by Jeff Wheeler
A sickening dread filled her stomach as she tried to sit up. Her head swam, and dizziness engulfed her. She cradled her left arm to her chest, wincing against the pain. She couldn’t move her fingers of that hand, which only added to her terror. After the dizziness subsided, she reached with her other hand to feel around. She was on a cot. There was a scratchy wool blanket beneath her. Her stomach growled with hunger. Sera swallowed, still tasting a bitter residue of the poison she’d ingested.
Carefully, she eased her legs off the cot and felt the hard floor beneath. She touched the fabric of her dress, realizing she still wore the gown she’d had on at dinner. The darkness was not interrupted by even the dimmest light. No windows, then. It was a cell of some kind.
More of the pieces began to slide together in her mind. The traitor was her own mother. It made a horrific kind of sense. The woman had been deprived and treated shamefully by Sera’s father. She’d always craved power, status. How many times had she begged Sera to include her? Her father had investigated her mother for years, searching for some black mark in her past he could use to separate himself from her legally, and had come up with nothing. But were there secrets that had remained hidden? It was obvious now that someone in the privy council, likely Lady Florence, had taken pity on Mother and divulged secrets to her. Secrets that had been used to benefit General Montpensier. What had she been promised in return? At what price had she forsaken her daughter?
Sera’s heart throbbed with anger. The Tay al-Ard was gone. Lady Corinne had snatched it from her, preventing her from making an easy escape. She had believed, foolishly, that there would be no danger to her so long as she kept it close.
Light. Sera needed light.
But she could see nothing, so she reached out with her mind, trying to sense if there were any Leerings around. To her surprise, she felt one nearby. Sera slowly walked toward it, her hand held out in front of her, letting her senses lead her. Her shins banged against sharp edges, making her wince. Then her palm touched wood. The feel of the surface beneath her fingertips indicated a door. Leaning forward until her forehead touched the wood, Sera closed her eyes and reached out to the Leering with her mind. It responded instantly, and light spread under the crack of the door, revealing the tips of her shoes.
A relieved smile crossed Sera’s mouth. With just that little bit of light, she was able to see her surroundings better. It was a small storage room, filled with barrels and crates. The cot looked as if it didn’t belong there, as if it had been hastily put in place. The floor was stone and dusty. The air, now that she noticed it, was stale.
She tried to make the Leering burn even brighter, but another will did battle with her own. Another awareness skittered across her mind, almost like a shadow wavering in the light, and Sera pushed away from the door. A creeping fear began to go up her legs. A quick look around the now-illuminated room revealed there were no other exits. The door’s handle, she quickly discovered, was locked. She jiggled it a few times, butting against the wooden door with her shoulder. It wouldn’t budge.
A few minutes later, she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. The sound carried another feeling—a sense of dread, of menace and malice—that grew with each step. The steps were not hurried or rushed, but they were relentless. Sera backed away from the door again, trying to summon some sparks of courage. Then the light beneath the door was broken by the shadow of her captor. A key jiggled in the lock.
The door opened to reveal a woman with a set of keys around her waist. She held a lantern in one hand, the light revealing a wizened face wrinkled with crags, silver hair, and an expression completely lacking in empathy and concern. It was a vengeful countenance, one that made Sera’s heart quail.
“Who are you?” Sera asked in a low, trembling voice.
“I am Mrs. Pullman,” came the reply, in a lightly accented voice. The name took her aback. This was the woman who’d tormented Cettie all those years ago.
“I thought you were in jail,” Sera said, swallowing, trying to master her fear and apprehension.
“I suppose your little friend told you that,” the woman sneered. “I was freed, and I’m the keeper here. I see you are awake now. The mistress will want to know.”
“Lady Corinne?”
The matronly woman inclined her head.
“Whatever she is paying you, I can do better if you free me.”
A little laugh came from the aged woman. “You think I do this for money?” she scoffed. “I see what you’ve done, Miss Fitzempress, since you rose to power. You’d like nothing better than to lift up the riffraff. Respect them, even. Oh no, we can’t have that. I am grateful to be of service in this cause.”
