by Jeff Wheeler
“Sera? Like the empress?” It was the little girl who spoke, the one who’d been chosen for punishment.
“Yes,” Sera answered. “I am the empress. And I will see that each one of you is freed from this filth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
SECRETS
In the dark of the cesspit, there was no way to tell day from night. The children slept fitfully, some of them—the ones who were closest—nestling into Sera’s warmth. She could hear all the little noises they made, the weary sighs, the whimpers, the shifting on the dirty stone floor. Every moment, she felt more resolved to help them.
When Mr. Trimble returned, much later, he carried a lantern in one hand and an iron truncheon in the other. Sera’s eyes widened when she saw the weapon, and a tingle of fear swept down her spine. Her arms and shoulders still throbbed from his earlier beating. Children lifted their heads at the noise of the door grating open. Every last one of them was terrified of him.
Sera struggled to control her expression, but she was relieved to see Joanna follow the brutish overseer into the room. She had purchased a new outfit, one appropriate for the Fells. The fabric was dark, the gloves black, and the bonnet had a veil pulled back. She carried a large parcel under her arm.
“Come on, you rats,” Mr. Trimble snarled. “Up. Up and get ready. I brought your breakfast. You can eat while you walk. We’re going to another pit tonight.” He passed around a bucket of water, with a ladle gripping the rim. The children ate and each took a long drink. When it was Sera’s turn, she started to gulp it down.
He scanned the crowd of children, his gaze coming to rest on Sera. A brutal, menacing look twisted his blunt features into an even uglier mask. He set the lantern down and then tapped the heel of his hand with the truncheon.
“Thirsty, lass? Feeling feisty again?” he asked Sera. She could sense the Myriad Ones crawling inside him once more.
She stared at him boldly, refusing to look away. He stepped forward, giving Sera a better view of Joanna. The other woman’s brow had wrinkled in concern.
“Take the children and go,” Joanna told him.
“I don’t take orders from you, wench,” Mr. Trimble said.
She glared at him. “You will, or you’ll find yourself on the ground clutching your manhood in agony.”
Trimble’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah! Or I can bash your brains in with this?” He hefted the truncheon.
Joanna stared at him, her eyes turning silver in the dark. A feeling of dread and menace filled the room. Sera gazed at her in amazement as the oppressive feelings Mr. Trimble had brought into the room scattered.
“By all means, try it,” Joanna said. A pulse of fear exuded from her, and Mr. Trimble’s composure began to wilt. The children cowered from her, their fearful expressions showing the effect it had on them as well.
“Come on, rats! Come on!” He tucked the truncheon under his arm and dragged the chains he’d left on the floor. “Lock up your ankles, you vermin. Come on, you know how. Get moving, get moving!”
The frightened children obeyed, one by one, and Mr. Trimble unlocked them from the wall once they were chained to one another. From chain to chain they went, their eyes wary and tired. Some of them glanced hopefully at Sera, and she burned their faces into her memory. Of course they moved the children at night, when gangs and the Fear Liath ruled the streets. That would change, she vowed. If she had to use the Ministry of War to tame the Fells, she would. Distracted by the war, she’d allowed the lawlessness to go on for too long.
The sound of the dragging chains made her shiver with dread as the children marched out the door. Trimble frowned at them, cuffing a few for no reason at all, and Sera seethed.
Joanna watched the procession pass. She had a little frown on her mouth, and her nostrils flared. Trimble was about to fetch the lantern, but she told him to leave it.
His bearded face twisted with displeasure at the order, but he didn’t defy her. After he left, he shut the iron door of the lockroom behind him. The silver glow faded from Joanna’s eyes.
“I brought you another dress,” Joanna said, bringing the parcel closer. “It’s not fancy.”
“I don’t need fancy,” Sera said. “And it’s cold down here. Thank you.”
Joanna untied the knot that held the parcel closed and quickly opened it, revealing a plain gray dress with lacings on the back instead of buttons. The rich wool looked invitingly warm, and Sera sat up, dragging her ankle chain to get closer.
