by Jeff Wheeler
“That’s a relief,” Lady Corinne said. She glanced over at Sera, her eyes revealing nothing of her emotions. Neither satisfaction nor disdain. “And isn’t it fortunate, my lord, that the outbreak has ended on the eve of your coronation?”
Father positively glowed at her attention. He wiped his hands on the silk napkin and dabbed some grease from his chin. “It is indeed,” he said with real pleasure. “A sign from the Mysteries, I should think. The doctors were never able to determine the cause of it, but the current theory is the noxious miasma that persists down below. They have encouraged people to walk about with handkerchiefs covering their mouths. I’ve seen it through the Leerings.” He wagged his own handkerchief at her playfully and then set it down.
Sera stared at the two of them, feeling anger start to ignite the blood in her veins. Whenever her parents breakfasted together, they always sat opposite each other, their mutual loathing obvious. Here was Lady Corinne, sitting at Father’s elbow, having a private conversation with him as he strutted like a peacock in front of her. As he mocked his own sick and dying people.
Father turned, and his look cooled immediately. “I said to bring her after breakfast, Case,” he snapped petulantly.
Mr. Case looked mortified. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” Sera could see that Mr. Case didn’t even try to defend himself. His job was to weather Father’s moods.
“Well, she’s here at any rate.” He coughed into his hand and then leaned back in the plush cushions of his chair. His look was that of a cat grown fat on cream. He lazily rubbed his finger around the goblet and then brought the cup to his mouth and took a sip. “You will be departing after the ceremony to Pavenham Sky with Master Sewell,” he said firmly. “He will see that you are situated as due your station.” There was something in his voice that warned her, chilled her. “Lady Corinne is part of the privy council now and will return to the manor following the next council meeting.” He dipped his head to Lady Corrine respectfully. The lady’s expression did not change. But she looked at Sera coolly, gloved hands clasped on her lap.
“I already knew that, Father,” Sera said, struggling to maintain her temper. He still flinched subtly when she used that name for him. There was still a part of him that didn’t believe she was his offspring. And following her disgrace and his ascension, he had little need to acknowledge her. The familiarity between Corinne and himself revealed much. Sera knew that Lady Corinne had no children of her own, and the lady was quite a bit younger than her husband. Who would inherit Pavenham Sky? Maybe she planned for it all to come to her. Maybe she had her sights set on replacing Sera’s mother.
“Of course you knew it,” Father said peevishly. “But that’s not why I summoned you. I wanted to share other news with you myself.”
Sera swallowed, feeling the room tighten in around her. “What news?”
“Be silent and I shall tell you. You’ve heard of the skirmish of Grishawk, no doubt. Yes, I see that you have. There was another battle fought yesterday at a mirror gate off the coast of Dahomey. Do you know what a gate—”
“They are the portals between our worlds,” Sera interrupted. “How we have made trade possible with other worlds.” She knew this from her studies at Muirwood. The portals were made of natural arches, stones that had worn away, leaving a hollow space within. Leerings were carved into them, which connected them to natural arches in other worlds. Some portals were formed by the erosion at sea. Some were made from rivers in canyons. Once they toppled, they could no longer be used. And depending on the size, ships could even be sent through them. They were rare and took thousands of years to form.
“Yes, well, the one at the shore of Dahomey was attacked. We have ships stationed at every one now, and we were prepared for the fight. It was a vicious battle, and our forces had to retreat. We lost a hurricane and twelve tempests in the fighting. They had an armada of sorts. Vicious fighting, as I said. There were many casualties. Many gave their lives trying to defend the empire.”
His eyes glittered as he said this. For some reason, he was savoring it. He still hadn’t revealed his purpose.
“That’s awful,” Sera said, her stomach churning.
“The carnage was immense,” Father said. “They use some strange new weaponry. Exploding balls that wreak havoc on our hulls. They leave lots of smoke, make it difficult for our dragoons to find targets. Messy business. One exploded into the hull of the hurricane, and the bits of metal cut into the young men stationed there. Many fell to their deaths because they weren’t roped in.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Including one . . . Lieutenant . . . Russell.”
