by Jeff Wheeler
Sera stared at him. “What about Lord Welles? He came here to warn me of my father’s impending visit. I think he is on my side.”
Durrant wrinkled his nose. “I would not trust Lord Welles blindly. There is a reason he has been prime minister twice. The game of politics is already being played, whether you like it or not. Assert yourself, Sera. You must give the privy council a reason to believe in you. To you, the past four years might as well have been an eternity. But for old curmudgeons like myself—and most of the privy council are fossils, I assure you—the time has passed in but an instant. Many still see you as an impetuous but promising twelve-year-old. No one wants to be ruled by a child.”
“I would like to ask the Aldermaston for his opinion on this,” Sera said gravely. Durrant had always been very persuasive, and she felt her heart leaning toward his counsel. His words sparked a sense of urgency within her. Delay could indeed be costly. But she didn’t wish to make a poorly thought out decision, and the Aldermaston had proven his worth and wisdom on many occasions.
“By all means. I would like to return to the City this evening. While I am here trying to coddle and persuade you, and I mean that in the most respectful way possible, your enemies seek your downfall, and there is only Fitzroy there to defend you.”
“And he is capable of doing so,” Sera said archly. “If I go, then I would like Cettie to come with me.”
Durrant’s face went flat. “I wouldn’t advise that, Sera,” he said, shaking his head. He splayed his fingers and set them on the study table crowded with books and pencils.
“She is my companion,” Sera insisted.
“And a charming young woman, to be sure,” Durrant said, giving Cettie a respectful nod. “Politically, it would be suicide. But it is your choice.”
Sera knew Durrant was probably right, but it pained her to think of stepping away from her friend for political purposes, even if it was only a temporary separation. Silence yawned between them.
“I saw a man outside,” Cettie said in her quiet way. “The one Mr. Skrelling warned me about. He was watching our street. He just went away.”
Durrant’s brow contorted. “What man? What are you talking about?”
Cettie looked worried. “Earlier today, someone mentioned he had seen a stranger in Vicar’s Close, someone he believed had been watching our room. I saw him, a man of thirty years with long dark hair. He had a scar on his left cheek.”
“That could describe a thousand men,” Durrant replied. “Mr. Skrelling worked for Sloan and Teitelbaum before his schooling. Awkward manner aside, he’s an ambitious and capable young man. If he saw fit to mention it to you, consider it a sign of his good judgment. An advocate is trained to notice things out of the ordinary. He is trained to puzzle out the possible reasons for them.”
Sera felt her alarm growing. The suggestion had seemed so unlikely earlier, when Cettie had mentioned it after dance class. “Why would a man be watching us?”
Durrant gave her a piercing look. “Because it is not improbable, Miss Fitzempress, that one or more of the ministers stands to lose a great deal of money if you succeed in claiming the throne.”
Sera watched the sun begin to set from the window in the Aldermaston’s chamber. The light streaked through the line of trees on the far side of the grounds, pricking her eyes and making her look away. She imagined Mr. Durrant pacing the small lavender garden in agitation, trampling plants as he awaited her decision. Cettie had volunteered to wait with him.
It was just Sera and the Aldermaston in the office, and he had not taken her news very well. He had removed his spectacles and was fiddling with the rims as he pondered everything she’d told him.
“I feel uneasy about this situation,” he said after another lengthy pause. “There are certainly merits to your advocate’s arguments. But I’ve learned to distrust hasty decisions. Something doesn’t feel right here. I’ve been brooding about it all day.”
“But my grandfather’s death has brought this change,” Sera argued, pacing before his polished wooden desk. “It’s not Mr. Durrant’s fault. I would rather not leave Muirwood at this time, but I’m beginning to feel I must.”
“It is your choice, of course. My role is to counsel with you and advise you. In the end, we all must live with the consequences of our decisions. Perhaps you should take more time to think on it . . . reflect on the possibilities with a more quiet mind. Surely another day or two will not affect the outcome?”
