by Jeff Wheeler
Her focus at Muirwood Abbey had been Law, not the Mysteries of Wind, but her interest in the world around her had deepened and broadened in her captivity.
“Miss Fitzempress,” Master Sewell sighed as he approached her on the treacherous rocks. Though she never went anywhere alone, the butler was the only servant who’d been given leave to talk with her. He was the only one who seemed to have fully earned the Lawtons’ trust. “Your hem is soaked through.”
Sera didn’t straighten. Some of her hair had blown loose in the wind, although it had been braided tightly. Pencil in hand, she sketched the little crab she saw scuttling in the shallows. “We’ve had this conversation before, Master Sewell. You won’t permit me to wear pants and boots, so I must do the best I can with what I have.”
“It really wouldn’t be proper, ma’am, to have a princess of the realm wandering around in servant’s breeches, now would it?”
She glanced up at him. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
He arched his eyebrows at her and nearly broke into a smile. “I think not. It’s time to go back to the zephyr.”
“But I haven’t been able to come out here for days because of the storms.” She turned back to the pool and watched another crab-like creature emerge from its shell. It had blended in with the rocks so perfectly as to be invisible. What she wouldn’t give to have a book of sea life from Muirwood Abbey . . .
Sewell sniffed and put his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why you insist on coming here so often. The footing is treacherous. You could fall into the surf.”
“I’m always careful, Master Sewell. I’ve not fallen in yet.”
“Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t. The other day you were climbing that rock yonder and nearly broke your neck; I’m sure of it.”
“It afforded a better view. The most colorful sort of life thrives on the other side of that rock, where the waves crash the hardest. Did you know that?”
“I don’t believe I care to know it, even though you’ve just told me,” he said with a hint of exasperation. “Next you’ll be caring about the seagulls. Remember your fixation with the turtles?”
She smiled. They had charmed her immediately. “Perhaps you’re right. There have been a lot of seagulls today picking through the weeds over there.” She pointed toward the funny things.
“Can we go back up now, ma’am?”
“Give me a few more minutes,” she said, turning back to her sketch.
He sighed long and profoundly. She could sense him wrestling with himself on whether to humor her or rebuke her. He’d never grabbed her arm to force her obedience, but she suspected he would if necessary.
Sera hurriedly finished her sketch and then closed the little book with the pencil trapped inside. She rose and brushed off the front of her dress. “See?”
Lady Corinne was the center of fashion in the empire, and as her ward, Sera was expected to model whatever looks she declared in vogue. The new style of gown that year had Sera feeling restricted. In addition to the corset, there was a stiff bodice like a breastplate that covered her bosom up to her collarbones. Lady Corinne thought it more modest and ladylike. It made bending over difficult, and Sera didn’t like the stiffness of it or the pinch of the collar and the sleeves. Her waist, because of the corset, felt like it was constantly being squeezed. She wore it because she was expected to. But she silently resented it.
The hem of her dress was damp, but that couldn’t be helped. Master Sewell offered his arm to guide her off the uneven ground of the tide pools. She didn’t need his help but accepted it to be gracious. She noticed even more seagulls on the beach, gathered around a large pile of seaweed that had been stranded on the shore. The sound of the waves was music to her. Sometimes she could feel the Mysteries come through to her in little faint throbs on these walks by the shore.
She felt one of them strike her at that very moment.
It’s a dead man.
The little whispers didn’t come very often, but she always took notice of them. Like the time she had discerned Prince Trevon of Kingfountain was disguised as one of Lady Corinne’s servants at a gathering the lady had held at Pavenham Sky before the war.
Gazing at the pile of seaweed and the squawking birds, she began to pull Master Sewell’s arm.
“This way, ma’am,” he said, trying to steer her back to the cliffs. The zephyr was parked at the top of the wooden stairs leading up to the next tier of the property.
“There’s something over there,” Sera said, pulling her arm away. A strange buzzing feeling came alive in her heart.
“It’s just seaweed, ma’am. The birds are pecking at it.”
She was closer now—close enough to smell something decaying and to see a human hand sticking out from the pile of green weeds. It was covered in sand and, like the little crab she’d just seen, had blended in well with its surroundings.
“Master Sewell, look at this!” she said, striding faster. Her shoes sank deeper into the sand as she walked. The white birds squawked in more agitation as they saw her approach. The body was covered in seaweed like a death shroud. It lay face-first on the beach, the skin pale and waxy. The birds pecked at the hair, and her stomach began to twist with revulsion.
Sewell came up alongside her and immediately put out his arm to block her from walking any closer.
“It’s a man!” he said in surprise.
“A dead one,” Sera agreed, feeling a strange curiosity. Evidence of the sea’s power littered the shore—the splintered bones of the trees it had killed and dragged far away. This time, the water had claimed a human life, as if it were some sacrifice from a heathen age.
Now that she was closer, she saw little sea insects crawling across the corpse. Seaweed obscured its hair, but she saw the dark locks and felt a shudder of recognition.