Sera was horrified. Not just at the news but at the vindictive way her father had decided to reveal it to her. Her feelings for Will had certainly changed since his betrayal—her memories and fancies had altered irrevocably. But she hadn’t wanted him to die, and the thought of him plummeting from a broken sky ship after being lacerated by an explosion made her tremble with sadness and regret. She would never see him again. He would never have the chance to gain the type of wisdom that only came with age. To right the wrongs he had done. His life had been snuffed out, among so many others. Grief and anguish flooded her.
War. Bloody and final. And it was just beginning. It was no cause for celebration, for speculation. Lives were on the line.
“That young man can tarnish you no more,” Father said coldly.
“Did you . . . did you send him to his death?” Sera said with a trembling voice.
“Did I know that Dahomey would be attacked? Of course not! I’m no harbinger. I sent him far away so that you wouldn’t be tempted by his ignoble blood any further. You shamed yourself, Sera. I would be angrier if it had not yielded the fruit I desired to taste. You are young and naïve, which the council took into consideration. I hope that you will learn from your mistakes. Always you were a headstrong girl, but perhaps shame will teach you prudence. As a personal favor to me, Lady Corinne has agreed to take you in as her ward. You’ve much to learn about the ways of society and the proper boundaries. I hope you will learn from her and adopt all that she teaches you. One day, if you prove faithful to me, you may yet be chosen as my heir.” He shook his head slowly. “You are not entitled to it, my dear. You’ve done nothing that would entitle you to it. But if you are submissive and humble, if you bend to my will, your exile from court may not last more than . . . say . . . a few years?”
Sera was trembling. She wanted to lash out at him, to decry his hypocrisy and his machinations with Lady Corinne and Lord Welles. But she ruled her tongue and refused to let it run away. Her eyes felt hot, but she didn’t cry. Not for Will. Not for herself. She would not cry before him.
“I see that stubbornness in your eyes,” he said in a low, cruel voice. “How it disappoints me still. You’ve always been a disappointment to me.”
His words drew blood. They always had. But she had learned that nothing she could ever do would please him. He wanted a mindless, obedient puppet that he could forever control. One that would submit to his whims just because he thought to entertain them. Approval was an enticement that most people responded to. Not Sera, however.
“I am grateful to hear that the cholera morbus has stopped its work of death,” Sera finally said. “Thank the Mysteries.” Her fingernails dug into her palms. But she hid her fists behind her back. Just like Fitzroy. She wouldn’t let Father see how much he affected her. Even though the words would be sour in her mouth, she would taste them. “And thank you for the opportunity to better myself at Pavenham Sky. I will try to be a good student.” Her heart ached with regret, with sadness, with the feeling of vulnerability. She would withstand whatever they had planned for her. She would bend. But she wouldn’t break.
“Thank the Mysteries indeed,” Father replied with a cynical smile.
CETTIE
Pain always leaves scars. Some can be seen by all. Others go unobserved. Those private scars are the most painful. But it is an eternal truth that a burden shared is a burd
en lifted. Solace comes when another shares our grief, our sadness, our scars. As I look at the scar from where the ball punctured my body, as I feel the lingering agony of that injury, I think of the pain that countless will endure in the conflict ahead. I knew the emperor would die before the year was out. I had no idea it would lead to war. A new man has tightened his grip on power. If nothing else, history cautions us about power and those who wield it. There is foreboding in my heart about what sort of man our new emperor is. What he may do.
So another school year has come to an end. There are garlands hanging in Vicar’s Close to celebrate Whitsunday. The students will assemble to dance tonight. Families have come from all over the realm to take their sons and daughters away. Many sons will go to their deaths. Many young women will be bereft of husbands. All will bear scars after this night. One does not need to see the future to know this. And to grieve.