“But it might,” Sera said. “I don’t know if I’m ready to take the Test. I hope that I am. I lack confidence; that much is sure. But haven’t you always counseled us, particularly me, that feelings follow actions? If we pretend we are confident, if we act with confidence, we can become confident. The action triggers the feeling.”
She almost couldn’t see his frown amidst his enormous bristly beard. “In this case are not your feelings prompting your actions?”
She didn’t know what to say to that. He was right in many respects. She clasped her hands together, entwining her fingers, and nearly stamped her foot with impatience. Both Mr. Durrant and the Aldermaston had made wise arguments—and they conflicted with each other. “I feel like I should go.”
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
“Because I don’t want to make a mistake! I still feel like going is the right thing to do, but I also want nothing better than to stay. How can you know what is right when your heart tells you one thing and your head tells you another? I feel so conflicted!”
She valued the Aldermaston’s wisdom and experience, but was Durrant right about him? Did his principles cloud his ability to see political machinations clearly?
Again there was a long pause, a deafening silence that made Sera uncomfortable. “Whether or not you heed my counsel, Miss Fitzempress,” the Aldermaston finally said in a kindly way, “I want you to know that I will always regard you highly. There is no risk of offending me if you choose not to follow my advice, and I am confident that you will do very well if you are chosen to lead the empire.” He set his spectacles down on his desk and then steepled his fingers together. “Whenever I feel particularly rushed or urgent, it is either because my wishes are pushing me toward something or because I am being impressed upon by a higher order of power. I have learned through difficult circumstances to tell the difference between the two. If I feel compelled to act in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable . . . awkward even, then that feeling is almost always, if not always, coming to me from the Knowing. When I’ve chosen to heed the call, and I always try, it quickly becomes clear to me that there was a higher purpose to it. On the other hand, when I have acted in any degree of selfishness . . . meaning, when I seek a course that will benefit myself and not others, I have usually discovered, much to my chagrin, that I’ve failed a little test of character.” His brows beetled together. “I cannot give you my instincts. I cannot express in words what I’ve come to learn in my sixty-three years on this world. You will have to make decisions for yourself. If they are wrong, learn from them. Few decisions in life have permanent consequences. That is a gift in and of itself.”
His words, his loving manner, had begun to calm her nerves. “Thank you, Aldermaston,” she said, feeling her throat growing thick. “I know you cannot make the decision for me. It is mine to make, and I must choose it, even if I don’t yet fully understand all of its consequences. What I have learned here has impacted me deeply. I feel that it is my calling to lead . . . and to lead in a way that benefits all of my people, not just the lucky or the rich or the ambitious. I’ve decided to go. Come what may.”
She saw a little twinge in his cheek muscle. But he nodded his head and fixed the spectacles back on his nose. “You will always be welcome back here, my dear,” he said. His tone revealed neither approval nor disapproval of her decision.
Perhaps this was the first step of adulthood—made in blindness, leading to an unknown future.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FRIENDS APART
Th
e sun was fading quickly as Sera walked back to Vicar’s Close, her mind threshing through the implications of the decision she’d made. She was only partially conscious of the good-natured laughs and voices in the street. She paused at the small wooden gate leading to the yard full of lavender and felt an immediate pang of loss. Vicar’s Close felt more like home than the manor of her childhood. She’d known from the start that it wouldn’t be permanent. But as she grazed her palm along the smooth edge of the gate, she felt like bursting into tears.
The window of the dormitory glowed with light, and she saw Cettie in conversation with Mr. Durrant, who was holding a steaming teacup. Her lawyer was not pacing, as she’d expected him to be, and Sera remained at the gate a moment, watching the two people who had influenced her life in such different ways.
No more putting off the inevitable. She pushed open the gate, and the sound clearly could be heard inside because Cettie turned from the window seat and peered out to see her.
Sera walked past the lavender bushes and paused to break a sprig from one of them. She inhaled the pleasant fragrance and then stuffed it into her pocket before marching up the steps and entering her little dormitory.
“Ah, back from her scolding,” Mr. Durrant said with a cynical smile.
