by Jeff Wheeler
There was a disturbance happening in the street. People were carrying on about a wedding, and a few of them started to shove each other roughly. Was this a vision of Sera’s wedding to Prince Trevon of Kingfountain? If so, Cettie’s heart was glad for her friend. She had met the prince several times on his visits to court. He was warm and kind, and he and Sera seemed quite comfortable with each other. Fond even. They joked and talked with each other as dear friends do, and she’d even caught them admiring each other surreptitiously. She’d asked Sera about it on their last visit, and her friend had actually blushed, which wasn’t like Sera at all. The match may have started as a political one, but she knew it had become more for both of them.
But if the marriage was a happy occasion, as it should be, why was there such a commotion?
Then she saw a group of soldiers push through the crowd. Lord Fitzroy, the father figure of her life, was with them. He was wearing his everyday clothes, except the jacket was somewhat finer than what he normally wore. He was talking to some men who were gathered around him. She felt a thrill of pride to see the others listening to him so intently, but something about the scene worried her. His expression was guarded, intense. There were too many people around him.
She watched as he frowned at something and then hobbled a bit in place. He bent down to examine the heel of his boot.
And it was at that exact moment she heard the gunfire, an explosion of black ash that sent an iron bullet into Fitzroy and knocked him down. There were screams and instant pandemonium. Cettie saw Fitzroy lying in the street, clutching his side, his face a mask of pain. The sight of the blood seeping beneath and around him filled her with horror.
The vision pulled back, and she saw a man crouching on the roof of a nearby building, the plume of smoke still jetting from the barrel of his arquebus. Fitzroy’s attacker leaned back against the roof, hidden from the sight of those gathered on the bridge below.
She recognized the brooding man with the scar on his face.
The last time she had seen the man who claimed to be her father, she had shot him in the Fear Liath’s cave. He was supposed to be dead.
CHAPTER TWO
GIMMERTON SOUGH
Cettie was a harbinger. It was not a gift she had asked for or even one she wanted. Her visions were glimpses of the future—events that would happen. As far as she knew, she had no ability to change them, just as she could not control when the visions came or what they entailed. Now, with the vision still vivid in her mind, she experienced the deepest anguish and conflict of her life. She couldn’t bear to see it fulfilled. Her father was in Kingfountain at that very moment—the attack could happen at any time.
Her stomach twisted with worry, but her heart stiffened with resolve. She had to try to save him. But how could she return to Fog Willows right away to tell Lady Maren? Surely she deserved to know first.
Conflict and inner turmoil heaved inside her breast, but she forced herself to think the situation through logically. Her visions were usually of the near future. There was probably time to react. She wouldn’t do anyone any good if she acted in haste. Besides, she might be able to prevent the Fear Liath from killing again if she secured Rand’s agreement to find and fight it. Her father was the one who’d asked her to handle that situation. Then there was Anna to consider . . . she didn’t like the thought of leaving her at Gimmerton Sough, especially if she was sick.
She was close enough to the other estate that she might as well finish the task.
Her decision helped calm the turbulence of her thoughts. Perhaps the injury she’d witnessed was not fatal. Adam was in Kingfountain. Surely he would try to help if he could.
The final stretch of the journey to Gimmerton Sough was spent in misery. As she finally guided the sky ship to the landing yard, she stared at the rugged stone mansion and wondered how she was going to face the Patchetts, especially Rand, with such heaviness in her heart.
Another tempest was docked in the yard with the Patchetts’ zephyrs. It didn’t surprise her to learn they had a visitor—Joanna was very popular and had many friends and visitors. Cettie’s goal wasn’t to intrude. She only wanted to talk to Rand and then take her sister home.
The thought of talking to anyone about anything was almost too much to bear. She rested her forehead on the helm, trying to gather her strength, summon her courage. She’d always trusted in the Knowing, and that trust had served her well in the past. But in this moment of blackness, she felt she’d been betrayed by the very powers she had always trusted.
Why give her such a vision if she couldn’t change it? Or was this a sign the visions had changed somehow? That her intervention was needed?
She squeezed the rungs of the helm and took a steadying breath. Then she lowered the rope ladder and hastened down to the ground. Arms folded, she crossed the gravel yard to the walkway leading to the manor. She’d heard from Anna that the Patchetts had finally hired a keeper of the house, a woman named Mrs. Rosings. Cettie had never met her, but her sister had said she was a stern woman who ran a steady household. As Cettie approached the doors, they opened, and a matronly woman bustled out of them.
The woman’s hair was parted in the middle, and pins held back her dark curls. She had a sour expression on her mouth, as if she’d been interrupted in something important. Both her appearance and her demeanor instantly reminded Cettie of Mrs. Pullman, the previous keeper of Fog Willows, who had tormented her and attempted to manipulate and control the entire Fitzroy family.
“And who might you be?” said the prim woman as Cettie approached. Even her voice was hauntingly similar.
For a moment, Cettie gaped at Mrs. Rosings in surprise, feeling as if she were standing before her old enemy.
“I-I’m Cettie, keeper of Fog Willows.”
The woman’s brow furrowed. “You’re rather young to be a keeper. You can’t be more than twenty.”
“I am . . . I am almost twenty-one, Mrs. Rosings. I came to fetch my sister Anna.”
