by Jeff Wheeler
It was smaller than the rest, and she hadn’t noticed it at the bottom of the pile. Possibly it was from Adam.
She picked it up and noticed at once that the wax was broken. The sight of the handwriting made her heart race in her chest. It was from Sera.
“Thank you,” Cettie said, and the butler turned and left her alone.
Why had the seal been broken? Who else had read it?
Cettie opened the paper carefully, treating the letter like the precious gift it was. It was a short missive, but she savored each word.
Dearest Cettie,
I write this short message en route to a mirror gate. I am going to the court of Kingfountain to see if I can persuade them to stop this war for a season. I don’t know if I will be successful, because I’m not sure I can give what is expected of me. I will try. Regardless, it is nice to be free of my gilded prison. I never want to visit Pavenham Sky again. I’d sooner live in the Fells! How I miss you, my dearest friend. If only I’d persuaded you to come with me to Lockhaven before the Test. I think you would have helped me avoid the pitfalls that brought me here. Still, I’ve learned my lesson. I hope, someday, that we can see each other again. My mission may be brief. Or perhaps I will be there longer than I’d like. Either way, I wanted to send you word. I saw our mutual friend recently. Sad news. I wish I had your strength and determination. I will need it shortly.
With love and affection, your friend always, Sera
Tears thickened in her lashes. Sera had not been forthright about what “sad news” she’d heard, but of course she hadn’t. Someone had clearly managed to read the letter. It could only be about Mr. Skrelling. When had they seen each other? Did Sera know more than she did?
She and her friend had been apart for three years, but this letter made it feel like no time had passed at all. It felt like Sera. She sniffed and read it again, then folded it and examined the smudges on the outside. It had traveled a distance to get to Fog Willows. Sera was in another world having adventures of her own. Cettie dabbed the tears on her sleeve, feeling a tug of longing in her heart.
“Was it from Adam?”
The question made her cringe.
Though she recognized the voice, she turned to look at Anna. The other girl stood just outside the doorway, as if she were reluctant to enter.
Cettie shook her head. “Why don’t you come in?”
Anna approached her with a mixed look on her face.
“Who is it from?”
“Sera, actually,” Cettie replied, still trying to settle herself.
“I thought she was gone?”
“She is. She sent this by zephyr post before she left for Kingfountain.”
Anna stood by the desk and put her hand on Cettie’s shoulder. “I hope she’s successful,” she whispered, sighing. “I wish that this war would finally end.”
“We all do,” Cettie said, growing more uncomfortable.
Anna was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, Cettie. I thought maybe Adam had been injured or something. That there was news he didn’t want to share with anyone but you.”
Cettie squirmed in silence, knowing that this was the moment for her to speak honestly about her feelings, come what may.
“Rand Patchett is a nice young man,” Anna said, gazing out the window. “When I saw the two of you dancing last night, I thought you’d make a nice couple. He needs someone steady, I think. You could do much worse.”
There it was, spoken but still unspoken. It was Anna’s mute entreaty. Must one of us suffer a broken heart? Let me have Adam Creigh. You can have Rand Patchett. Can we not both be happy that way?
Cettie didn’t know if she could hear Anna’s actual thoughts, or if the words had sprung from her own imagination. She bit her lip, wishing she had someone she could confide in. She and Anna were close, but there was this insurmountable issue before them.
“Rand has many admirable qualities,” she said evasively.
“He does,” Anna agreed, probably too readily. “Well, this war has to end first, doesn’t it? I’m wretched wondering if Papa is a prisoner and how he’s being treated. Do you think he’s in a dungeon?”
“No, he isn’t,” Cettie answered.
“Well, I should let you get back to your work,” Anna said. She squeezed Cettie’s shoulder and then kissed her hair. “I love you like my own sister.”
Cettie stood, moved by the sentiment, and the two embraced. After Anna left, she sat back down in the chair, feeling listless, troubled, and unmotivated to finish her work. She opened the drawer at the front of the desk to retrieve the book Adam had given her. It was her only connection to him.