With deft fingers, Joanna unfolded the gown and moved to help Sera put it on over her shift.
“Are those bruises?” the poisoner asked suddenly, her brows lifting in surprise. Sera could see them on her upper arms.
“I probably have them all over,” Sera said. “Trimble beat me after you left.”
Joanna fetched the lantern and shone it on Sera, who winced at the bright light.
“He did thrash you,” Joanna murmured, her voice angry. Then a little twist quirked her mouth. “It’s probably your first.”
“Yes,” Sera said, nodding. “My father was cruel, but he wasn’t brutal.”
“Yes, he was cruel,” Joanna said. “And egotistical and easily manipulated.” She helped Sera pull on the dress. It felt good to have a layer of wool on. The cloth felt like a protection, even though she knew it wouldn’t stop a man like Trimble.
“My father wasn’t always like that, you know,” Sera said.
“Power corrupts,” Joanna said, nodding in agreement.
“You have a great deal of power,” Sera said. “You’ve been groomed to take Corinne’s place, have you not? The way she brought you to Pavenham Sky and let you rule the girls.”
“You’re observant for a royal,” Joanna said, pursing her lips and tightening the lacings in the back. At least it didn’t come with a corset.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think, lately,” Sera answered. “Do you know where they are keeping Prince Trevon?”
“And why would I tell you that?” Joanna asked, brushing her hands together and rising.
“I’m only curious.”
“That you are. But you’re asking me to divulge a secret. I won’t do it.”
Sera shrugged and leaned back against the wall. “And so we wait here in this cesspit until Corinne returns. How gloomy.”
Joanna gazed around at the dank room. “It wasn’t my first choice either.”
“Do you know Corinne’s history? How she was turned? I heard from Lord Fitzroy that she was lost for a while during a visit to Kingfountain. Did it happen then?”
“No,” Joanna scoffed. “That was a ploy to get her governess fired.”
Sera wrinkled her brow. “Truly?”
“You saw her true face, Sera,” Joanna said. “Corinne is the mask. She rarely reveals herself like that. She’s much older than the part she plays.”
“Still, she’s a handsome woman,” Sera said, her mind whirling. “Trimble called her by another name. Tyna was it?”
“I brought you a few rolls to eat,” Joanna said, reaching into her pocket and producing a little bag. As she opened it, the delicious scent of fresh bread made Sera’s mouth water. “Eat them, I’ve already had a share.”
Sera knew it for a dismissal, but she didn’t object. Not yet. She needed those rolls. She devoured them, the soft, slightly sweet bread heavenly in her mouth. Not even the smell of the cesspit could totally ruin the taste.
Joanna paced the room, looking at the chains fastened to the walls, the filth everywhere. Her nose flared with disgust, and she shook her head.
As Sera ate, she continued to ponder the mystery of Lady Corinne’s true identity.
The Tay al-Ard can only bring you to a place you’ve visited before. Tyna knows Mr. Trimble. She knows about his fits. Because she’s experienced them herself. How many bruises did he give her?
The pieces of information whirled around her mind, struggling to fit together into a larger picture, as she finished every crumb in the bag. She was missing somethin
g, she knew, the key to unravel the situation. Joanna continued to pace, looking more and more disgruntled by the forced captivity.
“Tell me who Tyna is,” Sera asked in a soft voice.
Joanna turned and smirked. “Why should I do that? We may as well talk about the weather.”
“I sense a storm coming,” Sera said, giving her a thoughtful look. “Her plan isn’t working. That’s why we’re both down here.”
Joanna frowned and turned away.
“You were supposed to take her place. But she made Gimmerton Sough plummet to the earth. It’s shattered into rubble by now. What does that mean for you? It means you are expendable.”
“If you don’t stop talking,” Joanna said, an angry glint in her eye, “I just may poison you again to make you be quiet.”
Sera fell silent. Doubt, uncertainty, suspense—those dark emotions were preying on Joanna’s mind, and Sera had just stirred them up like a hive of bees. It didn’t take a kystrel to realize that.