“Thomas Abraham would not scold a mouse,” Sera answered, shutting the door behind her.
“Indeed he might, if the mouse proved unrighteous. So what did he advise you?”
Sera folded her arms, soaking in all the details of the quaint little dwelling. “He said he would support me regardless of my choice,” she answered. “What did you think, Mr. Durrant, that he would forbid me from going?”
Her advocate looked surprised and pleased. “He didn’t object?”
“He said he had confidence in my ability to make decisions. And so I have decided. I will go back to Lockhaven and see the privy council.”
The look of relief on Mr. Durrant’s face made her smile.
“In anticipation of that very possibility, I asked your charming friend to pack your things for you. My zephyr is waiting to—”
“No, Mr. Durrant. I won’t be going with you tonight. I will go with my parents when they come to see me. I would like to say good-bye to some of my teachers as well. Another day will not change the outcome.”
Mr. Durrant looked puzzled. “I thought we might surprise your parents before they arrive on the morrow. If you came with me this evening, we could be back at Lockhaven before morning. It would tilt things to your advantage. Show that you are in control of yourself and not subject to your parents’ whims.”
“But I am still sixteen,” Sera answered. “And I am subject to them for two more years. I would like you to return to Lockhaven and await our arrival.” Sera glanced at Cettie and then back at her advocate. “Oh, and Cettie will be coming with me.”
Mr. Durrant’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t think that is wise, ma’am.”
“I know. But it is not your place to countermand me. Go make the arrangements. Since my parents no longer live together, I plan to stay with my mother in the home she is renting.” There were too many dark memories in her childhood home.
Mr. Durrant took a sip from his steaming tea and then set down the cup. “I agree with your choice. Your mother is paying for my services, after all, and I had intended you to stay with her all along. Shall I advise the privy council that you wish to meet with them?”
“Yes, please. The day after tomorrow if you can arrange it.”
“I am yours to command. I had hoped for better company on my return trip, but advocates are the lonely sort, and while deprived of your excellent companionship, I will further my work on your behalf along the journey.” He sighed. “Can I not persuade you . . . ?”
“No,” Sera answered firmly.
“Very well. Ere I depart, I will consult with the Aldermaston about the stranger spying on you. It makes me uneasy to have you here so unprotected, even for one more night.”
“Really, Mr. Durrant. I don’t much like it either, but what would you have me do? Don a hooded cloak and sneak out a back entrance? I have Cettie here with me, and no one can enter this home without our permission. The Leerings prevent it. If the Ministry of War has left a spy, then let him grow bored and cold in the bushes. If it makes you feel better, mention it to the Aldermaston, but I’d rather not raise a fuss.”
“I intended to talk to him about it whether or not I had your permission,” Mr. Durrant said. “It never harms to be prudent. Until our next meeting, I will bow and bid you a fond farewell. Miss Cettie, a pleasure as always.” He doubled the bow to her and then departed.
Sera gazed longingly at the hearth, which crackled with flames from the Leering. The wistfulness of leaving home mingled inside her with the anticipation and excitement of returning to the seat of power. Once again, her life was about to change in a dramatic way. She saw that Cettie had put out another teacup in anticipation of her arrival. Her friend was always so thoughtful.
“We’re going to miss Muirwood,” Sera said, casting her eyes around the small room. “But we will return to take the Test. And we’ll be able to see Fitzroy more often at Lockhaven. I’ll miss Anna and Adam most of anyone. There are good memories here. But at least we’ll bring them with us.”
When she looked at Cettie again, she saw that her friend’s countenance had fallen. A shock of fear suddenly gripped hold of her heart. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll be staying here. I won’t be going with you.”
This was the one possibility she had not anticipated. “You must come with me, Cettie. I need you.”
Cettie sighed and shook her head sadly. “I’ve made my own choice, Sera. I shouldn’t go with you. I know how your parents feel about me. They’re not the only ones. I would be miserable in Lockhaven. I don’t belong there.”