It was gone.
Her throat went dry. She knew she’d left it there. She opened the drawer farther and ducked lower, searching. Where could it be? Had she brought it somewhere else to read? Try as she might, she couldn’t remember.
It bothered her for the rest of the day. She searched her room, under the bed, and in each closet and chest.
She went to bed that night worried sick about it, wondering where she’d misplaced it. Adam lingered in her thoughts all evening, and she kept imagining, again and again, what she would tell him when he returned and asked for it. Had Anna rifled through the desk earlier and found it? The possibility made her wince. The Leering would have told her if a stranger had tried to enter the room. But Anna was family and a maston herself. She could have disarmed it.
Well, if Anna had the book, so be it. She would never confront her about such a thing.
After hours of cyclical thoughts, she fell asleep and dreamed that night. And then the next vision came.
I am so close to success and to failure. My chief Espion in Lockhaven believes the prime minister knows something he’s not telling. Lord Welles is a crafty man. I like him very much. He’s a worthy foe.
If this armistice happens, it will catapult the Fitzempress brat to great heights of popularity. I cannot let that happen. The Wizr board hangs in the balance. One false move, and I could ruin the game.
There are a few rules to remember in Wizr. Do not let the pieces topple too early. If your enemy discerns your plan, they can counter it. Exercise patience until all the pieces are in place, save one. At the crucial moment, be sure not to draw attention to your real move. Feint. Draw the eye from the danger. That is how you win the game. That is how you win an empire.
The Fitzempress girl must be removed from the board.
—Leon Montpensier, Duke of La Marche
SERA
CHAPTER TWENTY−EIGHT
OUR LADY
The rushing of the falls was still audible inside the massive stone structure of the sanctuary of Our Lady. Sera gazed in wonderment at the huge vaulted ceiling held up by impressive buttresses. The sides of the building boasted marbled stained-glass windows that let in streams of brilliant light. Even the floor beneath their feet was an impressive checkerboard of black and white marble tiles. Surely that had been replaced, given how many visitors came and went each day.
The main chapel and entry had been cleared for her visit with Prince Trevon, but various nobles of the court were in attendance. The sanctuary keepers were sequestered elsewhere for the day.
“That is a statue dedicated to Our Lady,” he explained with a gesture. The impressive statue looked centuries old. Were Leerings just another manifestation of the same art, she wondered, the innate desire to craft objects of beauty from stone? There were no Leerings in the sanctuary, but she still felt the power of the Mysteries there. It reminded her of Muirwood Abbey.
They stopped near one of the many wishing pools, filled with shiny coins. Citizens came each day to toss coins into the pools and fountains, their way of petitioning the Fountain for blessings. She couldn’t imagine such a tradition happening in the City. The people would claw each other to grab the coins from the water. The waters gurgled as the fountain in the middle gusted out fresh streams of clean water.
“And do you believe the Fountain grants these petitions?”
she asked him. They’d had several long conversations over the previous days of her visit. But this was the day they had set aside to discuss their different religions. It was a moment she’d been dreading.
“I’ve thrown in coins, if that’s what you mean,” he replied, looking at her curiously.
“People do many things out of tradition. It is tradition that stops people from stealing the coins too, no doubt. Do people really get thrown into the river for doing so?”
“It has happened in the past,” he said with a nod. “But not recently.”
She spied the deconeus watching them from one of the shadowed alcoves of the sanctuary. Trevon had explained his robes and vestments to her already. So much like an Aldermaston, she thought. The similarities between their cultures were striking—to her mind, only the trappings were different.
Sera turned and faced him. “But do you believe it, Trevon? Or do you follow it because it is tradition? Because your parents taught you, or that deconeus frowned at you, or for a thousand other reasons? Do you believe it in your heart?”
