by Jeff Wheeler
“No! No!” Anna screeched in her otherworldly voice.
A hand gripped Cettie’s wrist. Caulton was on his knees beside her, blood streaming from a cut on his brow. He looked intense and committed. His eyes were fixed on the blinding-white orb.
“I name you, Ashphodel, depart!” he said boldly.
Another scream.
“I name you, Havilah, depart!”
“You cannot command me!” Anna shrieked.
“I name you, Belkin, I name you, Crizznen, depart!”
The scream that followed drowned out Caulton’s words, but still he spoke, naming the ghosts one by one. Anna’s body started to convulse and shake, her eyes rolling back in her head. She began to tear at herself with her own nails. Cettie cringed and gaped, horrified by the sight of her lovely, radiant sister doing herself injury, but she joined her power with Caulton’s, and the light only grew brighter. One of the soldiers dropped his arquebus and fled into the night.
“I name you—!”
“No! No!”
And then Anna crumpled to the forest floor, pale as death, bleeding from the wounds she had scored in herself.
The ghosts were all gone.
In the light of the Cruciger orb, Cettie watched as the man who’d claimed to be her father strode forward, his face full of enmity. Caulton struggled to his feet, and Cettie came up with him.
There were only two soldiers left, and the kishion struck them both down with well-aimed jabs. Juliana stepped in front of him, drawing her blades.
“You cannot have them,” she spat at him.
The kishion looked at her coldly, his scar twitching as he frowned. He drew his pistol and aimed it at her face. “I have come for what is rightfully mine. You will not corrupt her. Stand aside.”
“Do as he says, Juliana,” Caulton said warningly.
“I will not,” she answered, her voice throbbing.
“Juliana, please,” Caulton said. “Trust me.”
“I’ll go with him,” Cettie declared. “Please. Don’t hurt anyone else.”
She heard the music again. It was rising inside of Caulton as he stared at the kishion. He still had a firm grip on her wrist, and she sensed that he had no intention of letting her go.
Trust me, he thought to her.
Juliana, gazing down the barrel of the pistol, slowly stepped aside. There was nothing between them now.
“Die, Maston,” the kishion said coldly. His look hardened. Cettie knew he would pull the trigger.
The kishion was plucked off his feet. There was a groan and the crackle of branches. It was as if the tree had suddenly come alive and seized him. The kishion was immediately obscured by the leaves and limbs, and he grunted in surprise at the realization that he was well and truly entangled.
“Get Anna!” Caulton shouted to Juliana as he pulled Cettie away from the tree, which continued to whip and flail around. She felt the power course through his body as his grip tightened on her wrist. Juliana scooped up Anna’s prone form as the captain and several of the wounded soldiers crawled away. The pistol belched fire, and a ball zipped past them. Smoke and stinking fumes came next, reminding Cettie of the night the Aldermaston had been shot. The kishion thrashed against his confinement.
Lights from zephyrs started to shine from overhead.
The captain couldn’t speak, but he raised his wrist to his mouth. More light began to shine down, and Cettie’s heart filled with hope.
The kishion let out a roar of rage, and suddenly the entire tree was engulfed in flames.
“Back, farther back!” Caulton warned.
It was a frightening sight, and the waves of heat blasted Cettie in the face, singeing her. One of the soldiers caught fire and began shrieking in pain.
The kishion emerged from the fire unscathed, his eyes glowing silver.
Caulton met his gaze with a look of determination. Suddenly another tree wrenched its limbs around and tried to grapple the kishion. The man dived to the side in time to escape its embrace, but the whole woods swayed. The fire from the one tree was spreading to others.
“I have the whole grove to command,” Caulton warned.
A zipping noise sounded, and a ball tore through the trees, landing by the kishion’s foot. He glanced down as more shots began to rain down. He looked at Cettie in rage and desperation. But even he knew he was outmatched as the zephyrs and their soldiers closed in. The kishion shook his head at her, as if she were making a grievous mistake, and then he turned and bolted into the woods, dodging the trees that tried to grasp him.
