by Jeff Wheeler
“Isn’t the Ministry of Wind studying it?” Sera asked him. This topic did interest her, very much so, and she was certain Fitzroy himself was trying to address it with the best doctors in the empire.
Adam shook his head. “There has been little time to study it. Doctors are working day and night trying to cure those who have it, trying to find the best remedies to treat it. Thousands are afflicted and dying. Every qualified person is needed right now, and here I am living in peace and comfort.” He shook his head, clearly vexed by the situation. She sympathized with his motives. She, too, wanted desperately to save her people from the ills of their world.
Phinia reached out and put her hand on his arm. “You mustn’t go!”
He looked down at her hand. To touch another person in such a way was a breach of propriety, and she’d clearly done it in an effort to force her will. His eyes darkened with anger, but his voice was still controlled when he spoke to her.
“We attract those things that we secretly fear,” he told her. “Some men fear the sight of blood. Some men fear sickness. I do not fear these things.” Then he looked Phinia in the eye. His anger seemed to soften, though his words were quite clear. “Please do not attempt to infect me with your worries.”
And what do you fear, I wonder? Sera asked herself. She was impressed by Adam’s self-control, his disciplined mind. If she could only borrow a portion of such a will, she’d have the Leerings heating her bath in a trice.
Phinia’s hand dropped away. She looked as if she’d been reprimanded by her father.
Adam looked over their heads, seeing that someone else had joined their small group. “Good day, Miss Fitzempress. Miss Phinia. Miss Cettie.” He nodded and then stalked away.
Sera turned and saw Mr. Skrelling standing there, fidgeting. Though it was hardly charitable of her, Sera wished he would simply vanish, or that they would. He was tall and gaunt, and though he was dressed in the fashions of the day, his vest was much too big for him.
“Ah, Miss Fitzempress. Miss Cettie. Miss . . . Seraphin? My pardon. I come bearing news of the utmost importance. If you will pardon my intrusion into your conversation, I thought it best to speak to you at once.”
Strangely, he wasn’t talking to Cettie, whom he normally doted on. He was addressing Sera. Phinia had already sulked off, no longer interested in them now that Adam had gone away.
“What is it, Mr. Skrelling?” she asked, determined to end the conversation as quickly as possible.
“If you do not consider it an impudence?”
“I do not. Speak up, please. What is it?”
“I’m gratified to hear that, ma’am. I would not, under any circumstance, seek to be bothersome to Your Ladyship. To either of you,” he added, directing a thin-lipped grin at Cettie. Smoothing down his unwieldy dark hair, he turned back to Sera. “Miss Fitzempress, I come to you with news. I will not disclose how I came upon this information, because that is relevant neither to the purpose nor to the point. But if I understand it correctly, and I believe that I do, your grandfather, the emperor, is now . . . well . . . there is no other way to say this except bluntly . . . he is deceased.”
He may as well have shoved her backward into the rushing fountain.
Everything was going to change.
CHAPTER TWO
THE ALDERMASTON
That Sera should hear such news from a pimple-faced young man in the middle of a crowded square made the surprise even worse. Where was her longtime advocate, Mr. Durrant? Why hadn’t she been told straightaway? There was no way to compose herself, no witty retort that flew to the tip of her tongue.
“It can’t be” was the only response that fumbled its way out of Sera’s mouth.
Of course, she had long understood that her grandfather was ill, deathly ill. Four years ago, apoplexy had rendered him mute, powerless, and had put him on a slow spiral toward death. Her father had been named prince regent, for his brothers were so fully in debt that they were too much of a liability to the coffers of state to be bestowed with such an honor. Only one person had the ability to stand in his way and prevent him from becoming the next emperor—Sera herself.
Father had tried every sort of subtle and overt machination possible to undermine her and present her as an impossible choice. It had fallen on the privy council to uphold her rights, which had ultimately led to her being sent away to Muirwood, to receive the education to which her rank entitled her. For goodness’ sake, he had even tried to put a deed on her! What would he do to try to supplant her now? He was better versed in the laws surrounding inheritance of the crown.