There was a strong feeling of evil in the air. Sera sensed hatred exuding from the old woman, so thick and full of bile her own heart shriveled from it. It was then she realized that Mrs. Pullman held a Myriad One inside her. She could feel it, like the hum and vibration of so many bees. Sera put a hand on her bosom and felt the cool metal of her maston chain against her skin.
“So what will happen to me?” Sera asked, her mouth growing dry.
“Whatever the mistress chooses to do with you, I suppose,” said Mrs. Pullman.
Then the woman’s eyes narrowed, her head jerking slightly to one side, as if she’d heard a voice calling her. She frowned with impatience. “Insufferable man. I must go.” She pushed the door closed and locked it.
Sera waited a long time in the dark, her stomach empty and ravenous. She sat on the edge of the cot for a time, and when she could bear the stillness no longer, rose and paced the small storage room. Had Trevon been confined in such a place? She had only been locked in the storeroom for so many hours, and already she was going mad with suspense.
A few hours later, Mrs. Pullman returned with a plate of food and a goblet of sweet-smelling cider.
“Can you send me a doctor?” Sera asked, showing the old woman the ravaging wound on her forearm. Her dress was clotted with blood, and some still oozed down the blackened scabs.
“No, Miss Fitzempress. You’re not to see anyone until the mistress arrives. She’ll be here soon.”
Sera sat back down on the cot, staring at the stale-looking bread and baked nuts on the plate. She put a few in her mouth and felt a rare enjoyment. As she reached for the goblet, she felt a quivering thought not to drink from it.
Poison.
As a trick, it was a cunning one. The cider smelled so inviting, and the salty nuts she’d eaten had only increased her thirst. It took great self-control to set the goblet back down. Staring at the bread, she broke off a piece and slowly chewed it. When her thirst became unbearable, she stopped eating and set the tray on the floor next to the goblet. She pulled up her legs and huddled in the dark space. She had lost her freedom. But not her ability to choose her thoughts.
Help me escape from this place, she thought silently to the Mysteries.
For she knew all too well what Lady Corinne wanted from her.
The Leering that bound Ereshkigal, Queen of the Myriad Ones, was hidden in the depths of Cruix Abbey. Lady Corinne had tried to break the seal of that Leering, but she lacked the authority. Sera had that authority, and during her visit to the abbey, she’d learned that Lady Sinia, a Wizr of old who’d come to the empire from Kingfountain, had prophesied that an empress would one day unbind the Leering. The name of the empress, she’d said, was the Angelic One.
Seraphin.
With the Tay al-Ard, Lady Corinne could take Sera there instantaneously. How long would it take Mr. Durrant to start looking for her? He knew about both the Leering and the prophecy, so he would know it was of utmost importance for them to find her immediately.
There were trusted people assigned to Cruix Abbey to keep watch for Lady Corinne’s return, but no doubt the woman would be subtle about it. She’d had a year to scheme. Her plan clearly involved taking Sera alive, at least for now. That meant she did not yet intend to kill her, a realization that bolstered Sera’s courag
e.
But what was she supposed to do now?
Lady Sinia had made that prophecy before she disappeared. If it had sprung from the Mysteries, did that mean Sera was supposed to unbind the Leering? Or would Lady Corinne threaten her in such a way that she felt she had no other choice?
What if Trevon’s life was at stake?
Would she have to sacrifice her own life?
Trust. Believe.
Sera had been the instrument of the Mysteries’ power before—through her, they had opened a rift in the sky. If she stood strong in her faith, the Mysteries would save her from this awful dilemma . . . wouldn’t they? Or would this be a test of her allegiance to the maston oaths?
As she sat there in the darkness, she began to think back on the words of the tomes she had read. On the lessons she had learned at Muirwood Abbey and throughout her life. She’d been duped before. She’d been deceived by Will Russell and others like Lord Welles. While she could not change her circumstances, she could keep her mind open for direction from higher sources of wisdom.
