by Jeff Wheeler
“What will happen if I do not pass the Test within the abbey?” she asked Fitzroy during one of his pauses. “How long would they delay making a decision if that happened? Would it bar me forever from becoming the empress? It doesn’t feel entirely fair that my future should hang on a single experience.”
“It depends. The privy council cannot wield power indefinitely on its own. Usually, the transfer of power would happen immediately. They need to make their decision soon, probably in a fortnight or so. Your schooling is nearly over, so it’s appropriate for them to wait for that, if not for you to come of age. But as for your other question . . . sometimes our lives do pivot on very small hinges. Or rather, very small decisions. I’ve seen a man die because he was standing two feet in one direction versus another. Is it just that he was stuck by a ball that killed him? That his life was snuffed out for standing in the wrong place?”
“It does not feel fair to me, no,” Sera answered, imagining for a moment the horrors of war and wondering what kind of action Fitzroy had seen. She didn’t know much about it, but one of their most recent wars had been with a world occupied with the Bhikhu, a race of people who could fly.
“Life is not fair,” Fitzroy said soberly. “But whoever promised that it would be? One of the strangest things about life is that we are as much defined by our hopes as we are our secret fears. We are, for the most part, the product of what we think about the most. Our minds are fertile beds, like these flower boxes. What would happen if the gardener did not pull out the weeds? Like this little one,” he said, pointing out a small weed in one of the boxes.
“They would grow and overrun the garden eventually,” Sera replied.
“Precisely. It takes little effort to pull one up now.” And he did so and set it down on the stone railing for the gardener to collect. “But they are much more difficult to remove when their roots grow deeper. There is a tendency within the very nature of all things to degrade. On clear days, the ruins of Sempringfall Abbey can be seen from my estate. People like to wander the grounds there and look at the bones of the abbey. There are a few arches still, but most of the place has crumbled. People who visit there always comment about the structure and imagine what might have caused the desolation.”
“Why was the abbey destroyed?”
“It wasn’t destroyed, Sera. It was neglected. Eventually the decay grew so bad that a roof collapsed. It became dangerous. Rather than spending time and money fixing it, the people who lived there ignored the problems until the entire place was ruined utterly. To reconstruct the abbey would have required enormous funds. A small decision not to fix broken roof shingles led to another decision to put off the problem. And another and another. Eventually, given enough time, there will not be two stones left standing.”
“That is an awful story,” Sera said. “Fixing the roof should have been a priority. Now the entire structure is lost.”
“I understand that someone was hired to fix the roof and the brickwork in the beginning. An accident ensued, and the man who’d been hired was incapable of finishing the work. Eventually the problem was ignored. The same pattern applies to our diplomacy with certain foreign courts and the relations between those who live in the cloud cities and those who live beneath them. It is how our society has reached this juncture. And why you may be so critical to the future of the empire. You cannot stop trying, Sera. And that’s what happens when most people fail the Test. It isn’t that they can’t return and do it later. They won’t because they abandon the pursuit.”
He paused and gave her a probing look. “I sent Stephen to Muirwood to learn self-discipline. He left here using it to master different dances. He passed the Test, but he may not have learned the most important lessons this abbey teaches.”
Sera thought about what he said. Cettie had told her about Stephen and his lack of ambition to do anything beyond rule his father’s estate. He intended to inherit Fog Willows and use his position to hold the elaborate balls and celebrations in which his father had no interest.
“So what you are saying, Lord Fitzroy, is that unless I learn to control my thoughts now, in my youth, I will likely not have the self-discipline to do so later?”
“A brick is the softest before it visits the kiln,” he answered sagely.
“Is the Test like the fires of a kiln? Does it harden the imperfections we bring to it?”
He looked at her and nodded subtly. “Yes, in a very real sense. It is not impossible to change when you are older, but it is certainly more difficult.”
