to influence her against the wishes of the other. Hugilde had been carefully chosen because she represented neither side.
“You heard your father. Get down at once. This is disgraceful behavior from a princess.”
Sera wanted to defy them. Up in this redwood tree, she could fancy herself free. She smelled the wonderful scent of the foliage, felt the wind in her hair, and saw the top side of the clouds better than at any place in her manor. Would her father compel her to obey? Would he climb up after her?
She put her full weight on the branch, stood—gripping the trunk with one hand—and looked down at her parents coolly.
“How far are we on today’s lesson?” her father asked, clasping his hands behind his back. “I went by your room and found it empty and saw the baroness in the garden by herself.”
His doublet and vest were the epitome of fashion. He was only a few years older than her mother, though his deep sideburns were stippled with gray. Sera’s mother had a trim figure, perhaps too much so, and sometimes Sera would witness her parents arguing about food. She’d even overheard her mother vomiting in the privy closet. There was always tension when her parents entered the room. Tension about food, about her education, about something unsaid that never would be. Her austere father made her afraid, and she hated that feeling and was determined to conquer it. Her mother, in her fancy hats and ringlets, invoked her disdain.
“We were . . . about to . . . start,” Hugilde said in a panicked voice.
“It’s not her fault,” Sera interjected. “It’s mine. I wanted to see down below again.”
“Another of your fancies?” Father said with a sigh. “When are you ever going to learn, Sera?”
The branch she was standing on cracked.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PRINCE REGENT
Sera’s heart stopped as the branch gave way. She was falling, scraping down the length of the trunk, and if not for her father’s quick reflexes, she would have broken her bones. At least. He was near enough that he caught her, but the impact had knocked them down. Sera heard screaming, both from her mother and Hugilde. The impact had only taken her breath away . . . and yet . . .
If falling from a tree felt like this, what would falling off one of the floating manors do to someone? There were stories that some of the wealthy, those who had lost everything, opted to jump rather than face their creditors.
Sera’s father sat up, and she hugged him, filled with gratitude and remorse. He held her back, whispering soothing words, his anger replaced—for the moment—by intense relief.
“She’s all right, she’s all right,” he said to her mother and governess.
“I’m not hurt,” Sera said, squeezing him harder. “I’ve climbed that tree so many times. It’s never done that.”
“How many times must I tell you, Seraphin?” he said, pulling her face back and looking into her eyes worriedly. “Just because something doesn’t happen constantly doesn’t mean it won’t happen at all. Many of the consequences we face are delayed. This principle governs so much in this world.”
Yes, she had heard him preach this many times. A person can be dishonest once and get away with it. Twice even. Maybe a dozen times. But then the law finds out, and the punishment comes swift and fierce, paying in interest from the past. He had always taught her, from earliest childhood, that she could choose her actions, not the consequences of those actions.
The family retreated to the safety of the manor, a bit bruised and scraped, but otherwise unhurt. She knew that the relief her parents felt would be followed by stricter rules. And she knew that Hugilde wouldn’t be easily convinced to let her go outside next time.
While Sera’s lessons with the baroness were a particular form of torture because they were completely theoretical and had no application to anything in Sera’s life, having meals with her parents was a level beyond it. Since there were only three in the family, Baroness Hugilde ate with them, too. As a matter of ritual, her parents often displayed their enmity for each other by sitting on opposite ends of the table with her in between—a ritual Sera detested.
Even worse, she was not encouraged to speak.
Sera wiped her lips discreetly on her napkin, spitting out the overboiled cabbage that had disgusted her, and folded it on her lap. Beneath the table, she shook it onto the floor. Hugilde noticed this surreptitious action from across the table and gave her a pointed stare, subtly reminding her that it was quite unladylike to spit out her food. Sera smiled at her primly as if nothing at all were amiss. Her elbow still throbbed from bashing it against a branch on the way down.
