by Jeff Wheeler
They came with tools. They came with fleets. And they attempted to build a tower to reach the palace gates. The empress had no alternative but to call on the Blight Leering to devastate their forces. We have been in this conflict, off and on, ever since. They wish to know our Mysteries without training for them lawfully. They consider our religion a heresy. Each time our civilizations clash, the stakes grow higher.
And there are no more harbingers to see the future. There has not been one for eighty years.
—Thomas Abraham, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER FOUR
TANGLED IN THE LAW
Many at Muirwood called her Cettie of the Fells behind her back, and some even insulted her to her face. Mostly these were the jealous ones—the sons and daughters of the wealthiest families in the realm who resented that a young woman from the Fells continually bested them in their studies. Most did not realize that she had helped Fitzroy discover the properties of the storm glass. She preferred it that way. She paid the jealous students no mind, for the friends who knew her best had another nickname for her—Cettie Saeed, which meant “Cettie of the Clouds.”
The name reminded her of how very far she’d come. Once, she’d been small and afraid, beset by the nightmarish ghosts that lived in the dark places of the empire. The ghosts had followed her since childhood, one spirit in particular—a tall, malevolent fright with no eyes. There was something about her that attracted them, some part of her she did not understand and did not like, but they had not followed her to Muirwood. Though the old memories recurred in her sleep, it was the only place they could haunt her now. There were protections all around the abbey grounds—a vast interconnected network of Leerings that worked together to shield the abbey. Most of the students did not sense them, but to Cettie, they were as conspicuous as the white and black keys of a clavicembalo—and she knew how to play all the right notes. Though she hadn’t told anyone, she felt sure she could disarm the wardings of the abbey. Of course, she never would. The wardings kept them safe, and she missed neither the ghosts nor the dreadful anticipation that preceded their visits.
With Fitzroy giving lessons to Sera, Cettie found she had more time to herself. While she adored her friend, Cettie was naturally more guarded and reserved. Being in crowds made her nervous, for they reminded her of the bustle of the Fells. She considered seeking out Fitzroy’s youngest daughter, Anna, who had come to feel like a real sister. But although they were the same age, they were two years apart in their studies, and Anna’s friends were not very welcoming to her intrusions.
The classes at Muirwood Abbey were rigorous and demanding, and she had learned literature, dancing, mathematics, the tenets of the faith, poetry, and history. After the rigors of the classes were done, students were encouraged to exercise and improve their health. Cettie had found that the hobby she enjoyed most on the school grounds was at the archery butts. For her, there was something soothing about being there. She loved the feeling of tension on the bowstring as she pulled it back. Loved how the practice honed her concentration and focus. The targets were made of coiled rope and were anchored in place at various distances, and in her four years at Muirwood, she had become adept at hitting the farthest targets. Yes, her jealous peers used her “perverse” hobby as another reason to tease her, for soldiers no longer used bows and arrows—they used arquebuses and pistols, the very latest in weaponry. Archery had become nothing more than a diversion for the highborn . . . which she markedly was not. But she refused to let their disapproval of the sport affect her interest. In this and so many other ways, Fitzroy had molded her character.
And so, it came as no surprise to her when she found herself there one evening when Sera and Fitzroy were together in the Queen’s Garden. She gripped the stock tightly with one hand and drew another arrow from the small quiver dangling from her waist. Then, raising the bow, she pulled the fletching back toward the corner of her lips and narrowed her focus on a target in the back, imagining it as a Leering beckoning to her. She let the arrow fly and watched breathlessly as it sailed over the nearer targets before sticking into a portion of the coiled rope on the outside rim of the target she’d chosen. The distant thwack made her smile. She drew another arrow and sent it winging as well. It landed closer to the middle than the first. Each arrow made her sink deeper into herself, sharpening her focus, giving her a sense of weightlessness, as if she were an observer of her own body. Every single arrow in her quiver struck the target. After letting the last one loose, she put the longbow on the hook by the shooting stall and waited for the other two girls using the butts, both arrayed in much fancier dresses than hers, to finish their shots.