Though she understood his point and, indeed, agreed with it, Sera was feeling more and more hopeless. “I have tried to master my thoughts. I wish I were not so easily distracted.”
“If wishes were zephyrs, even beggars would fly.”
Sera smiled at the common saying. “Very true. It is a wonder that the entire world hasn’t decayed back to the weeds.”
“There is always a struggle, Sera. Prosperity can be a scourge as easily as it can be a gift. Some of those who live in the clouds feel they are due their station because of a family fortune or a robust lineage. They resist the need to manage their funds or their property. They fail to invest for the future. And then they fall. There are those down below who manage to amass enough fortune and prestige to purchase the floating manor out from beneath them. And so the cycle goes on and on. Some rise. Some fall. Knowing yourself, and what you want, makes all the difference—even if your dream feels unattainable.” He gazed up pensively at the sky. “Even though she lived in squalor in the Fells, Cettie dreamed of living in a manor in the clouds. Is it any wonder that she achieved it?”
Sera looked at him, feeling encouraged once more. “So I need to fix my mind on a goal and then relentlessly pursue it. Even if obstacles stand in the way.”
“Especially then. It is almost as if our resolve is being tested. Will we stick to our course even in the face of ridicule or disappointment?” He smiled wryly. “Don’t be afraid of the kiln, Sera. You have control over what you bring to the fire to be hardened.”
Sera paused by the edge of a flower bed. It was full of dainty blue forget-me-nots. Her heart was heavy with burdens.
“Fitzroy,” she said in a soft voice, gazing down at the pretty flowers. “What if . . . what if my father isn’t really my father? What if the real reason I cannot control the Leerings is because my blood is polluted? They say that affinity for the magical component of the Mysteries is handed down from generation to generation. What if . . . what if I’m not meant to become empress?”
He stopped his walk and turned back to join her at the edge. “What if there is no cure for the cholera morbus? What if all of us will die from it?”
Her eyes opened wider, and she looked at him worriedly. “Do you believe that will happen, Minister Fitzroy?”
He slowly shook his head no. “But what if I did?”
She licked her lips. “Then you might stop trying to find a cure for it.”
“And if we stopped searching for a cure, would one ever be found?”
“Indeed, it would not.”
“Isn’t it strange, Sera, how so many of our thoughts attempt to persuade us to quit? To fail? To despair of achieving something?” He gave her a cryptic smile. “One would almost think that those thoughts are coming to our minds not from us . . . but from a source that means to do us harm. Are we not always our own harshest critics?”
She looked at him, feeling her heart tingling. A profound truth was being spoken, something that resonated deep in her heart. “I know I am,” she answered.
“Then that is the voice you must learn to silence if you are to succeed. Four years ago, my mine ran out of silver. The vein ended abruptly, and my workers had nothing to harvest but droplets of quicksilver. We kept moving forward and finding nothing but bare rock. Worthless rock. I was advised to quit the mine, but before making that decision, I consulted a friend from the Ministry of Wind who was an expert on mining. I brought him out to visit Dolcoath. After inspecting t
he mine, he confirmed my suspicion that the vein had run out. He said the mine produced plentiful amounts of quicksilver and would continue to, but it was a useless substance. Useless indeed. Thanks to my invention with Cettie, we have been able to put that quicksilver to good use in helping sky ships avoid storms. That strange metal has made me far richer than the silver mines ever did. That is the interesting thing about life on this floating round sphere we dwell on. The Knowing knew what I did not. We have so much still to learn. And we will, if we listen to the world and its Mysteries and never stop believing in new possibilities.”