Why was she hearing about it like this?
“No doubt, ma’am, you are surprised by this revelation,” Mr. Skrelling said with a head bob.
“How did this information come to you?” Sera demanded abruptly, attempting to make sense of her swirling thoughts.
“As I tried to express, I am not at liberty to discuss the source of my information. But I would not have come to you unless I felt absolutely certain that it was true. I am not a gossipmonger, as they say. If I can be of service, Miss Fitzempress, in any manner—”
“Yes, you can get out of my way,” Sera said in exasperation, interrupting him. She had to see the Aldermaston, had to know for herself if it was true. An Aldermaston could not lie, and Thomas Abraham was not the sort who would have dreamed of doing such a thing even if he could.
She left Mr. Skrelling standing, openmouthed, in the square and strode back the way they’d come with all the fury her short legs could summon. Why was everyone staring at her? Was it possible they’d all found out before her?
Cettie easily kept pace with her. “I’m sorry about your grandfather,” she murmured.
“I hardly knew him,” Sera tossed back, probably too sharply. “When I was a child, I rarely visited court. My parents said there was too much intrigue, too much speculation, and so they shielded themselves—and me—from it. I think they did it deliberately in order to keep me ignorant and dependent on them for information. My father may have always seen me as a thorn in his side.”
And that was what caused her the most pain of all. Sera hated feeling like a fool. She nearly collided with another student and, in her poor spirits, almost chided him for being clumsy.
“From everything you’ve told me about them,” Cettie said, staying close by, “they were probably distracted by the faults in their own marriage. How do you think your father will react to the news?”
“He’s probably dancing a jig,” Sera said. “All the ministries will support him.”
“Surely not all,” Cettie countered soothingly.
“Well, that is true. The Ministry of Wind will support me. At least I hope Fitzroy will. I am eternally grateful for him, Cettie—most of all because he found you in the Fells. I’m not sure what I would do without you.” She flashed a grateful smile at her friend as they strode toward the Aldermaston’s home, passing the identical dwellings lining the street of Vicar’s Close. Each residence featured a brick fence, a small wicket gate, and some sort of ornamental gardening. The students were all required to work at planting and rearing something during their stay, to beautify the street. Some students had trimmed and cut their shrubs into beautiful shapes. Others had neglected theirs entirely. Sera and Cettie had chosen to grow lavender, and as they passed their home, she smiled fondly at it.
“Sera . . . when you see the Aldermaston, remember to be patient.”
“I am being patient,” Sera said defensively, though she did wish she had more of Cettie’s calm temperament. “I didn’t yell at Mr. Skrelling, did I? How did he know such a thing? Why am I always the last person to know things?”
Cettie wisely fell silent.
At the end of the street, they reached the outer wall of the abbey grounds. A tall tower with a crimped archway loomed above them, flanked by the teachers’ dorms in the upper story. The ground floor was filled with open arches, which allowed the students to enter the abbey grounds unfettered. Abo
ve it all rose the main spire of the abbey, which looked particularly ominous at that moment. Sera did not feel ready for the final examination—what was worriedly referred to as the Test. The final Mysteries were taught in that structure and were not shared outside its walls. Though Sera had started school at age twelve, instead of fourteen, and thus had already been at Muirwood for the customary four years, she did not yet feel like a master. Passing the Test was essential, and yet she was not at all sure a few weeks would make enough of a difference.
Together, Sera and Cettie passed through the closest arched entryway. The abbey grounds were meticulously maintained, and even the mood in the air changed as soon as they passed under the Leering carved into the head of the arch. A feeling of tranquility settled in her soul, one that took the edge off the frantic emotions that usually buzzed inside her. Sera and Cettie loved to roam the wooded grounds to escape the frenzy of their studies. There were rows of enormous, pale-barked trees and copses of oak, and even a small apple orchard. Sera had always been impressed by the care and diligence of the many gardeners who worked at Muirwood. They were always planting new flowers, caring for the lawns, and tending to the trees.