Then it came to her, a bolt of intelligence, a memory that made sense of everything. The Mysteries had given her the nudge she needed.
“I know who she is,” Sera whispered, her heart beating fast.
“What are you talking about now?” Joanna asked.
During their years together at Muirwood, Cettie and Sera had become very close. They’d shared stories from their childhoods with one another. Sera had told Cettie of the day her father had saved her from falling out of a tree—the last time she’d felt loved by him. Cettie had told her of her life in the Fells, a wretched existence Fitzroy had saved her from. Over the years, they’d shared everything with each other. Cettie had once told her, in confidence, about Lord Fitzroy’s lost love. The story itself wasn’t much of a secret. It was fodder for gossip among the elite. But Cettie knew something most of the others did not. She knew the woman’s name.
Christina.
My precious Tyna has returned home! She could hear Trimble’s voice in her mind. Look how fancy you are!
Trimble was roughly the same age as Christina, though the streaks of gray and leathery skin made him look older. He knew her because they’d once been chained together in this very lockroom.
Fitzroy had searched for Christina for years. He’d searched the Fells, never to find her. Of course not, because she had been sequestered underground in the worst of places. She wouldn’t have known he was searching for her. A woman who’d served at Fog Willows, and charmed the heir to the estate, had been reduced to scraping human refuse. What a bitter fate. Because of Mrs. Pullman?
No wonder she’d wished for revenge.
Yes, the pieces were fitting together snugly.
“The look on your face,” Joanna said, interrupting the flow of thoughts. “I don’t like it.”
Sera turned and looked at her. “I know who she is,” Sera said. “Tyna.” Then another realization struck her. “Mr. Skrelling almost learned the truth about her, didn’t he? He found out Corinne was Cettie’s mother, but if he’d asked the Cruciger orb different questions, he might have learned she was just an imposter. Like you.”
“We’re all imposters,” Joanna said smugly. “Including you. Your mother had an affair with an officer from the Ministry of War. I should call you Sera Pratt.”
Doubt stabbed inside Sera’s heart. She’d feared the truth about her parentage ever since Lady Corinne had cast doubt on it when she was a child. But Joanna’s words didn’t feel right. It didn’t match the certainty of the convictions she’d felt earlier.
“That was investigated and proven false,” Sera said.
“But how do you know?” Joanna asked, her voice throbbing with mischief.
“This isn’t about me,” Sera said, shaking her head. “I didn’t choose to be empress. The position was bestowed on me. I have touched the Command Leering, and it has obeyed me. I don’t think it would have if my blood were tainted.”
“Are you so sure?”
“I am, actually,” Sera said. “Your words are only intended to make me doubt myself. But doubt and belief cannot coexist. One must drive out the other.”
“A fancy speech, Your Highness,” Joanna said. “You’re just unwilling to accept the truth.”
“And what do you know of truth?” Sera shot back. “You are living a lie. You aren’t Joanna Patchett. You’ve only been trained to impersonate her. To know her mannerisms, her way of speaking. You use magic to disguise your face. Who are you really? A servant who lost her place? An urchin who was starving and dreamed of a better life?”
Something in Sera’s accusations must have struck home because Joanna flinched, her smug look fading.
A spell of quiet passed between them.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be poor,” the young woman said in a strained voice, full of vengeance, full of despair.
Sera stared at her, gauging her emotions. They were genuine, she decided, not wrought by a magical amulet.
“You’re right, I don’t,” Sera said. “But be honest with me. If someone takes my place, pretending to be empress, do you think the inequality will change? It won’t. Did Christina use the wealth she accrued from Pavenham Sky to free other children bound in chains? No. She garnered more and more power. Not to heal the wounds. But to murder. You’ve seen yourself what I have tried to do as empress. It hasn’t been enough. It won’t be enough until there are no longer any starving children, until there are no longer any more desperate individuals who sell themselves or their offspring in deeds of servitude.”
Joanna was staring at her. Something was changing in her face. Was her resolve weakening?