Juliana set Anna down safely away from the burning trees, fingers touching the young woman’s scratched-up throat. A look of fury and resentment crossed her face, and then she charged into the woods after the kishion.
SERA
At Muirwood, as at other abbeys of learning, we teach truths that will unlock the power of the Mysteries in our students’ lives. A first-year learner is taught that everything begins with a thought. They begin a regimen of study and meditation to gain control of their own minds. Second-year learners are taught that their thoughts, mixed with strong emotions, begin to awaken the seeds of connection to the Knowing within them, and some begin to see evidence of growth in their lives. A third-year student is taught the importance of their interactions with their fellow creatures, how slights and insults can permanently harm others’ thinking, as well as how praise and cooperation can achieve matters of great significance. Some students, especially the proud, are quick to exploit this knowledge for ill. The fourth-year learner is taught the importance of time—the law of the harvest—and how certain powers only unlock after much dedication and effort. Some powers require years to master. Others require a lifetime. But an acorn will never produce an apple tree. All these teachings prepare a student to face the final Test, to learn a Mystery that is concealed from the world at large. In doing so they face a deep fear. It masters them, or they master it.
Words are but symbols. Harken then to words of the ancients, words that every first-year learner reads, but only one in ten thousand ever puts to use: “We search the tomes, and we have many insights and even a share of the Gift of Foretelling; and having this guidance, we obtain power by hope, and our faith becomes unshakeable, so much so that we truly can command the very trees to obey us, or the mountains, or the waves of the sea.”
—Thomas Abraham, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER TWENTY−TWO
PAVENHAM SKY
Sera had never been invited to Pavenham Sky before, and she was nervous about the visit. Hugilde had fussed over which gown she should wear and how to arrange her hair. It was common knowledge that Lady Corinne set the fashions in the realm. When she chose a new dressmaker, that person became a celebrity, and every other fashionable woman sought to imitate her choices. She was the wife of the wealthiest man in the empire, Admiral Lawton, though some argued that Lord Fitzroy was quickly gaining ground because of his and Cettie’s miraculous invention. The ability to predict storms was certainly a profitable endeavor.
Pavenham Sky was a floating manor above the western coast of Comoros. It was the largest manor in the realm, with extensive grounds and tiered parks. Of course, the Lawtons also had a manor at Lockhaven, but it was Pavenham Sky that was the envy of all other elite families. There was no other place like it, and Sera leaned over the balcony of the tempest as it made its approach, anxious to catch her first glimpse of it. She wished Cettie were there to see it as well, to share the experience. Surely her friend deserved some relaxation after the upheavals at Muirwood. She would have suggested it, if only Lady Corinne were not so averse to people from the lower classes. Or to people in general, she thought with disdain.
The day of Will Russell and the hedge maze, she’d witnessed a private meeting between her father and Lady Corinne. Though she did not understand how, the meeting had resulted in a rift between her parents. Of course, it was out of the question to ask Lady Corinne about it. Mr. Durrant had warned her to be cautious about what she to
ld the powerful woman. Her influence ran deep.
“Not so close to the railing, Sera, the wind will whip your hair loose.” Hugilde was always worried about appearances.
“Then you can fix it,” Sera replied, not budging. They’d been on board for several hours as the tempest cruised swiftly over the valleys and hamlets. They would arrive in time for a luncheon. Sera knew she was to be introduced to Lady Corinne’s set that day, along with all the other young ladies under consideration to be married to the Prince of Kingfountain. Some of the girls, Sera had heard, were regulars at Pavenham Sky—which was how they had come to be considered for such an opportunity.
Although Sera was eager for the visit, she couldn’t shake a feeling of uncertainty. The Lawtons had a reputation after all. The admiral was a shrewd man of business. He had left the Ministry of War at the age of forty and married a much younger woman, Lady Corinne. Some said she was an heiress who had brought part of the fortune herself. Others said that it was merely her beauty that had entranced him. Everyone agreed that they had found, in each other, a partnership and companionship that had catapulted Admiral Lawton to his great success. There was no end to his ventures. He never lost in a speculation, either, having the uncanny ability to invest early to his gain and to divest before trouble started. Pavenham Sky was the symbol of their wealth and glory. It was unsurpassed, even among the sky manors.