Sera couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her friend wasn’t just saying she wouldn’t come with her now . . . she was saying she wouldn’t come at all. Had this been her intention all along? Had Sera been so wrapped up in her own plan that she’d refused to see it? “It will be different. Cettie, you must come! Can’t you see that I want to change the way things are? I want to repair the breaches in our society. You can help champion this change with me. If I become empress—”
“Even if you do become empress, things wouldn’t change overnight. Every time you are away from me, people treat me horribly. I’m snubbed and reviled almost every day.”
Sera started to say something, but Cettie waved her off. “I don’t care about how they feel toward me, but don’t you see? Those changes you want to make will be so much harder if I’m with you. And I would be miserable besides.”
“But you’ve worried about what you will do after the Test,” Sera said. “You don’t have to worry. You will always have a place with me. I’ll be able to keep my own household soon, and I would never bring on anyone who would ridicule or mistreat you.”
“I’m not coming, Sera. I can’t.”
“But what will you do?” Sera asked. “You’re not adopted yet. You cannot inherit any of the money Fitzroy wants to give you. You need to belong somewhere, Cettie. Make changes with me. All the things you’ve told me about the Fells, about life in the poorest areas here on the surface. We can change that, you and I!”
But Sera could see that Cettie’s mind was already made up. Her friend acted more on principle than sentiment, and she stuck to her decisions once they were made. There was nothing equivocal about her.
“I don’t want to hurt our friendship, but I’ve made up my mind on this,” Cettie said after a long pause, confirming Sera’s thoughts. “I ask you to please respect my decision.”
Sera felt such a throb of loss and regret that tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “You’ve really been treated so poorly here? You never told me.”
Cettie looked down. “I’m grateful to even be here. I’ve learned so much, and my friendships with you and Adam and Anna have meant the world to me. But th
e divisions between the classes are harsh indeed, and there’s a lot of anger toward anyone who rises above their perceived station. I don’t know how you managed to escape it, Sera . . . I’m just grateful that you did. Our friendship is important to me. I don’t want to lose it.”
Sera marched up and took her hands and squeezed them hard. “Do you think that there is anything you could do that would spoil our friendship? That I could stop loving you as I would a sister? Cettie? Surely we know each other’s hearts better than that.” She squeezed her hands again and then kissed them. “You are precious to me. I would do anything within my power to save you more pain.”
The two embraced, and Sera let the tears fall. Why had she let herself believe that Cettie would always be with her? Why had she persuaded herself that she could change her social class’s deep-rooted beliefs by a mere command? Cettie was right: it would take time. It would take years to overcome the corrosive traditions that their ancestors had allowed—nay, encouraged—to fester. Well, she might not be able to revoke the past, but Sera could do something about the future.
“I would never want to damage our friendship,” Cettie said, pulling away enough to look at her. She was crying too; they both were. “You will do so much good for the people. You’ve been as dear as a sister to me as well. I’m so grateful that you chose me as your companion. I love you, Sera. I love you with all my heart.”
It was a tender moment and one Sera knew she would always look back on. And it gave her strength to become the kind of empress that she knew she had to be.
Sera had not seen her father very often since coming to Muirwood. Time had bludgeoned him into someone completely altered from the strict, though occasionally warm, father she remembered from early childhood. She barely recognized him when he walked into the Aldermaston’s office. Father’s secretary, Mr. Case, had entered the room first, whereupon he’d announced Sera’s parents. Without his intervention, she might not have placed him. His hair had receded, and long streaks of gray now frosted it. He was overweight and had a look of feverish intensity—could it be illness?—in his eyes. His costume was expensive and decorated with medals of honors he had been given, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had been earned. He had not succumbed to wearing a wig yet, but Sera felt it was only a matter of time. Mother looked less decrepit, but she had dropped any fastidiousness in her personal habits. It was clear she didn’t much care what she looked like. Although they came in the same tempest, Sera suspected that they had not spoken two words together. She glanced at the Aldermaston, but his grave expression had not altered.