He didn’t return her look. He was gazing at the main statue, his expression pensive. It wasn’t an awkward silence. He was genuinely interested in her line of questioning, in answering her as honestly as he could.
“I do,” he finally said. “And that is the most troubling thing about this situation.”
“Why do you say that?”
He did look at her then, all seriousness and conviction. “You look like you belong here, Sera. That dress you wear is Occitanian, and it flatters you. You’ve proven to be quite skilled in negotiation, knowledgeable about our customs and ways. And you’ve been more honest than I was expecting, frankly. I had hoped that you might . . . in time . . . come to see the Fountain as I see it. As the true wellspring from which your customs have strayed.”
Sera bit her lip at that last part. “Is it not possible, Trevon, that we are both right? Perhaps the difference between our beliefs is that ours are more open and accommodating of others. What you call the Fountain, we call the Knowing.”
“I’ve been educated in your principles,” he said stiffly.
“But have you opened your mind to the possibility that your understanding might be more limited?”
He arched his eyebrows, and she regretted she hadn’t chosen a different word.
“What I cannot understand,” he said, his voice betraying his unease, “is why your people shroud their beliefs in the so-called Mysteries. Why you shun the common people from a deeper knowledge of your . . . Knowing. Some of our most famous Fountain-blessed were not noble born. The Fountain can touch and has touched even the lowliest of maids.”
“And so it is in our world,” she answered. “I agree with you that we do not always live up to our own ideals. That is something I wish to change. But change takes time.” She pursed her lips before she could finish the thought. I could not change it if I lived here.
“But surely such secrecy is dangerous,” he pressed. “You yourself did not pass the Maston Test. There are secrets even you do not know. Secrets that are kept from all except an elite few.”
“True, but I lived for many years at Muirwood Abbey. I tell you, Trevon, it feels like this.” She held up her hands and gazed around. His look darkened, and again she thought she’d offended him. “What did I say?”
“Nothing,” he said, but it felt as if a wall had come down between them.
“Please, I’m trying to be open with you. I’m not trying to offend you.”
His shoulders bunched up with frustration. “I know, Sera. But you have to understand . . . from my point of view, your beliefs are a heresy.”
“And why is that? Who taught you that they were? And why did they teach that? You believe in the Fountain, the power of water. You revere pools and waterfalls and legends of the Wizrs of old. You believe in water sprites and treasure immersed in the sea and many such things that would be considered fantastical where I come from. Why should it seem so strange to you that we worship the water in the sky? Are not clouds made of water? Is it not all part of the same story of creation, that the waters beneath were divided from the waters above?” She was grateful that she’d been taught that in her studies, even though the origin story of the worlds hadn’t interested her as much as her lessons about contracts and covenants.
“Yes, there are similarities,” he conceded, the anger ebbing from his eyes. “There have been connections between our worlds in the past. The first King Andrew was taken to an abbey in your world to be healed. But the differences remain troubling. I cannot hold you accountable for beliefs or practices done centuries ago, but many of them are still vexing to consider.”
“Neither can I hold you accountable for what your people have done,” she said. “They plundered our shores during our darkest hours. Many artifacts were taken.”
He held up his hands. “As we both said, we cannot undo the past.”
She looked at his hand and felt the sudden urge to take hold of it. There were no gloves in this world. No prohibitions on dress or manners, at least none that she could tell. Their cultures were so different. How could she hope to bridge them? To help make them understand each other?
“What is it, Trevon, that concerns you the most? We don’t have time to resolve everything. Is there something about our beliefs that makes you distrust us more than others?”
He lowered his hands and frowned, thinking hard. Sera could feel the scrutiny of the other nobles present, from the deconeus who still watched them. Was he worried that she would corrupt Trevon? If only they could speak privately, without any listening ears. Though she’d enjoyed her time in Kingfountain much more than expected, she could not shake the feeling they were running out of time. If she went back to Lockhaven without a peace treaty, her prospects would be dashed, especially if the privy council learned she hadn’t even offered herself in marriage.