When they did, all three girls entered the field to retrieve the arrows. The other two ignored her, speaking to each other with their heads tipped together. The smell of the grass and the softness against her shoes made her stay in the moment. She felt calm and peaceful, which was a welcome reprieve from her seething nerves.
Sera was not the only one who felt strained by the prospect of leaving the abbey, though Cettie’s anxiety stemmed from a different source. She had no doubt she would pass the Test. Even at this distance from the abbey, she could sense the Leerings inside and, moreover, knew she could tame them. Mastering that part of the Mysteries had come so easily to her. To her ears, each Leering had a distinct sound and melody—one that Sera could not hear.
But at least Sera knew what she would do after leaving the school. Her training was trying to prepare her for a dazzling future as the leader of a vast empire. Cettie was confident that her friend and companion would be chosen over the corrupt prince regent. But what was Cettie’s future? Why was that always such a snake’s nest of doubt?
After collecting the arrows, Cettie started back toward the shooting stands. Looking up, she saw Adam Creigh waiting at hers, holding her bow in his hands. It struck her yet again how much he’d grown—the boy she’d known had become a man . . . a very handsome and principled man who was also unobtainable. She loved Anna too much to take anything from her—or even to try.
You’re just friends, she told herself, good friends. Some days Adam could be aloof and distant, but he was always polite and respectful and very solicitous around her. Since they both favored the Mysteries of Wind, they had shared many classes. He, too, was growing more and more nervous as they neared the Test. His wardship to Fitzroy, the man they both admired above all, would be coming to an end, and after leaving Muirwood, he would have to make his own way in the world.
Cettie approached him, holding the arrows out to him like a bouquet of feathered flowers.
“Would you fancy shooting next, Mr. Creigh?” she asked him with an overly formal tone that was meant to be playful. “Is that why you’ve stolen my bow?”
“I am more comfortable at the arquebus range,” he answered with a tone of defeat. He turned the bow around, examining it. “I think they stopped using these on sky ships a century ago.”
“I have a difficult time imagining you as a dragoon,” she teased, knowing he would never wish to become one.
He flashed her a smile that made her heart tickle, and then handed back the bow. “I was watching you just now, Cettie. You have great powers of concentration.”
“Thank you,” she answered, taking the bow back from him.
“May I watch you shoot this next round from a closer vantage point?”
“If you wish,” she answered demurely, sliding the arrows back into the dangling quiver. She fixed her stance as she had been taught. She found comfort in predictable routines, in making a ritual of the things she did, though sometimes she wished she had a bit more of Sera’s spontaneity. As Cettie fit the first arrow to the string, she felt the immediate impact of Adam’s gaze on her. The weight of another person’s stare made performing any act uncomfortable. Perhaps Adam was doing it on purpose, to test her powers of concentration under scrutiny. Strange how the mind could begin babbling advice as soon as there was an audience. The other two young women a
t the butts had returned from the field as well, but she cared far more about Adam’s good opinion than she did about their potential scrutiny.
Why do you hesitate?
The thought came from Adam, unspoken, but she heard it all the same. Sometimes her powers seemed too intrusive. She could not read people’s minds, but she was very sensitive to projected thoughts. Even as a little girl, she had heard the thoughts of the ghosts haunting the tenements. The better she knew someone, the stronger their thoughts came through to her. She knew Fitzroy’s mind very well. And after four years with Sera, Cettie could sometimes finish her sentences, a habit she’d forced herself to stop after her friend had admitted it unnerved her.
Because you make me feel self-conscious sometimes, she thought back to him. There was more she could think on that subject, but she didn’t dare. The last thing she wanted was for him to hear what she would never speak aloud.