—Thomas Abraham, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER THIRTY−FOUR
HARBINGER
When Cettie awoke next to the sentinel tree, she could not remember all that had led to her being there. She remembered the wicked spirit she had banished, but there was something that nagged her mind after that, something that wouldn’t come to her. The memory was masked by the dream she’d had after passing out.
It was unlike any dream she had ever had before.
For her, dreams had always been snatches of things she’d experienced during the day, perhaps a fact about birds she’d learned in one of her classes. Or a calculation that Mrs. Romrell had explained. Or they were nightmares from her life in the Fells—dark memories of a childhood smothered in shadows. This dream had been more like a vision.
She had been standing on a cliff high above a scene. Only it wasn’t a cliff at all but a shining sheet of gold high in the air. It was a whorl of translucent particles around her feet that dazzled and dizzied her. Down below, she saw an island jutting out of the waves of the sea. It was a craggy thing, the rocks black and speckled with all manner of life that she could sense from her golden perch. She could sense tiny sea creatures clinging to the rocks just beneath the surface of the crashing waves. They were creatures she’d never seen before, with hard, spiny bodies and strange geometries, yet she saw patterns in their forms.
Massive hurricane sky ships were moored in the air near the island. They were full of soldiers, men of the Ministry of War, some young, some seasoned. She felt their fear throbbing inside them, and she could name every man present. How could she see so much, know so much, in an instant? It was as if her mind had enlarged. She heard their voices, their murmuring words, the march of steps as they strode the galley ways within the hull. The vision swept her along, and she saw the commander of the fleet poring over a map with his aides. It was a war map, and she saw his finger pointing at a small island off the coast of Dahomey. The point was labeled “Dochte Ruins.” She sensed the ink blots that formed the words, and for a moment she found herself sucked into them. She heard the whirring gears of the machine that had made the map, smelled the wet ink. Cettie pulled herself back, realizing that she could dive into any facet of the scene to learn its true source, its origin. Her mind reeled with the knowledge that flooded into her.
“They’ll come through an arch on that side of the island,” said the fleet commander gruffly, his gray sideburns twitching with worry. “That is the mirror gate. That is where—”
“Admiral!” shouted a man who barged into the room suddenly. Cettie could feel the fear throbbing inside him. His name was Decker. How could she know that?
“What is it, Captain Decker?” the commander said angrily. “You can’t barge in—”
“Sir, they’re through. They’ve appeared just beneath us, rising from the waves. We didn’t see them cross the portal. They—”
His words were cut off as an explosion rocked the hurricane. Cettie was propelled outside the sky ship suddenly, and she saw a mass of ships rise from beneath the tidewaters. These were not ships with masts and spars, but sleek metallic vessels sculpted and angled and covered with runes. Burning orbs flew from strange turrets on the front end of the vessels and struck into the fleet of sky ships overhead. Smoke belched from the holes in the hulls. Men fell to their deaths from the gaps, and Cettie could only look on in horror. The chaos of battle filled the air as the hurricanes began to maneuver away from the trap that had sprung up beneath them.
Cettie’s attention shifted to the island of rock jutting up from the sea. Around the far side, she saw that part of the island had worn away, opening a gap for the seawater to rush through. It was like a bridge made totally of stone, all craggy and uneven. Years and years of waves hammering against it had created the gap. From that gap, she saw ships sailing in, the traditional kind with sails and masts. It was strange because the ships just appeared in the opening. One moment it was simply sky and water, the next another ship sailed through. It was a fleet of vessels. But the metal ships had come as a surprise. Somehow, they had crossed underwater without being seen and had positioned themselves beneath the sky ships. They were much larger than the little one she’d been told the kishion had used to escape the abbey. The threat was much worse. Their enemy’s inventions had changed. There were half a dozen or so, each firing burning spheres up at the hurricanes and tempests. There was mayhem. There were screams of death.
And then she woke up next to the sentinel oak, a twig hurting her cheek. She had no idea how long she had been passed out. But she could smell the scent of sulfur in the air, hear the screams echoing from far away.
