by Jeff Wheeler
“Sera, it will look as if you and I were scheming to upstage your father. I knew about the letters. I cannot deny it in front of an Oath Leering. My dear, the cause is lost. There is no way the privy council will choose you now. None whatsoever. It’s all . . . ruined.” His face contorted into anger. He still wouldn’t look at her. She saw his clenched fists tremble in his lap. He had tied his future to hers.
And it led nowhere.
The carriage pulled to a sudden stop, and the driver called out, “What is it, Officers?”
Mr. Durrant closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headrest in despair.
Sera saw a light shine in through the window, blinding her.
“We’re looking for—” The man abruptly cut off his words. “Captain! Captain! She’s in here!”
CHAPTER THIRTY−TWO
THE RISING
Sera’s first foray to the world below had ended in an unmitigated disaster. It was a scandal. There was no other suitable word to describe the situation Sera found herself in when she returned to Lockhaven with a military escort. What troubled her the most were the looks of disappointment on everyone’s faces. She had earned such looks from her parents when she was younger. Now everyone, including Mr. Durrant, looked at her as if they were terribly disappointed.
She was brought back to the palace before dawn, but wasn’t permitted to speak to the privy council. Mr. Durrant tried to insist on it, to exercise her rights as a princess, but he was met with a stone-cold reproof, and the two of them were ordered to wait in a sitting room while the council met. Durrant had slumped into a stuffed chair and rubbed his eyes, for he had not slept most of the night. Sera paced in the room, glancing occasionally out the window to track the rising of the sun. Each hour they were made to wait was a new kind of torture. The suspense of not knowing what would happen to her made her imagination run rampant. She was already experiencing the effects of the shunning. When servants entered with the morning meal, they wouldn’t meet her gaze or speak. Not a word. The tinkling of the silverware became deafening in the silence.
“At least have some potatoes, Mr. Durrant,” Sera attempted in a lighthearted tone. He looked as if he had aged ten years overnight.
“I’ve quite lost my appetite,” he said in a surly voice.
Sera had as well. The slices of fruit on the tray looked somewhat appetizing, but her stomach squirmed at the mere thought of food. No, she continued to pace, wondering how long the privy council would protract the torture.
“They haven’t even asked to hear my side,” Sera said forlornly. “I was duped. But I’m not wicked. Where is Hugilde?”
Mr. Durrant’s eyes were narrowed with misery. “Who knows? Probably on a zephyr far, far away with enough money in the bank to live comfortably for years. You were alone with a young man, Sera. You were locked in a room with him. That alone may brand you for the rest of your life. Some of the ladies on the privy council were aghast at what you’d done. What you risked to reclaim letters. They thought the contents must be very bad indeed. And you’ll not be surprised to hear the letters themselves have disappeared.” His lip twitched. “You should have reached out to me. You should have confided in me. I was your advocate, Sera. Four years I’ve spent. Wasted. Instead you put your faith in a woman your estranged father had appointed to you.”
His words stung her heart.
It was shortly after sunrise that a knock sounded on the door. Lord Fitzroy entered. Her insides coiled into knots, and she stopped her pacing, seeking his eyes. He looked tired but not accusatory. The corner of his mouth quirked into a little smile of familiarity.
“Please, Lord Fitzroy, out with it,” Sera pleaded. “Don’t spare me the worst.”
“Miss Fitzempress,” Mr. Durrant chided, rising from his chair for the first time. “Let him speak. You bear grave news, Minister. I see it in your countenance.”
Fitzroy shut the door behind him and wandered over to the trays of food. “Our forces at Grishawk were attacked. The war has started.” He said this as he gazed at the cantaloupe and the orange slices.
“Grishawk?” Durrant whispered in shock. “That’s a coastal fortress.”