Cettie closed her eyes, purging her mind of distractions. She pushed herself and her thoughts into the space of ritual again. Feather up. Fingertips on the rough bowstring. Cock the bow at a slight angle. Draw back toward her mouth. She opened her eyes, narrowing them on the farthest target. When she felt herself a distinct part of it, she released the arrow and felt the slap against the leather guard on her forearm as the strand recoiled. The arrow sailed and struck the center of the rope coil. A bull’s-eye.
She nearly allowed herself a self-congratulatory smile. But that would mean giving in to pride, so she refused. Pulling out the next arrow, she loosed that one as well, sinking further into herself with each action. Even with Adam standing nearby, she pushed him away from her thoughts. All five arrows found their marks again. She lowered the bow.
“Astonishing,” Adam breathed. “Let me help fetch them.” He was about to tread out onto the grass, but she put her hand on his arm to stop him.
“The rangemaster will . . . scold you,” she said, dropping her hand instantly. She’d felt a zip of energy go up her arm to her elbow upon touching him.
“Oh, I’d forgotten,” he apologized, stepping back. “At the arquebus range, we don’t collect the balls.” He pitched his voice lower. “And based on how that young lady is shooting, I may well need surgery if I wandered out there just now.”
Cettie appraised the situation—several arrows had been shot into the ground, and only two had found a target. Even then, it was likely not the target the girl had aimed at. When the other two finally ran out of arrows, Cettie hung up her bow again, and they all headed out into the field together to retrieve the spent ammunition.
Adam walked alongside her. “Has Mr. Sloan or Mr. Teitelbaum made any progress on your case?” he asked her. “I don’t think I have asked you in a while.”
“Unfortunately no,” Cettie replied.
“The Law is such a tangled heap of rope,” Adam said with a sigh. “You cannot tell where it starts or ends. Your mother still has not stepped forward, which means she is either dead or unwilling to reveal herself for fear of scandal. If she were dead, then your father could sign the decree on his own, could he not? If the price were agreed upon?”
“That is true,” Cettie answered. She felt a flash of impatience and self-pity. There was still so much uncertainty about her adoption. Even if her mother was declared dead, her birth father and his wife would no doubt continue to put up a fight and insist on every possible penny. “Father has done everything he can to ascertain the truth. He has interviewed personally scores of people who were involved in my deed earlier. But as we all know, things just disappear into the Fells. There are clues, snippets, fragments. All have been fruitless so far.”
“It must be very trying,” he said. “To have your fate hanging in limbo like this.”
“I don’t care about an inheritance,” Cettie said. “It means nothing to me.”
“I wasn’t referring to that. It’s the uncertainty. After four years without answers—answers to what may arguably be a pretty straightforward affair—it must be very trying for you.”
Cettie refused to let self-pity govern her, especially when it came to this. However unclear the future seemed, she knew just how lucky she was to have fallen in with the Fitzroys. “He’s doing everything he can. Persistence will prevail.”
“Indeed. What will you do, then, after finishing the Test?”
They had reached the target and began pulling out the arrows one by one. The first had embedded itself deeply into the core of the target, and she strained as she pulled on it. “Sera said she would ask for me to be one of her ladies-in-waiting whether or not she becomes empress. Alas, I cannot picture myself being comfortable at court. I wish to return to Fog Willows, but that cannot be.”
“Why not?” he asked with concern.
“What would I do there?” she asked. “I’m not a member of the family. Not yet. My deed will expire before I’m eighteen. You know how tightly the Ministry of Law controls inheritance. He cannot bequeath any wealth or property on me unless the adoption goes through. I would be a young woman living in his household with no function, no standing. It wouldn’t be proper, not that Father would allow that to stop him. I’d willingly be a maid or an underservant, but he refuses to consider it. He hasn’t given up hope that he can adopt me legally, but I grow more and more anxious.”
“Understandably,” Adam said, shaking his head. He offered the three arrows he had pulled from the target, and she returned them to the quiver as they walked back.