It was not uncommon for other students to stroll through the Queen’s Garden and its environs, but the sound approaching them was of sturdy boots, and, by the volume and cadence, it was several men. Sera turned toward the small arch they had just passed under, and a moment later, three men entered their portion of the walled garden. Two of the three she recognized instantly. The first was Lord Welles, the Minister of War. He had served twice as prime minister when he was younger and had seen success in many battlefields across the empire. He was the man who’d changed her life so many years ago by announcing that her father would be named prince regent upon her grandfather’s apoplexy. She’d seen him rarely enough since. The other man she recognized, much to her bafflement, as her former tutor—Commander Falking. When she saw his hat, she remembered the day the wind had blown it from his head, and he had scrambled to recapture it. She and Will had used the opportunity to scamper off into the hedge maze behind her palace. The memory nearly made her burst out laughing, but the diverting portion of that day had been far outweighed by its consequences. Will had been sent away after that, and Hugilde had been banished too.
She shook off the memory and shifted her gaze to the third man. She didn’t recognize him at all. It was probably the minister’s private secretary.
“Hello, Admiral,” Fitzroy said in a cool, measured voice. She noticed his hands clenching into fists as he continued to hide them behind his back.
“Ah, Fitzroy! What are you doing here?” said Lord Welles in surprise, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. The air between the men suddenly filled with tension.
“I could ask the same of you,” Fitzroy answered softly.
“I didn’t see your sky ship here. Interesting. Well, no matter. I come bearing news for Miss Fitzempress. Of course, you are welcome to hear it as well. No need to depart on my account.”
Sera wondered if that last part was a veiled request for Fitzroy to leave. He took the man at his word, though, and remained.
“What did you come to tell me?” Sera asked, walking forward to direct their attention to her. “I have already been informed of my grandfather’s passing.”
“Of course you have, my lady,” Lord Welles said with an understanding smile. “Your father is coming to Muirwood to offer his condolences in person. I thought it might be best for you to know of his plans before he arrives. I believe he intends to surprise you, but I thought that would give him an unfair advantage. And the soldiers under my ministry . . . well, you know they dote on you.”
“He’s coming here?” Sera asked in surprise.
“Of course. There is a matter he wishes to discuss with you. Your mother as well. I’m not the prime minister any longer, so I do not have all the details, but as you know, we’ve had a long history of conflict with the court in the world of Kingfountain. I’ve learned that the heir to the hollow crown may be willing to seek a bride from our realm, which could usher in an unprecedented peace between our worlds. Emissaries from Kingfountain may soon be coming to Lockhaven to begin negotiations. Of course, the prince regent will expect your full cooperation and may insist that you come back with him early.”
Sera’s mouth went dry as Welles spoke. Having studied history and statesmanship at Muirwood, she knew their worlds had indeed collided many times in the past. The relationship between the two realms had always been strained, ever since their inglorious first encounters. Ships from Kingfountain had passed into the empire through a mirror gate, seeking treasures. The visitors had used a form of sorcery to communicate. They’d pretended, at first, to be from across the sea. But their dissembling had eventually been revealed. They had plundered Muirwood’s ancient treasures and, even after all these years, appeared to have no intention of giving them back. The already contentious connection between the two realms had soured further over the centuries, both from deeply entrenched cultural differences and because they frequently vied for trading partners. An emissary from Kingfountain had not come to Lockhaven in over a hundred years.
“But, Lord Welles,” Sera stammered. “I haven’t yet passed the Test. I can’t possibly go back early.”
“Honestly, Princess, do you think a few extra weeks are going to make all that much of a difference?”
Sera felt the stab of doubt in her mind, deliberately placed there by Minister Welles. Her agitation was growing by the moment. But she tried to remember what Fitzroy had told her. Her father wished to provoke her, and the best thing she could do was refuse to rise to the occasion.
“Father cannot force me to leave Muirwood,” she ventured.
“No, he cannot,” Fitzroy agreed.
“He has no intention of forcing her,” said Welles with a knowing chuckle. “You can surmise that every noble throughout the empire will be keen to send their daughters to Lockhaven to be seen by the Prince of Kingfountain. This is a rare opportunity to share knowledge between our worlds. It’s whispered that such an exchange could be mutually advantageous. They certainly guard their secrets as carefully as we do ours, though the timing of their outreach makes me wonder if they haven’t heard of Fitzroy’s little invention.