“It’s not a fortress anymore,” Fitzroy said, looking at the advocate. “It’s been reduced to rubble. Kingfountain has won the first skirmish. They have power we do not yet understand. Power to smash stone. The reports are still coming in. Part of the fleet was deployed to defend Grishawk. They say the enemy ships came out of the water without warning and launched some sort of fiery missiles at the fortress. One of the hurricanes was damaged when it dropped low to counterattack, and it had to retreat higher to the clouds to avoid foundering.” He sighed. “So we are at war with Kingfountain.” He gazed at her. “You can imagine what the privy council has decided in consequence.”
Sera bit her lip, her heart full of anguish for the fallen soldiers. Yes, she knew. There wasn’t another choice. “The decision has been made, then.”
Fitzroy nodded slowly. “It has. The privy council has chosen your father as the new emperor. It is a pragmatic choice, under the circumstances.”
Mr. Durrant stifled a groan, and Fitzroy shot him an angry look. Sera felt a spasm of pain at the words. Her hopes had all crashed to the ground, broken to pieces like the fortress of Grishawk.
“Did anyone speak for me?” Sera asked huskily, trying not to cry. “Was I condemned without knowledge of all the facts? I was duped, Lord Fitzroy.”
Fitzroy turned and faced her, his hands behind his back. “I spoke for you, Sera,” he said compassionately. “Even though I sensed the momentum of the situation was against you. Even though I knew it would be unpopular for me to speak in favor of you. But then, I’ve never much cared for others’ opinions of me.”
Mr. Durrant approached, his face angry. “Were you the only one who spoke for her? Was everyone else too cowardly?”
There was a glint of answering anger in Fitzroy’s eyes. “Mr. Durrant, have a care. Are you so caught up in your own feelings that you cannot appreciate what Sera is suffering?”
“What she is suffering?” Durrant said, aghast. “I’ve given—”
“Four years,” Fitzroy interrupted. “You speculated, like many others, that she would gain the throne. No doubt your losses are great, but they are not greater than hers. She had no money at play here. Only her future.”
Sera turned and looked at Mr. Durrant. “You . . . you speculated . . . about me?”
“Everyone has!” he shot back. “It was always a long shot. But it is in those risks that great fortunes are won. Or lost.” His voice was like a growl.
Sera put her hand on her heart. How many people had lost money because of her failure? It was obvious the depth of people’s feelings toward her had been motivated by greed, not only her plans for the empire. She was like a racehorse who had foundered on the track. The thought disgusted her.
“Lady Corinne was behind this,” Sera said angrily. “She and Welles were behind it. Like spiders. She gave me the letters. And I, like a fool, let them harm me.”
“The letters you reference,” Fitzroy asked for clarification, “are the ones found in your room?”
“Yes. The ones my father wrote to Lady Corinne.”
Fitzroy’s lips pursed. “They were unopened, if I understand things properly. They were given to the emperor after they were discovered in your room. I was told they were forgeries, written by a hand that only resembles your father’s. He claims it was an attempt by you to blackmail him.”
“That isn’t true,” Sera countered. “Lady Corinne gave them to me secretly when I visited Pavenham Sky. She asked me to return them to my father and to insist that he not send any more. She wouldn’t read them because they didn’t go through her husband.”
Spiders, just as she’d thought, and she’d stumbled into their web without realizing it.
“Is that why you believe she orchestrated these events?” Fitzroy asked. “Such a serious accusation requires proof. She was n
amed a member of the privy council last night.”
“Lady Corinne?” Durrant gasped in surprise.
“Indeed,” Fitzroy said. “Her husband has been called back to military duty. As have I. I’ll be returning to Muirwood shortly to bid farewell to my family before taking my command.”
“But you’re the Minister of Wind,” Sera said in surprise.
“Not any longer,” he answered. “Lord Welles was named prime minister by your father in the meeting. Lord Prentice was forced to step down and has returned to his old post as Minister of Wind. Everything else remains as it was with one exception: Lady Corinne has joined the council. If you have any further information, Sera, I should like to know. I thought her above such blatant political scheming, but when such power is up for grabs, people will stoop low to snatch it.”