She didn’t know how long she had been in a state of pondering, but she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall again. Two sets of footsteps this time. Sera rose from the cot, still nursing her painful wound. The lock released. The door opened.
Sera saw Mrs. Pullman first, but the older woman dragged the door wide, revealing Lady Corinne in the corridor. How things had changed. The former lady of Pavenham Sky, once the most fashionable woman in the empire, was skulking in a cellar.
“Good evening. Or is it morning still?” Sera asked with feigned cheerfulness. “I really can’t tell.”
“Leave us,” Lady Corinne said to Mrs. Pullman. The crags in the old woman’s face furrowed deeper, but she nodded and retreated down the corridor, holding the lantern in one hand. The light from the Leering in the corridor was situated behind Lady Corinne. It revealed more of Sera than it did of her enemy.
“Where are we off to next?” Sera asked.
“I have havens throughout the land,” Lady Corinne said, her voice betraying no emotion. But there was a dangerous look in her eye—that of someone who was becoming more and more unstable. She stepped into the cellar, her body filling the small doorframe.
“So we do not go to Cruix Abbey yet?” Sera said, tilting her head.
“Not yet,” Lady Corinne answered. “All in due time.”
“They will find me,” Sera said, trying to put some steel in her voice.
Lady Corinne smirked. “Not if they don’t know you are missing.”
Sera looked at her in confusion.
“Do you think I left this up to chance? Do you not think I’ve been careful in my preparations? You are my slave, my prisoner. Your life means nothing to me, Sera. I would just as soon drive a dagger into your chest, as I did to Lord Fitzroy. I have enough blood on my hands to fill a river. Even some of yours now.” Her smile was deadly. She stepped closer. She glanced down at the floor beside the cot, at the tray and full goblet. Her look darkened. “Drink the cider.”
Sera’s stomach plummeted. She’d known the cider was poisoned. She’d known it. And she didn’t doubt Lady Corinne would force her to drink it. So she kicked the goblet over with the tip of her toe, giving the woman a defiant look.
The splash of liquid, the rolling of the cup on the floor, and then intense silence.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Lady Corinne said in a low, husky voice.
In a moment, Sera felt her wounded arm wrenched back, her already deadened fingers cruelly twisted. The pain made her gasp and sag to her knees. She’d never hurt so much in her life. There was the dagger again, held only inches from her face.
Lady Corinne cut Sera from the edge of her jaw up to the corner of her eye before shoving her onto the floor.
The pain in her arm and the fire on her face made her shudder with agony. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her, that she was being tortured by the woman who’d once been her caretaker.
“I will cut your pretty face apart if you defy me again,” Corinne said, the anger building in her voice. “I know how to hurt you, Sera Fitzempress. You vain little thing. When I am done with you, no one will want you. No one will even bear to look at you. If you think I jest, then test me. I have nothing else to lose. Now get up. Get up!”
Sera had never seen Lady Corinne like this. The contrast between the composed, elegant, and unemotional woman she’d lived with and this ferocious creature was staggering.
Sera quickly got to her feet, even though she felt like vomiting. She was afraid of that dagger.
And what it would do next.
The number of victims of the cholera morbus is increasing daily. They are coming to Killingworth in droves, and some die before they even arrive, their bodies lying untouched in the streets because of fear of the contagion.
If we do not root out the cause of this fearsome disease, I fear it could destroy up to half the population of the Fells. The wealthier families are fleeing because they can. Those who cannot leave walk the streets with handkerchiefs pressed to their mouths. The factories are spending more and more to attract fresh workers and to keep those they have from fleeing in fear. The workers have dubbed their journey from home to the shops the Ghost Walk, and their pay is now called Death Wages. Still, many of them have no choice but to take the risk.
None of my staff has been infected, though we handle the corpses all day long. I believe our rituals of washing must contribute to our well-being. It’s not in the air. The cholera morbus is something we cannot see. A silent enemy. A ghost.