“Are you worried about the Test?” she asked him after they’d traveled in silence for a few moments.
“No,” he answered humbly. “My worries are more about what happens afterward. I’d like to cure people. But it will take time and means for me to set up a practice. The school provides so many tools and implements for us to use while we are here. I’ll need to furnish all of my own. One way of doing so is by joining the Ministry of War for a season. They always need more doctors. But I . . . do not think I would enjoy that life very much. Besides, joining their ranks would require me to purchase a commission, which would put me in substantial debt.” He shook his head. “There’s no easy way.”
“For either of us,” she said, nodding. They reached the shooting stall. She looked at him, saw the worries pressing on his brow. “Whatever comes, Adam, whatever happens to either of us, I hope we shall always be friends.” She felt her cheeks heat as she said the heartfelt words. “I’m glad you ignored Phinia the other day. I think you are very brave . . . wanting to help people in the Fells.”
He looked at her with a serious expression. “And I think you are very brave for having survived them. Because of you, the children who would have died under your last guardian’s neglect all survived. All of them have gone to a shelter school. Without your intervention, Joses never would have gotten a job at Fog Willows. I hear he is doing well there.”
“Yes, and I miss him,” Cettie said. Adam’s eyes crinkled slightly at her words.
Her friend Joses had saved her life after Mrs. Pullman’s treachery. He’d nearly bled to death after being wounded in her defense, but Fitzroy had used the Mysteries to heal him. He’d been brought to Fog Willows to recuperate and learn a trade. Cettie cherished him as a friend, but nothing more. Did Adam think . . .
Her cheeks were starting to blush. She looked down and was suddenly weary of shooting.
“Can I walk you back to Vicar’s Close?” he asked, offering his arm.
“Can we stop by the Queen’s Garden first? I’d like to say good-bye to Father before he leaves.” She put her hand on his arm. Neither of them wore gloves. Contrary to the fashions and mores of the day, they both had adopted Fitzroy’s way of thinking.
When she touched his arm, she felt that energy travel up to her elbow again.
CHAPTER FIVE
HEART SECRETS
Cettie did not find Sera in the garden, but she did notice the tempest hovering over the docking yard near the Aldermaston’s manor. It was from the Ministry of War—she could tell by the paint an
d polish and the uniforms of the attendants guarding the rope ladder on the lawn. Why were they there? Had they come at the prince regent’s command? She felt a stab of worry for Sera, but her next thought caught her by surprise. An image of Adam wearing regimentals flashed through her mind, invoking a premonition of dread. She was worried something might happen to him if he served aboard one of the mammoth hurricane sky ships or a tempest. Then again, little though she agreed with Phinia, her guardian’s daughter was not wrong—his life could easily be snuffed out by the cholera morbus. She bit her bottom lip, adjusting her arm in his a little closer, as if she could keep him safe by not letting go.
“I wonder whose ship that is,” Adam wondered aloud, echoing her first thoughts. “The unmarked ones are usually a sign of secrecy.”
“All the ministries have their secrets,” Cettie observed. Her own invention with Fitzroy, storm glass, had been kept a relative secret by the Ministry of Wind. They had not revealed the way the contraption worked to anyone—not even the military. It had been Fitzroy’s vision that each ship would have its own. But the ministries were locked in an age-old struggle for power that made such a sweeping collaboration impossible, or at least impractical. Instead, Fitzroy controlled a network of people equipped with the apparatuses in various places throughout the realm. These individuals reported readings from their various stations, and the ministry then offered reports of changes in the weather to the other ministries. For a price.
“I wish it weren’t so,” Adam said with a sigh. “Don’t you think all these machinations limit progress?”
Cettie smiled grimly. “Indeed I do. But there is little trust these days. I’ve heard from Father that when visitors come to Fog Willows, they are watched because many have tried to sneak into his study. Raj Sarin is kept very busy.”