Of course. They’d gotten everything they wanted. Power. Prestige. A war to distract the people from the cholera morbus. From poverty. From the divisions in their society. And presumably Lady Corinne’s husband had made a neat bundle from speculating on it all. The people would suffer for this.
Sera clenched her fists, but her resolve began to founder. “If I had become empress, she would no longer have as much power. She controls fashion, she controls who is ostracized . . .” She regretted saying it, remembering that Fitzroy’s wife had once been shunned by the lady.
If he was bothered by her comment, he didn’t show it. “That is all probably true, Sera. She would have lost some of her influence. Unfortunately, it won’t be enough to convince anyone that she was scheming against you.” He sighed. “A very good friend of mine lost his estate, Gimmerton Sough, because of the machinations of the Lawton family. Now that he has prospered running my mines, he would like to buy the property back, but Admiral Lawton has refused to sell it. It’s not about money. The Lawtons don’t want my friend to get his estate back, even though it’s still unoccupied. They consider him undeserving of his former position in society. Simply because they decided it was so.”
Cettie had told her the story of the family’s fall from grace. She’d felt the floating manor quake beneath her.
“I don’t have any firm evidence,” she admitted. “Just the suspicions I’ve shared with you.”
“Best to keep those to yourself,” he replied with a warning tone. “It would be fair to say that the Lawtons betted against you becoming empress. You are correct—they had reason to support your father as emperor. The incident last night made you lose favor with the council. For now. I’m hoping it’s not lost forever. But it will take time. Trust is easily broken. Like a mirror. You cannot repair the cracks. It must be made over.”
Sera nodded, feeling her shame flare up again. “I will do what I can to make amends. Just so you know, I didn’t—”
Fitzroy held up a hand, forestalling her. “You don’t need to tell me anything, Sera. I’m on your side still. Whatever happened. And those who are your true friends always will be.” He gave Durrant a pointed look as he said this.
Sera sighed in relief. “Thank you, Lord Fitzroy. I’m sick inside that I was so foolish. What will I do now that Father is emperor? Can I go to Muirwood to take the Test?”
“Yes, what is to be done?” Durrant asked. He looked beaten down by Fitzroy’s rebukes.
“I was not the only one who spoke up for you during the council,” Fitzroy said. “While the Minister of Thought did vote for your father, he encouraged us all to be understanding of the foibles of youth. That we tend to be too severe. He said, and I will always remember this, that if the Knowing desired to put a forty-year-old’s head on a sixteen-year-old’s shoulders, it would have done so. Instead, the Knowing put a sixteen-year-old’s head on a sixteen-year-old’s shoulders, and we should all try to be more understanding. Sometimes we measure someone from the position of our own years and experience. We forget what it is like to be young. You made a mistake, Sera. What happened in that room will be speculated about. Gossiped about. Only you and that young man know the facts, and we can assume he was paid to embellish the incident. Perhaps it’s not as serious as the rumors suggest, but it was still an unfortunate error in judgment. And when you lead people, when lives are at stake based on the decisions you make, the people must be able to trust you. To trust, too, that you can learn from your mistakes. This is your opportunity, Sera, to prove that you can.”
She nodded vigorously. “I will do my best, Lord Fitzroy. So I am to go back to Muirwood, then? To spend another year as a learner? The Test was yesterday, was it not?”
He shook his head, and her stomach plummeted.
“What, then?” she asked worriedly.
“She’ll be put in wardship,” Durrant surmised. He clapped his hands together, his eyes intent. “Who? You?”
“I did request it,” Fitzroy said, but the resignation in his voice told her that he had not been granted his desire.
“I think I see where this is going,” Durrant said in despair.
Fitzroy nodded. “You will not be permitted to take the Test yet. Your father has asked the Lawtons to oversee the remainder of your education at Pavenham Sky. As a personal favor to him. I don’t think Cettie would be permitted to go there. Your mother will be given the right to visit on a schedule.”