“Come, Miss Fitzempress,” Sewell said, grabbing her arm as she was about to go nearer and stoop closer. “This is no place for a lady. I’ll send some men down to fetch the body.”
Mr. Skrelling had just come a few days before. Was that why the image was still fresh in her mind? The shape of the body reminded her of him. Normally she would have voiced her thoughts aloud, but she’d learned to guard her tongue.
“How sad,” she said, following as the butler pulled her away. She looked back at the corpse on the beach, noticing the huge fallen tree farther off. Another discovery. She kept her thoughts to herself.
Sera ate her supper in silence while the guests of the manor chittered away. No one would have dared ask Sera a question. But she sipped the soup spoonful by spoonful, listening to the discussion of politics and fashion and events, gleaning what news she could about her empire. Lady Corinne rarely spoke, and when she did, it was to draw out a question from others. Sera was mostly familiar with the guests’ faces now. Lady Corinne had many friends, and it was considered a high honor to be invited to her estate.
After the meal was done, Sera caught Sewell by the sleeve—discreetly—and asked, “Tell me of the man that was found on the beach. Did you find out who it was?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. He motioned for another servant to take his place and start removing the dishes from the meal. He eyed Lady Corinne a moment, nodded to her, and turned to face Sera. “As you know, we had an unexpected visitor several days ago. They departed that night in the storm, even though Lady Corinne had offered her hospitality. We found the wreckage of their zephyr farther down the coast. No sign of the pilot’s body. He was probably struck by lightning, and the ship plummeted.” He frowned at the thought. “Ghastly end, if you ask me.”
“That’s terrible,” Sera said, her heart cringing. At school, Mr. Skrelling had been excessively fond of Cettie. “I knew him.”
“I know, ma’am. That’s why I’m telling you. He was a promising young advocate, or so I’m told. Pity.”
Sera wrinkled her brow. “Do you know why he came, Sewell?”
His eyes became a little wary. “No idea,
ma’am.”
“It’s a great pity, then. The poor man.”
But in her heart she felt a sense of growing darkness. There was something in Sewell’s eyes that worried her. Something he wasn’t telling her.
She kept her true feelings locked in her heart. Her own expression would betray nothing. Not anymore. Not while she was trapped.
CHAPTER FIVE
MISS PATCHETT
One would think that after so much time, Sera would know her jailor better. But Lady Corinne was adept at drawing others out while keeping herself hidden. Sera had made a practice of studying her, both at her teas with the young ladies and at the rare family dinners when Admiral Lawton’s military obligations had allowed him to return to his estate. Lady Corinne always listened to him while batting her expressive eyes and nodding encouragingly. She seemed fascinated by her husband’s business and his military problems—like low morale, for example. Lord Lawton rarely asked his wife about her concerns, her interests, her thoughts, yet she obviously made them known in subtle ways—privately—because she was definitely the driving force behind their affairs.
From what Sera could observe, Lady Corinne had no confidantes. None whatsoever. It was strange to her, being a young woman. She was starved for companionship, for friendship. Not a day went by that she didn’t think about Cettie and long to confide in her and share her feelings. Did Lady Corinne have no such needs? Perhaps she met them in some other way?
Yet Lady Corinne was always inviting groups of people to the manor, particularly young women. In her three years living at the estate, Sera had witnessed several of the woman’s protégés make marriage alliances. Sometimes it was out of affection. Often it was more of a business alliance.
A few days after learning about the zephyr crash, Sera noticed a new young woman had arrived to be evaluated by the lady of Pavenham Sky at a ladies’ tea. What struck her most about the visitor was the attention the girl paid to her. That Sera was being ostracized was perfectly clear—she was ignored in all the conversations, never even looked at. But this young woman kept glancing her way, either unaware of the prohibition or flouting it deliberately.
She was an elegant young woman of about twenty, approximately Sera’s own age. She had dark blond hair, especially at the roots, and an inviting smile. She wasn’t exceptionally beautiful like some of the other disdainful young ladies attending the tea, but she was pretty, and her lively expression was full of curiosity and intelligence. They were in the sitting room discussing the war—or rather the hostess and her young guests were doing so while Sera sipped her tea silently—when Lady Corinne put a question to the new guest.
“And what do you think, Miss Patchett, about the state of the war with Kingfountain? Do you think an armistice should be reached?”
All eyes turned to her, including Sera’s.
“You ask me that, my lady,” she answered without stammering, “knowing full well that my father has perished in the war”—there was just the touch of an accent to her voice. It sounded Pry-rian, if Sera were to guess its origin. The girl had confidence in her manner, and she looked Lady Corinne full in the face—“and that my brother was wounded in it. I should hate our enemies because of this. But I do not. Three years is a long time for bloodshed. I agree with Admiral Fitzroy. We should sue for peace.”
Sera saw that it was not a popular opinion, and some of the other young ladies traded knowing smirks. The young woman had revealed her opinion too openly. It was a mistake.
“But should we not,” asked another guest, Miss Ransom, “sue for peace after winning a decisive blow?”
“Indeed,” added another young woman. Sera had forgotten her name and didn’t care.