“What do you know of Lady Corinne’s background?” Sera asked Hugilde after realizing her mind had wandered quite far afield.
“Only what I’ve already told you, Sera,” Hugilde said with an exasperated smile. “I don’t know the true story. I don’t know that anyone does.”
“Do you remember that day at the hedge maze?” Sera asked.
Hugilde’s look darkened. “I think of it every day, Sera.”
“I came upon Father talking to Lady Corinne. She had come by to see him, to share some news. I thought it strange, back then, that Father was meeting her so privately. I wish I could remember what they’d talked about. Whatever it was, it made things worse between my parents.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past her,” Hugilde said. “I’ve heard that earning her disapproval is a costly mistake . . . one that can have repercussions that last for years.”
“I know,” Sera said. “Lord Fitzroy’s wife, Lady Maren, was such a person . . . all because she was upset when the young man who was courting her chose another. I think it’s sad that one woman can tarnish someone’s reputation so easily. Don’t you think it is strange that she hasn’t reached out to me before this?”
Hugilde shook her head, folding her arms. “I don’t think it strange at all. She doesn’t want you to become empress.”
Sera looked at her in surprise. “Why do you say that?”
Hugilde arched her eyebrows. “Because if you become empress, my dear, then ladies will look to you to set the fashions of the future.”
That was an entirely new way of looking at the situation. Sera had never considered the possibility that Lady Corinne might perceive her as a threat to her power and station. The insight gave her an added measure of self-confidence.
“Oh, I think I see it!” Hugilde said excitedly. “Look!”
Sera turned back to the railing and caught her first glimpse of the famous manor. “Oh my,” she gasped in wonderment.
While it certainly did not rival Lockhaven in size, the monstrous rock supporting Pavenham Sky was the largest Sera had ever seen under a single sky mansion. But it wasn’t just one floating mountain; there were several, linked together with giant iron cables. Most of the lower ones featured sculpted gardens, but some had elegant servants’ quarters too. There were multiple tiers, ending on the ground, and Sera saw zephyrs floating up from the gardens to bring guests to the main island in the air. The main manor was huge, the structure four stories high with a triangular facade on the front with parapets. The landing yard in front of the entrance held no fewer than seven tempests, each one hovering in place with room to spare. As they neared, Sera gaped at the admiral’s private hurricane moored to the side with a giant chain. There must be an army of servants to work the grounds, she realized.
“Look! The sea!” Hugilde’s voice showed how impressed she was.
Sera saw that the manor was moored in the sky above a long stretch of cliffs that joined with the sea. Waves crashed on the immaculate beaches beneath the edge of the manor, offering a grand view. The grounds on the cliffs were all sculpted with lawns and hedges and pathways. There were people walking down below, but no homes or dwellings, just private gazebos and benches. It was the most picturesque place Sera could imagine. Everywhere she looked, there were exorbitant displays of wealth, from the bronzed shingles of the main estate down to the lampposts on the stair rails leading to the beaches.
“This is why she is famous,” Sera breathed. “Who wouldn’t want to live here? Or visit?”
“Do you see the fog?” Hugilde asked. “Look, it’s almost like a wall of it is being held back.”
The bank of fog was restrained by some force to provide a perfect view of the land below. Instantly, she felt the desire to live at such a place, to be surrounded by such luxury. She had never understood covetousness before—there’d been no need—but the feeling was powerful. How strange that just seeing something grand could trigger such urges.
Their tempest slowed its approach as it descended to the main manor. The manor looked to be at least a century old, if not more. But the outer buildings all looked younger. Much of the growth had happened during the admiral’s rise to power.
Sera nearly asked Hugilde how she looked, but she caught herself in time. Confidence. Confidence was key. Lady Corinne was worried about her. How was that even possible?