Still he brooded without answering. He was a thoughtful man, not one to rush with his words.
Sera sighed. “I wish there were a place we could go to talk privately. We’re always being watched.”
He turned and looked at her in surprise. “I had not thought of that.”
“Thought of what? I was just making an observation.”
“I know, but it is a good idea. If you could go anywhere in my world, where would you want to go?”
“We don’t have time for sightseeing,” she said with a laugh.
He arched his eyebrows. “What if we did? Where would you want to go?”
She was taken aback. “Dundrennan, probably,” she said. “I’ve heard it has the most majestic falls, even more so than this city. But it would take days to get there.”
“For most people, yes,” he answered. Then she saw him reach into his pocket and withdraw a brass cylinder. She recognized it as the one she’d seen him use at the privy council before the war. He’d used the device to vanish out of sight.
“What is that?”
“Something I’m not supposed to show you,” he replied with a grin and then offered her his other hand. He was asking her to trust him. In her world, being alone with a man had almost ruined her. Was she willing to risk that it would happen again? The norms were quite different in this world.
That part of her that had always rebelled flared up. She trusted Trevon, trusted he was not like Will. Would he protect her reputation by keeping their jaunt a secret from her cohorts? She felt certain he would.
Slowly, she reached out and took his hand. And then it felt as if the floor vanished and they were plummeting to their deaths.
They were no longer in the sanctuary of Our Lady. The sun was high overhead, and the roar of falling water filled her ears, no longer muted. Gasping, she realized she and Trevon now stood atop a bridge straddling a massive waterfall plunging from the lower peaks of the snowcapped mountains beneath them. The bridge was perfectly wide enough, but the sudden change had made her dizzy. She flailed for a moment, as if fearing she was about to plunge off the
mountain. Trevon gripped her hand harder and steadied her, bringing her closer to him.
“T-this is Dundrennan?” she gasped, her knees weak. The air was much colder. She saw little puffs of mist come from her mouth.
“There is the fortress below,” he said, pointing with the brass cylinder. She marveled at the view of the mighty stone building nestled amidst the rich green pines beneath them. “It was rebuilt after a battle with an emperor centuries ago. There is a city farther south that bears the same name, but these woods are protected in the king’s name. The forest is a preserve.”
“It’s stunning,” Sera said in awe, her eyes barely able to take in such a scene. “How did we get here?”
“Not by sky ship,” he said with a teasing tone. “This is just one of the magics we have. I suppose you would call it one of the Mysteries. I can visit anywhere in the kingdom I wish to go. As long as I’ve been there before, my thought will take me back.”
It begins with a thought, Sera remembered. The Aldermaston of Muirwood had told her that. “Can you go to Lockhaven?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work between worlds. There are . . . rules and limits. That’s probably not a good term. There was a Wizr from ancient times, Myrddin, who traveled between the worlds. He taught us what he knew.”
“I thought he was a myth,” Sera said. She’d heard of the legendary being who had brought the Ring Table to Kingfountain and had helped organize the kingdom.
Trevon shook his head. He was still holding her hand, which felt nice in the cold air. “No, he was real.”
Sera started to shiver.
“You’re cold. There are nicer climates to visit. Would you like to see Marq?”
“Can we?” she asked in surprise.
“We can. But we will need this,” he said, releasing her hand and showing her a ring on his finger. Suddenly, he was wearing a dragoon uniform. She blinked in surprise. His form shifted again, and he was wearing another outfit, something of a different fashion and style, something likely popular in Marq. “When I left Pavenham Sky, I was wearing a servant’s livery Lady Corinne had given me. I used this ring to disguise myself as one of Lord Welles’s officers upon reaching Lockhaven—that’s when you noticed me. This,” he mentioned, wagging the cylinder, “was how I beat you back to the emperor’s palace. I’d already been there, you see.”