The conversation in the room was terribly dull. Father, who’d been schooled in the Mysteries of Wind, liked to prove his superiority by discussing the latest scientific discoveries and matters of the day. Mother, on th
e other hand, had been tutored in the Mysteries relating to religion, art, and writing—the Mysteries of Thought. Both had pressured her to follow in their footsteps, which only made her inclined to study something else entirely. The mayhem of the morning had already been discussed and a verdict rendered. She would be confined to her room for a week as a punishment. For once, she didn’t argue for less time, because an injury such as a broken leg would have been much, much worse.
With a silver chalice in his hand, her father leaned back in his chair and swirled the contents, his tone rather demeaning as he addressed his wife. “And what do you think, my dear,”—he always said it in the most patronizing tone possible when addressing his spouse—“of Fitzroy bringing in an urchin to Fog Willows? I thought the man had more sense than that.”
Sera perked up slightly, interested in the new direction of their conversation. She’d been thinking about the urchin ever since the baroness mentioned her.
Mother’s blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if she anticipated a trap. “It is rather vulgar. Maybe it was just for a season?”
Father snorted. “Do you not remember what I told you yesterday? His advocate is seeking to do adoption proceedings. Adoption! It’s unheard of!”
“Fitzroy has always been immune to the opinions of others,” Mother countered.
Father took a deep swallow from the cup. “And what good has that done to his reputation? Very little, I tell you. He’s a laughingstock among the gentry. I think it’s all an act. He seeks to ingratiate himself with the populace. To curry enough favor to become prime minister. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t really know,” Mother replied, looking more uncomfortable. “His motives are entirely his own.”
Father leaned back, cradling the cup between his hands, stewing in frustration. “If he didn’t inherit that blasted silver mine,” he growled, “he’d have to preserve his fortune like the rest of us. The cost of maintaining estates has dramatically increased. It’s grinding us down.” He stared off into space, his brow furrowed.
“Will we need to secure a loan?” Mother asked with a hint of worry.
He sneered at her. “I will not do that,” he jabbed back angrily. “Our debts were all paid off when Seraphin was eight. We will live within our means. Do you remember when the manor jolted and began to drop? Some mistake at the bank, no doubt. It still gives me nightmares. I won’t risk depending on others for credit ever again.”
Sera remembered that day. The manor had trembled, and she’d felt that sinking feeling of going down. But it had steadied itself and returned to its moorings.
“Speaking of money, I would like to increase my allowance to help my sister in Chelton.”
“Impossible.” The answer was curt, venomous. Father’s temper always flared when they talked of finances.
Mother leaned forward. “Surely, if we have no debts, then we can afford—”
“You know nothing whatever of the matter,” Father said, cutting her off. He slammed his goblet on the table as he leaned forward. “Lockhaven is built on nothing but wind and promises. I grow more nervous by the day that the lord high chancellor and his underlings will lose all control or accountability. That one flawed phrase in a contract will send this entire place plummeting down to crush the populace of the City living below us. No, I would sooner take us to a small country manor, away from the corruption in this government. We get an allowance from my father and will live within it, unlike my brothers who borrow against a future that may not happen.”
Sera could see that her father was about to explode into one of his rages again. So she took the opportunity to speak up, even though she knew she’d likely be scolded for it.
“I should like to live away from the City. Maybe we could visit Lord Fitzroy. I would like to see the girl from the Fells,” she said, daintily picking up her spoon and sipping the broth.
Sometimes her interruptions provoked her father; sometimes he was amused by them. But, really, was it fair that a thinking person should be kept quiet throughout her entire childhood? It was a tradition, nothing more. It wasn’t one of the Mysteries, surely.
Her father’s head torqued to one side, his eyes flashing with mirth. “How many times have I told you not to speak during meals, Seraphin Fitzempress? If this were a dinner party, a child would never be allowed to speak.”
She looked up at the ceiling. “This isn’t a dinner party. I am young, but I still have thoughts. I still have ideas. I want to talk about things.”
“And what kind of ideas can be tumbling about in that precocious head of yours that would be worth listening to?” her father asked, still giving her that bemused look. It looked perilously close to dipping into anger.
“But I don’t understand why children cannot speak during dinner,” Sera said.
“That’s enough, Seraphin,” Mother said. “You’re provoking your father.”
“But I want to know,” Sera complained.