But the familiar grounds could not completely comfort Sera in her present mood. She and Cettie passed the looming abbey, which had stood for generations, and crossed to the Aldermaston’s manor, where they were quickly granted entrance. All the staff knew Sera on sight, and while she tried not to abuse her position, she was grateful for it all the same.
“Hello, Miss Fitzempress,” said the housekeeper, Mrs. Blake, with a pleasant smile. “It’s a fine afternoon; why aren’t you out enjoying the spring sunshine?”
“I should like to see the Aldermaston, please,” Sera said, a little out of breath.
“He is in a meeting presently. Would you like me to send someone to you when it is finished?”
“It is very urgent, ma’am,” Sera said, endeavoring to be her most patient self. She cast an arch look at Cettie, who seemed a little embarrassed. At least Sera had remembered to say please, which was the polite and respectful thing to do.
Mrs. Blake simply nodded. “You can wait outside his study, if you please, Miss Fitzempress.”
“Thank you.” Sera hooked arms with Cettie, and they walked down the corridor together. The walls were lined with wonderful paintings in gilt frames, painted by the masters who had once been taught at the abbey, and each of them told a story from the past. Sera could lose herself in the works—she often did—but today she was focused on one thing: her grandfather. There was a small padded bench outside the Aldermaston’s office, but Sera naturally felt more like pacing. Brass lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting light that left no shadows. More Leerings. More reminders of her inadequacy.
“Do you think the Aldermaston knows?” Sera asked Cettie, who had chosen to seat herself on the bench.
“Doesn’t he know everything?” Cettie replied with a small smile.
At almost that exact moment, the door to the study opened, and Sera whirled to confront the Aldermaston. She was startled to see Lord Fitzroy emerge first. There was a new weariness about him that was no doubt the effect of his attempts to vanquish the cholera morbus.
“Father!” Cettie gasped, bounding up from the bench and rushing to her guardian. Watching their tender embrace drove a shard of pain into Sera’s heart. She tried not to be jealous. She really tried. Even though Cettie wasn’t adopted, she still addressed her guardians as her parents.
Sera felt like an orphan.
The Aldermaston gestured for Sera to sit in the chair across from his. Once she was comfortably situated, she watched Cettie and her guardian get settled on a small settee. The two of them were so close, so dear to one another that it made Sera smile. She was happy for Cettie—surely if anyone deserved a loving family, it was her friend.
“I didn’t see your tempest. How long have you been here?” Cettie asked.
“I did not travel by sky ship, my dear,” Fitzroy answered. He had a kindly voice and very expressive eyes. The look of weariness Sera had observed in him just moments before had been transfigured into one of peace and contentment.
“Then how did you get here?” Cettie wondered. “I thought Muirwood could only be approached by the air.”
“You are correct that there are no roads through the woods, no docks for ships to travel here either. By design, it is very difficult to find and travel to the abbey. There is another way, but I am forbidden to speak of it. You will learn it eventually, I’m sure.” He tapped the side of his nose.
“It’s another one of the Mysteries, then,” Cettie said, shaking her head. “Will I ever learn them all?”
“If any one person can, it is you, Cettie Saeed. Now, I know you are surprised to see me, just as I was startled to find you waiting outside the Aldermaston’s study. No one had sent for you. Or you, my lady.” He nodded respectfully to Sera, and she bowed her head in return.
“They are probably here,” the Aldermaston said in his rich, deep voice, “for the same reason you are, Brant. I think perhaps that news from the empire has found young ears?”
Sera nodded firmly. “Why wasn’t I told, sir?”
Cettie gave her a disapproving look and a subtle shake of the head, warning her not to argue with the aged Aldermaston. Sera had no intention of arguing with him. Well, perhaps he did deserve a little scolding.