The pilot of the tempest swung lower yet, easing down to an open position at the end of the line. The other tempests were all likely owned by the families of the other girls chosen to represent the empire to the Prince of Kingfountain. When had the others arrived?
Her stomach was doing somersaults, but she tried to exude calmness. The breeze was pleasant with a savory smell of the ocean at its tip. The only smells wafting up to Lockhaven from the City were sulfurous ones. She could hear the crash of the surf in the distance, the sigh of the waters receding. Such heavenly music. Then she noticed there was also music piping from the main house.
The crew lowered a gangplank since it would be unladylike for her to climb down a rope ladder. Sera descended to the landing platform, careful not to trip over her long skirts. Her silk gloves went up to her elbows. She had chosen not to wear jewelry because the event had been described as an afternoon excursion, not a state ball.
A handsome middle-aged man met her at the bottom of the ramp wearing an expensive uniform comprising a coat, a buttoned shirt, breeches, and boots with too many buckles.
“Welcome to Pavenham Sky, ma’am,” he said with a charming smile. “I am Lord Lawton’s butler, Master Sewell. Your Highness, you do us great honor in accepting the mistress’s invitation. Was the journey from Lockhaven pleasant?”
“Indeed, Master Sewell,” Sera replied. He offered his arm to escort her, and she placed her hand on top of his forearm, as was the etiquette for such an occasion. Hugilde followed behind, along with some of Sera’s bodyguards, but they joined the other servants and remained behind. Sewell, who led the way for Sera, was all grace and wit. He complimented her on her gown, her hairstyle, and even her smile. All words designed to put her at ease and make her feel welcome and comfortable. The intent was likely to manipulate her into lowering her guard. She was having none of it.
They passed the tempests floating at their respective berths, each one containing crew that had not been invited to join the festivities. Sewell then led her to the triple arches that fronted the estate, and when they passed beneath the shadowed lip, she felt the presence of the Leerings hiding there. It gave her the sensation of being watched, but then the Leerings always made her feel that way. The path opened to a courtyard
as soon as they passed through the arches, revealing a massive square of gray stone. There was a fountain in the middle, beyond which twin stairs zigzagged up to a massive double door that was probably eighteen feet tall. It was capped by a triangular casement level with enormous windows. Indeed, windows gazed down at her from almost all sides. The patio had been swept recently, and their shoes made stuttering clicks as they walked.
Sewell escorted her up the stairway to the right, and when they reached the top, the massive doors swung open. The sound of the instruments grew much louder, and it only took her a moment to realize why—there was a full orchestra on display. The music at Pavenham Sky wasn’t teleported in by Leering. No, they had their own music made there.
Sera tried not to stare as she entered the massive hall. The columns, stairs, railings, and banisters were ornate and decorated, some even sheathed in gold. The wealth on display was staggering. It was difficult to wrap her mind around the idea that Lord Lawton had earned the bulk of his fortune through speculation. Most men were ruined by excessive speculation, but his had earned him this. Uniformed servants dressed like the butler stood at attention along the main gallery. Sera was escorted down the long hall, but she saw a woman approaching her before she reached the double doors at the end.
It was Lady Corinne herself.
Sera guessed her to be in her midthirties. She had obviously been a very young woman when Lord Lawton had married her. What little of her hair that could be seen beneath her fancy hat was brown, but it was her face that intrigued Sera the most. Lady Corinne was pretty, but not in a particularly exceptional manner. She had a proud mouth, one that seemed to rarely smile, with just a touch of pink applied. Her eyes were grayish green and deeply serious, showing a keen intelligence. She was not flighty. If anything, she looked a little underwhelmed by the sight of Sera. If Sera had been concerned about her lack of jewelry, Lady Corinne wore only two dangling earrings of modest fashion.
As she drew close, Lady Corinne stopped and made a gracious bow. Now she did smile, just a little lift to the corners of her mouth, and she inclined her head in greeting.