Her father’s cheek started to twitch with anger. “When you disobey my instructions, it is an act of defiance. There is nothing, nothing, that I abhor more than defiance. If you will not be civil, then you will go to your rooms.”
“My dear, she’s just curious,” Mother interceded. She didn’t want to be left alone with him.
“And you think curiosity is grounds for indulgence? If she cannot be taught respect and manners at home, how will she do in society, where every lapse results in the sharpest displeasure and the most serious consequences? What happened in the tree this morning did not cause permanent damage to her. It did scar the tree. She must be corrected and brought to task for her own good. How else is she supposed to impress my father?”
Sera pushed away from the table and threw her napkin into the middle of the dishes.
“Seraphin!” Father seethed at her deliberate disrespect.
Sera stood up, feeling her cheeks flush with anger at being treated as though she were nine or ten. “I think Lord Fitzroy is a kind man. I’ve heard that his children argue during dinner. It’s a good thing that he brought in that poor creature from the Fells. We should follow his example and do something like that.”
The rims of his nostrils were white. She hoped she hadn’t pushed him too far. He was normally very logical and composed, but the fists he was squeezing his hands into certainly did not look composed. “I think you’ve said quite enough, young lady.” He gave Hugilde a sharp look and jerked his head for her to leave as well.
Sera took a roll with her and, holding her head high, marched toward the door, while Hugilde murmured apologies to her parents and excused herself from the table.
“You were too harsh with her, Husband,” Sera could hear Mother scold.
“And you are too lenient. The child is positively reckless. She could have broken her neck this morning.”
“She’s your daughter.”
“I wonder at that sometimes,” muttered Father, causing Sera a jolt of pain. She was about to turn around and really provoke him, but Hugilde caught her look and grabbed her arm to lead her away—
Except she came to a sudden stop. The butler had opened the door with a florid face and rushed inside.
The verbal combat at the table abruptly ended, too, and the butler hastened to her father and whispered in his ear.
There was an immediate transformation, a look of shock in his countenance. Father rose to his feet, smoothing his jacket and vest and snugging his eating gloves more tightly around his wrists.
“What is it? What has happened?” Mother demanded, her eyes red from repressed tears.
“The prime minister is here,” Father said curtly.
Sera turned and found the older gentleman standing before her in the doorway. He had wavy gray hair that swirled around a wizened, blocky face, but he was still a handsome man. And the many medals pinned to his coat showing his rank as lord high admiral as well as prime minister made him more so. The immediate hush over the room was like a spell. He smiled at Sera in a grandfather
ly way and took her silk-sheathed hand in his leather-gloved one. The material was cold, and so was his entire person, which meant he had just arrived on a sky ship. Oh, to have the freedom of traveling in such a way . . .
“And good evening to you, Miss Fitzempress,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m afraid I have interrupted dinner. Or was it just ending? I have not eaten myself this evening and may intrude on your hospitality.”
He was commenting on the fact that she wasn’t in her seat.
“Of-f course, Prime Minister,” Father said, his anger gone but not the pasty look. “This is an unexpected arrival, surely. There was n-no word sent of your coming.”
“None indeed,” said the man. His name was Richard Welles, and next to the emperor, he was the most powerful person alive. Sera had never shaken his hand before. Even she, with her outspokenness, was humbled by his presence. “My private secretary is consulting with your steward at the moment. What is said here must remain confidential.”
He squeezed Sera’s hand again, giving her another smile, and then released it and approached the table, his hands clasped behind his back. He was broad chested and tall, the kind of man people were inclined to follow.
Father gestured urgently for Hugilde to take Sera away. The butler was already striding out of the room.
“No, she can stay. This impacts her as well,” Welles said.
“W-who can stay?” Father stammered. “The governess?”
Welles looked annoyed. “No. Your daughter.”
Hugilde blanched and hastily exited the room. Sera’s heart beat fast. This was exciting. This was better than a fancy. Something was happening in real life. She pinched her wrist hard and felt the pain. Yes. It was not a dream. The butler carefully closed the door, sealing the four of them inside together. Sera bit her lip in anticipation.