“Their religion is still a problem of sorts between us. We both believe in the Knowing, only our understanding is more adaptable. Theirs”—he waved his hand back and forth—“more superstitious. Any daughter of the empire could help usher in a new era of understanding between our two realms, putting to rest some of the bad blood. Water under the bridge, if you pardon the metaphor. Would not the prince regent be seen as unjust to deprive his daughter of the same opportunity? If she comes, it doesn’t mean she will be chosen. However, it would be for the best, Princess. But I will let your father convince you. I am here . . . always . . . as a friend.” He gave Sera a perfunctory bow.
Sera was intrigued. What Lord Welles said made sense. Not that she was keen to go, but if she had a hand in establishing peace between the worlds, it could be part of her legacy as a leader.
Welles turned his gaze. “Now, Fitzroy, since you are here, may I have a word with you in private with my secretary? I am very concerned about cholera morbus and its impact on the soldiers. If we might step over there”—he nodded to the other side of the garden—“and have a word?”
“Of course,” Fitzroy said stiffly. He gave Sera a warning look and gestured for her to stay in the garden. Her father was up to some trick. He had never shown any interest in seeing her at Muirwood. And her visits back to Lockhaven during the summer months were usually spent with her mother. The last she’d heard about her old governess, Hugilde, was that she had returned to her home country. Hugilde had never written to her, likely due to the prince regent’s intervention.
She watched attentively as the others moved to the far side of the garden, still visible from where she was standing. She turned as Commander Falking’s shadow crossed hers.
“Ahem, hello, Princess,” he said with a formal cough. “It has been several years since our last . . . visit.” He coughed again.
“It has, Commander. It is good to see you again.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He looked awkward, worried. He kept glancing over at the Minister of War.
“Is something wrong, Commander Falking?” She was curious why he, of all people, had accompanied Lord Welles.
“Wrong? Nothing. Nothing at all. A fine day. The wind was fair. We shall have a pleasant journey back to Lockhaven, I should think. Pleasant indeed. I am such a clumsy f
ool I dropped something on my way into the gate. I couldn’t find it. Could have landed anywhere, no doubt. I was supposed to give it to you. From a mutual . . . ahem . . . friend. Ah, ’tis a misfortune I dropped it. Well, more’s the pity. I wish I could have given it to you.” He scratched the side of his neck. “Oh, the minister is waving me over. I think he intends to go already. Farewell, Princess. I look back on our time together with fondness. I hope you bear me no ill will.”
Sera nearly gaped at his bungling attempt at slipping her a note. She saw it sticking out of the flower bush near the entrance, quite in plain sight. Could it be? Could Will have found a way to reach out to her? They had studied together for a season when she was younger. She’d always looked forward to Falking’s lessons because of the handsome young protégé he’d brought with him.
“Indeed I don’t,” she answered sincerely. “It wasn’t your fault. It was all mine.”
Her heart burned to start reading it.
CETTIE
It was the harbingers of old who told us they would return. Ships would appear from the sea bearing hosts of men who carried strange weapons yet worshipped the same Knowing. They came as they had come once before, expecting to find our land still inhabited by barbarians. Instead, they found that our civilization had greatly altered under the reign of Empress Maia. They found a city hovering in the sky like in the legends of the emperor-maston Hanokh and his city of Leerings called Safehome.
Both of our civilizations knew of other worlds, but the differences in our beliefs led to conflict. They treated water as sacred and divine. They were appalled by our historic treatment of women, a past which is not shared except deep within the Ministry of Thought. In their culture, women are the ideal—the manifestation of the Fountain.
The harbingers warned us again. The realm of Kingfountain would mount an invasion, their goal to build a tower so high that it might reach the gates of our seat of power, Lockhaven. And so they did.