“Show me who you really are,” Sera said. “Show me your real face.”
Silence.
Joanna’s voice was just a whisper. “I don’t want to be her anymore.”
“Show me,” Sera asked.
She watched as the illusion melted away. Standing in the fashionable Joanna’s stead was an average woman with a round face, a slightly pointed nose, and brownish-blond hair. Ordinary. Simple. And then Sera understood, and her heart ached. Joanna’s glamorous life was everything she’d dreamed of—only it wasn’t real. Reality would always be preferable to a pretty dream.
“Help me,” Sera pleaded. “Help me get back home.”
“If I do, they will kill me,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “I swore an oath that I would suffer myself to die before betraying them.”
“I absolve you of that oath,” Sera said.
The woman pretending to be Joanna frowned.
“Can you unlock the chain?” Sera asked, holding out her leg.
“I can,” came the reply. There was a look of hesitation. Of distrust. Then the woman nodded and started forward.
That was when Christina appeared. How long had she lingered there, invisible and ready to strike? Long enough to witness the conversation. Long enough to see the betrayal.
“Look out!” Sera warned.
Joanna turned, and the two poisoners faced each other. A knife appeared in Joanna’s hand, the silver blade gleaming in the lantern light. The pallor on her cheeks showed that she knew she’d been compromised. There would be no arguing, no pleading. One would have to kill the other.
Joanna flung her blade at Christina’s head, just as the other woman raised a pistol. Christina dodged at the last instant, and the blade arced past her face.
An explosion sounded in the lockroom, so loud it deafened Sera. She clamped her hands over her ears, but they were already ringing painfully. Hazy smoke filled the room along with the pungent odor of sulfur and powder.
Joanna sank to her knees, her mouth gaping in shock. She was fumbling for something in her dress, and Sera watched in horror as the girl’s skin began to blacken and shrivel. She gaped, trying to speak, her mouth working until her skin began to come off in flakes. Before Sera’s eyes, Joanna’s limbs and body desiccated until she slumped onto the floor, nothing but dust and a heap of clothes.
Christina lowered the smoking pistol.<
br />
“What-what was that?” Sera stammered, shuddering, her ears squealing with pain but hearing again.
Christina walked forward and revealed the Tay al-Ard strapped to her arm. “A special poison,” she said, her eyes hard and angry. “A rare poison. Deathbane.”
I am writing this note from Lockhaven, where I delivered the man who was sent to kill me. He had a kystrel around his neck, which I removed after he fell unconscious at the hospital. Prime Minister Durrant informed me, after the man was interrogated, that he was a former Ministry of War dragoon who’d been presumed dead. His death, it seems, was staged, and he was instead shuttled off to Kingfountain to be trained in the art of subterfuge.
His true name is Will Russell. Yes, the very one who was involved in the disgrace of Her Majesty. He is in chains and under guard. I have asked to see him, to learn what I can of Cettie’s whereabouts. He seemed to know quite a bit about her. But my petitions have been in vain. I cannot sleep. I can find no rest. Did she truly send him to kill me? I don’t want to believe it.
I don’t know what to believe anymore. There’s a knock at the door. I must go.
—Adam Creigh, writing from Lockhaven
CETTIE
CHAPTER TWENTY−ONE
LURKING BENEATH
It started as her visions always did, with a strange feeling of aloofness, a drifting away from consciousness, and the tingling power of the Mysteries coursing through her body. Cettie forgot where her physical body was as the vision subsumed her, wrapping her up and lifting her away. She found herself gliding over the foam-tipped waves as if she were a gull, the rustle of the sea and the wind filling her ears.
Then she noticed the shadow beneath the water, staining the sea like a drab of ink. The vision sucked her below the surface. She involuntarily flinched, even though they could not harm her—her spirit self wasn’t drenched after all, nor did she need to breathe. The colors beneath the waves shifted as the brilliant light of sunrise stabbed through the water. She’d barely noticed the position of the sun, but the knowledge of its timing came, supplied by the magic that had brought her there. She was a harbinger—a seer of things to be.