Then it was gone.
Fitzroy arrived the day of the ball, the day before all the students who had completed their study of the Mysteries would return home. The celebration was being held at the Aldermaston’s manor, which was open to the public for such an occasion, for it had the largest ballroom. The noise of the crowd intensified as the youths eagerly awaited the orchestra to begin playing. The buzz and whine of the strings brought an air of anticipation to the moment.
It was a day that the students looked forward to, but to Cettie it was bittersweet. Fitzroy had taken his family aside upon arriving at the event, and he’d told Cettie that Sera would not be returning to Muirwood. He’d also shared the story of Will Russell’s betrayal, and her friend’s subsequent disgrace. Cettie’s heart ached for her friend.
She wished to tell Fitzroy about her vision, but there were so many people around there wasn’t enough privacy. Although Phinia was still suffering from the humiliation of failing the Test, the ball had certainly improved her attitude. Anna wore a white dress with long white gloves, and her blond hair was done up in pretty ringlets. She radiated beauty, but there was a wariness to her now, a loss of innocence.
Cettie had never been comfortable in such fashionable or fancy clothes. Her frock was more simple, the collar tight around her neck. There was nothing immodest about the Fitzroy sisters’ dresses, of course, but Cettie felt more comfortable with her own choice. Her dress was gray, not white, and very simple and plain. She did not wear gloves deliberately.
After the girls wandered off—Phinia and Anna because they were summoned by their friends, and Cettie because she needed some time alone with her thoughts—Cettie noticed Lady Maren and Fitzroy continued to talk quietly in the corner. Lady Maren looked worried and concerned and spoke in a low voice to him. Cettie knew she could commune with a Leering near them and listen in to their conversation, but it felt too intrusive, and she wouldn’t do it, particularly since her guardian, who already wore his regimentals, was preparing to be deployed the next day. They deserved this time alone.
Then she saw Stephen charging toward his parents with a raging look on his face. Adam Creigh walked alongside him, much calmer in appearance. She’d rarely seen Stephen so angry, his eyes flashing with hostility. Normally he loved balls too. Something had surely set him off.
Adam slowed when he saw her. He, too, wore a uniform and would be departing for his vessel the next day. Some girls found a
military uniform exciting, but it hurt Cettie to see him wearing it, knowing that his heart longed to help heal the sick and impoverished. The spread of the disease may have slowed, but there was still no cure.
“Let me catch up with you,” Adam told Stephen. “I wanted to talk to Cettie.”
Stephen, noticing her, flushed and scowled even more. “You can speak to whomever you wish.” His nostrils flared, and he stalked off.
Cettie felt like she’d done something to offend him.
“What was that all about?” she asked Adam worriedly.
He clasped his hands behind his back and sighed. “Fitzroy is sending him to Dolcoath to run the mines.”
“What about Sir Jordan?” Cettie wondered, but the answer came to her before he could speak. “Oh, he used to be in the Ministry of War. He was a captain, I believe. That makes a great deal of sense.”
“To everyone except Stephen,” Adam said wryly, a twinkle in his eye. “He’s offended on many counts. He was expecting to rule Fog Willows in Fitzroy’s absence. Instead, he gets sent to the mines. It’s dirty work, but it will be good for him. I can relate, though. I don’t get a say in where I’ll go either.”
“Surely the mines will be better than a warship,” Cettie said.
“Indeed,” Adam said with a shrug. “Well, the music is about to start. Anna made me promise to dance with her first. But I hope you will stay around?”
Cettie felt a shiver of gooseflesh go down her arms. It had been many years since she’d danced with Adam, and things had since changed between them. At least for her. “Yes. I will be here.”
“Good. I didn’t want you wandering off like you did the other day when we couldn’t find you. I looked at all your usual haunts, but you weren’t there. Skrelling said he’d spied you heading to the orchard, but you weren’t there either.”