Sera’s eyes widened with surprise and shock. “Pavenham Sky?”
“And what’s to become of me?” Mr. Durrant asked in desperation.
“Your services are no longer required,” Fitzroy said flatly. “The emperor has banned you from returning to Lockhaven. With the privy council’s decision, Sera is no longer in need of your services.”
“But what about the Test?” Sera asked in desperation.
“You will be permitted to take it later, when the privy council feels that sufficient time has passed. I’m sorry, Sera. That is the will of the council.”
She lowered her head and felt the burning tears at last.
CHAPTER THIRTY−THREE
WARS OF RELIGION
The days began to blur together for Sera as she prepared to depart for Pavenham Sky immediately following her father’s coronation ceremony. The decorations in the palace were transforming it into some sort of fairyland of opulence. She hardly recognized the corridors or the mobs of servants working from before sunrise until well after sunset.
In all her dreams of becoming empress, she would never have imagined spending a fortune on the ceremony itself. Not when they were now at war. Not when there were people starving down below. She had seen the people’s hunger, their resentment against those who lived in the clouds above them. She’d seen a glimpse of the true disease infecting her empire.
The palace kitchens never stopped working to feed the hosts of nobles assembling from their sky manors throughout the realm. Dignitaries arrived from distant shores to witness the event, and she was forbidden to meet any of them. For the most part, she was sequestered with two maids, both chosen by her father to keep watch on her. Neither girl attempted to befriend her. They seemed sullen and resentful that they were forced to be her chaperones.
News of the war with Kingfountain was slow to reach her. She’d always relied on Mr. Durrant to supply news and gossip, but now he was gone for good, ripped from her life. Mother was given permission to visit with her for just an hour each day. She bore a portion of blame for Sera’s indiscretion. But if she were to be accepted as the emperor’s consort, she had to acquiesce to his demands. Their marriage, everyone knew, was still a sham. But during a time of war, it was important to project the illusion of unity. Sera found it all rather sickening.
Her belongings were packed and ready to be loaded. She wore a ceremonial dress, too ostentatious for her tastes, but it had been provided for her, and she had been given no choice but to wear it. Her hair was coiffed, and her nails buffed and decorated. She would look like a princess, even though she wasn’t permitted to attend the celebratory events following the coronation. Basically, she was a prisoner of the court.
A knock sounded on the door, and Sera
instinctively braced herself for the visitor. Rather than the underling she expected, it was Mr. Case, her father’s secretary. She despised the man, but she rose from her chair and greeted him with false affection.
“The emperor will see you now,” he said, bowing to her.
Getting an audience with her father was a rarity, and it unnerved her. What demands would he make of her now? Was another privilege to be stripped away from her? What more could Father take from her? They were at war with a rival world, a world that shared some common beliefs but had very different traditions. A war in the name of religion. It filled Sera with foreboding.
She followed Mr. Case as he led the way to her father’s private chambers. Again, the transformation of the corridor required them to move cautiously. The flowered garlands practically rained petals down on them, and there were servants with brooms and trays to sweep up the remains. The clamor of the workers made it difficult to hear.
When they arrived, the guards at the chamber parted, and the door opened. Her father sat at his breakfast table, the gazette at his elbow. He was chewing vigorously, though his appetite did not curb his animated conversation with Lady Corinne, seated near him. Sera recognized the butler of Pavenham Sky, Master Sewell, standing in attendance at a discreet distance.
“What of the cholera morbus?” Lady Corinne asked. There were remains of a meal on her plate. So, they had breakfasted together. Never had Sera felt more certain she’d been duped.
“Ah yes,” Father said after clearing his mouth. “The doctors report that fewer cases are inflicting the City. Fewer corpses to bury. It seems that the fire has burnt out for the time being. There are certain quarters of the City that were abandoned after it struck. People fled to the countryside, those who could afford to at any rate. Some households were wiped out. Overall, the toll seems to be around twenty thousand.” He shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it could have been.”