“Do you have a brother in the Ministry of War?” Miss Patchett asked pointedly.
“No, but my uncle is serving on a hurricane. War is a risk, like anything else. They knew what they were doing when they made their choice.”
“War affects people differently,” said Miss Patchett. She didn’t rouse with anger or seem abashed by her unpopular opinion.
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Miss Flora, memorable only for her pale blue eyes and extraordinarily condescending air.
Sera noticed that Lady Corinne was enjoying the banter, her keen eyes roaming from face to face as she watched her guests attack each other. Sera had seen this many times and believed that Lady Corinne got a certain satisfaction from it.
Still, Miss Patchett didn’t rise to the bait. Her demeanor remained calm, unruffled. “I love my brother. He has been in some of the worst of the fighting. He was wounded four times and still managed to blow up an enemy ship while all around him fell. But the experience of war has changed him, and he’s been declared unfit for duty at present. I wish more than anything this war had not happened. I cannot get him back.”
Master Sewell approached Lady Corinne and bent close to whisper something in her ear. She’d been watching the Patchett girl closely, but she nodded to Sewell and then rose and left the set. As soon as she departed the room, the tone of the conversation changed abruptly—as it always did. It became openly cruel.
“Well, Joanna,” said Miss Flora snidely, “we know that you won’t be invited back here again. You should really learn to be more guarded.”
“I should say,” agreed another girl. “My father has a contract to supply the Ministry of War with boots, holsters, and leather straps. We are making a fortune at present. He hopes the war goes on for three more years.”
“My uncle supplies the ministry with wool blankets,” another girl offered. “You can charge whatever you like, and they will pay it. He’s raised the price every month, and it makes no difference!”
Miss Patchett remained aloof from the derision and sat placidly for a while, not bothering to respond to any of their comments. Then she rose and wandered over to a tray of food and took a square of cheese with a cracker. The other girls talked back and forth, bragging to each other about the money their families were making because of the conflict. Sera resented their foolishness, but she kept her expression vague and opened the book she’d left on the table to start reading.
She was a little startled when she heard Miss Patchett’s queer, faint accent just at her shoulder. “What are you reading, Miss Fitzempress?”
Sera was so surprised she nearly dropped the book. In her three years at Pavenham Sky, she’d not been spoken to by any of Lady Corinne’s guests. Glancing up, she met Miss Patchett’s curious gaze.
“It’s a history of the wars within Kingfountain,” Sera explained. “Stories about the Fountain-blessed.” She’d read extensively about them during her lengthy imprisonment. The Fountain-blessed were individuals equipped with incredible powers—though each seemed to have a particular area of expertise rather than a general ability to work magic. They attributed their unique skills to the Fountain, but surely it was the Knowing itself that had empowered them. Either way, she’d read story after story about these lauded heroes who’d made history.
“But do you believe in their religion?”
“No, of course not. Even so, the stories are quite fascinating.” Why was Miss Patchett talking to her? Some of the other young women gave them annoyed looks.
“They are fascinating,” said Miss Patchett. “I’m not a great reader, though. I prefer music.”
“Do you play an instrument?”
“The harp,” said Miss Patchett. “I studied at Tintern Abbey.”
“You are from Pry-Ree, then. I thought I recognized your accent.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” replied the girl with a subtle nod.
Miss Flora rose from the group and came over, anger flashing in her eyes. “You shouldn’t be speaking to her!” she whispered harshly to Miss Patchett.
“My name is Joanna,” she said to Sera, ignoring Miss Flora completely.
“I’m Sera, but you already know that.”
Joanna nodded to her. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You are not coming back to Pav
enham Sky,” said Miss Flora angrily. “Mark my words. Just because you are renting a sky manor does not make you our equal. Learn your place quickly, Miss Patchett. Or you will suffer for it.”
Sera was amazed by how calmly the young woman took the assault. “I’ll take to heart what you’ve told me,” she answered with a slight incline of her head.
Miss Flora sniffed and strode back to the others. Miss Patchett watched her go without flinching. She gazed down at Sera and sighed. “I think my brother and I are better off in Pry-Ree. We have a pretty farm there and raise grapes and sheep.” A little smile curled on her mouth. “I’m going to have our steward raise the price of wool, I think.” She gave Sera a conspiratorial grin. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Fitzempress.”
“Likewise,” replied Sera. She could see instantly why Lady Corinne had invited Miss Patchett. The newcomer was not cut from the same cloth as the others.
Master Sewell came over, appearing from one of the side doors, and Miss Patchett nodded to him meekly and went back to her seat. The butler had a little disturbed frown on his mouth.
“She came to me, Master Sewell. I was just reading a book.” She held it up as a shield.
“I know, ma’am. I’m not here to scold you.”
“Why do you look upset, then?”
He let out his breath and gave her an aggravated look. The other young women were still caught up in their own conversations, discussing teas and balls and money. No one was paying attention to Sera, as was usually the case.
“Come, Master Sewell. After three years, you’re really the only person I’m allowed to talk to.”
“There’s a reason for that, ma’am,” he reminded her.