—Adam Creigh, Killingworth Hospital
CETTIE
CHAPTER EIGHT
HOTEL VECCHIO
The Hotel Vecchio in Pree was owned and run by Genevese merchants. An ornate structure that rose high above its neighbors, it was both longer and wider than any building Cettie had ever seen—even Pavenham Sky. It looked like a government palace, only larger. Judging from the endless rows of ornate windows, there had to be over a thousand rooms on six or seven levels.
And just as Jevin had said, their commandeered sky ship would not stand out there. A hurricane hovered over it, and a few other tempests were already docked in the landing yards inside the enclosed gardens. Rows of potted trees, each dwarfed and painstakingly sculpted, filled the inner gardens. By the time she and Rand landed beside those other sky ships, sometime before dawn, they had already assumed their disguises as brother and sister.
Cettie was weary but alert as they disembarked from the ship. She locked the Control Leering with a word that would prevent anyone else from commandeering the tempest. Given the hour, the grounds were surprisingly active and busy. Zephyrs streaked up from the ground to the hurricane, which dominated the brightening sky, perhaps bringing provisions for the crew.
“I’ve never seen such a place,” Rand said as they walked side by side across the beautiful garden.
“The Genevese are certainly enamored of their grounds,” Cettie answered. “We flew over other gardens like this one, but the hotel is spacious.”
“At least we can get some rest while we wait,” he responded with a sigh. “I’m weary.”
“As am I. Do you know anything more about the rest of our assignment?”
Although he shook his head no, she felt a little throb of unwillingness from the kystrel. They shared an overall feeling of wariness as they approached the grand hotel.
“There are so many people staying here, we will hardly be noticed,” Cettie said.
He nodded in agreement. Suddenly a small group of dragoons turned the corner, their uniforms having been concealed by the thick hedgerow. Cettie felt an immediate surge of alarm upon seeing their uniforms.
The group hailed them, seeing Rand in his dragoon jacket. “What regiment are you from, Commander?” one of them asked. Was there a hint of suspicion in his voice?
“Falstaff’s,” Rand replied with a shrug. “What about you?”
“We’re assi
gned to the Duke of Brythonica,” said the foremost officer. “Where’d you come in from?”
“Genevar. Pretty boring. Have you seen much action?” Rand asked.
Cettie reached out with her power to sense their motives. Were the dragoons trying to detain them? How innocuous were the questions? The kystrel revealed they were bored and disdainful of the foreigners around them. They were just seeking conversation with a pair of perceived allies.
“I’ll go ahead, Rand, and get our room,” Cettie said, touching his arm in a sisterly way, as she’d seen Joanna do. One of the soldiers was eyeing her appreciatively, the kind of attention she’d been trained to seek and recognize.
“I won’t be long,” Rand answered, taking her cue.
As she walked past the soldiers, she gave the soldier who fancied her—or rather Joanna—a timid look and what she hoped was a coquettish smile. Though she kept walking, she could still hear their voices through Rand’s medallion.
“Who is that?” one of the soldiers asked.
“My sister, Joanna.”
“Your sister? Truly?”
“She’s quite unattached at the moment. I could introduce you.”
“I would like that!”
“So where are you gents bound for next?”
Cettie listened in on their conversation for a moment before shifting her attention to the entrance of the hotel. The lobby she stepped into was both immense and elegant, with huge crystal chandeliers, folded curtains that hung from enormous golden stays, and a lushly carpeted floor. A few guests roamed the interior, but she surmised the crowd would be much larger after dawn. There were servants bustling around, preparing for the day ahead, each wearing a satin uniform and powdered wig. After studying her surroundings a bit longer, she made her way to the main counter, behind which hung an enormous board with hundreds of slots for room keys. She approached one of the dozen or so attendants and introduced herself as Joanna Patchett.
“Ah, Miss Patchett, you’ve finally arrived!” said the greeter with a heavy Occitanian accent. “We’d expected you during the night. You came by sky ship, no?”