The Aldermaston was a robust man, at least fifty or sixty, with an enormous frizzy beard salted with gray. He wore spectacles that reflected the lamplight, but the eyes behind them were deep and brooding. She had seen him smile and laugh before, but his look was more often serious and probing. It was easy to be intimidated by such a set of eyes, but Sera refused to be. Mr. Durrant, her advocate, had taught her never to explain herself to any man.
The Aldermaston pressed a thumb against the tabletop of his desk. “Your question is fair, Your Highness. But let me pose one to you. Did you not come to this abbey to remove yourself from the distractions of court and the politics there?”
She thought she saw the intent of the question. “Yes,” she answered simply, holding her head high.
“Does the knowledge you now have of your grandfather’s death heighten your concerns about facing the Test?”
She swallowed. “Indeed, it does.”
He gave her a pointed look. “Lord Fitzroy and I were counseling together to determine the appropriate time of disclosure. We both felt that you might be benefited by not knowing for a short time—that it might help you be your calmest self. Of course, now that you are in possession of the knowledge, our deliberations no longer hold value. If you are to be considered a candidate to replace your grandfather—if you are meant to rule—then you must do so on your own merits. Either you will master the power contained within the Leerings of the abbey, or you will fail. I asked Lord Fitzroy to come to Muirwood to personally assist you. He is a patient and long-suffering man, one of the best I have ever known. He has graciously accepted my request to come here and tutor you. I feel that his assistance in this matter will be helpful to you.”
Sera’s emotions had teetered and changed during his speech. She had come to the Aldermaston feeling outraged that this important news about her family had not been shared with her, only to find out that he was acting in her best interests and trying to assist her in passing the Test. He’d chosen a man she had come to admire and respect to guide her through the process, a man she would want by her side should she become empress.
She found herself stunned speechless again, but the smile that strained her cheeks revealed her feelings on the matter.
“Truly?” Cettie asked, gripping his hands. “You will be staying at Muirwood?”
“I cannot stay,” he hedged, shaking his head. “But I will come here often and spend time with Miss Fitzempress . . . and you and the other girls.” Shifting his gaze to Sera, he said, “It is vitally important, Miss Fitzempress—Sera, if I may—that you pass the Test. If your father ascends to
the throne, I fear that the people’s suffering will only continue . . . mayhap worsen.”
“As do I,” Sera said emphatically. “I would be honored if you would tutor me, Lord Fitzroy. But what of the sick? Those suffering from the cholera morbus that is ravaging the people?”
“There are many capable doctors trying to discern the source of the infection. I am no doctor myself. All I can do is listen to their theories, examine their methods, and make suggestions. My knowledge is more on the clouds and the weather.” He gave Cettie a wink. “I will give you what time I can and sacrifice sleep in order to fulfill my other duties.”
Sera simply nodded, moved by his loyalty to her. The Aldermaston cleared his throat, and she shifted her attention to him.
“An Aldermaston must be impartial,” the aging man said. “But that does not mean he’s a fool. I want what is best for the empire. I hope you approve of my course of action, Miss Fitzempress.”
“I do, Aldermaston. And I thank you.”
He nodded at her, his forehead crinkling. “I hope you remember this the next time you feel tempted to barge into my study.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE MINISTRIES
When Sera had been individually tutored in the past, her studies had largely been confined to a study room, and the boring lectures had always been grounded in abstract theory. Inevitably, her gaze would wander to the windows, and then she’d hunger to be outside. Her lessons with Minister Fitzroy, for the most part, happened outside in the area known as the Queen’s Garden, where Empress Maia had once spent time in her youth. It led to all sorts of fanciful thoughts about her ancestor, but she did her best to rein them in and give Fitzroy her attention. Just as Cettie had always said, he was incredibly patient, and he often allowed her to ask questions to help guide their conversations, something that helped her focus. Cettie would sometimes join them in their walks, but she usually gave them privacy.