“Ah,” she said, her look darkening. “Anna is unwell. She’s not fit to go anywhere. Doctor Donaldson is still here, tending her fever. Come in.” She stood back from the door, holding it open for Cettie.
The keeper’s words filled her with unease—was Anna’s condition truly so serious?—and that feeling only heightened as she stepped into the hall. She had not been back to Gimmerton Sough after the fateful ball. That night the hall had been decorated festively with flower garlands and music, and happy voices had filled the air. Now it felt strangely empty, and despite the fact that Mr. Batewinch stood farther down the hall with someone, talking softly, everything was eerily quiet.
When the woman with Mr. Batewinch turned toward the door, Mrs. Rosings stepped to the side and gestured for Cettie to do the same. The other guest was a handsome woman in her late thirties, a plumed hat atop her dark hair. Her outfit was the pinnacle of fashion and style—frills at her throat, a tight buttoned vest with stripes, and a teal-colored jacket and skirt. Her eyes met and held Cettie’s.
Batewinch, who’d also turned, presumably to escort the guest to the door, paused upon seeing the pair of them. “Ah, Miss Cettie! Welcome back to Gimmerton Sough.”
The woman tilted her head and continued to study Cettie. Something glimmered in her eyes, a subtle look of recognition, perhaps?
“Hello, Mr. Batewinch.” Cettie dropped a short curtsy.
“This is our landlady, ahem, Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky,” he said, smiling broadly and gesturing to his companion.
Yes, Cettie had guessed as much based on Sera’s description of the woman. There was a look of cold malice in her eyes, but her expression was carefully guarded. She was the wealthiest person in the empire, and it was said she had her sights set on the emperor. Sera herself thought it to be true.
A shudder went through Cettie’s heart, but she offered another low curtsy.
Lady Corinne gazed at her shrewdly, her dark eyes examining her, finding her wanting. “It is nice to meet you at la
st,” she finally said. “Miss Patchett speaks highly of you.”
Her words caught Cettie off guard. She hadn’t expected to be addressed at all, let alone civilly. After all, she’d been forbidden to communicate with Sera during her friend’s tenure in Lady Corinne’s household.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Cettie mumbled.
Lady Corinne turned back to Mr. Batewinch. “He doesn’t have enough funds to run for parliament. See that there are reserves kept aside for the rent obligation, at least three years’ worth. Let him find supporters willing to give, not lend him money. I will brook no late payments. Not a single one.”
“Of course, my lady,” Batewinch said, opening the door for her. “The lad will be disappointed, but there is wisdom in your counsel.”
“Come with me,” Mrs. Rosings said to Cettie and led her down the hall. Cettie followed, but glanced back at the door as the other two were leaving. She met the gaze of Lady Corinne, who had just looked back at her. Something in the woman’s eyes filled Cettie with a keen sense of foreboding. She looked away first.
The keeper led her down the hall, past the staircases, and then down another corridor. Cettie rubbed her temples, trying to shake the feelings of unease, but it was impossible.
“This way,” Mrs. Rosings said firmly. The corridor was strangely dark. No Leerings were lit, and the dark wood panels on the wall seemed to repel light. The trepidation in Cettie’s heart grew.
That was when she heard coughing.
Mrs. Rosings stopped in front of a closed door, knocked briefly, and then opened it, revealing Anna in the midst of a coughing fit.
The extent of her illness shocked Cettie. She wore a nightdress drenched with sweat, and the upper buttons had been tugged open to reveal the maston chain at her throat. Her temples were slick with sweat, and her lips had a grayish cast to them. There were shadow smudges beneath her eyes. She’d been perfectly well the day before. How could such a thing happen?
“Cettie,” gasped Anna weakly, trying to reach out a hand.
A doctor with a white-and-blond beard and a black armband stood by the bed, next to an array of medicines on a small table. Rand stood on the other side of the bed, his arms folded, his look one of brooding and worry. He glanced at Cettie as she entered, his lips tightening into a frown.
She paid him no mind. All her attention was for Anna. She rushed to her sister’s side and took her extended hand. The skin was wet with perspiration.
“Doctor Donaldson,” said Mrs. Rosings, “this is the keeper of Fog Willows. She came to take Miss Anna back, but I told her you didn’t advise it.”
“You came,” Anna gasped.
“I heard you were ill,” Cettie answered, kissing her hand. “You look awful.”
“I feel awful,” Anna said, and then broke into another violent fit of coughs.
Doctor Donaldson sat down in a nearby chair. He looked exhausted, as if he’d been there all night and hadn’t slept himself. “I cannot recommend removing her,” he said to Cettie with conviction. “She is very weak.”
“What is it?” Cettie asked. She took a deep breath before she spoke her fear aloud. “Is it the cholera morbus?” She knew a bit about the disease from Adam’s work, and it terrified her how quickly its victims succumbed to it. Though he had made some progress in treating the disease, he still had not determined how the infection spread.
“No, I don’t think so. The symptoms aren’t remotely the same. To be honest, I don’t know what it is.” He took a small cup of water off the table and handed it to Anna, who’d finally stopped coughing. She sipped it greedily and then lay back on her damp pillows. Rand shook his head slowly, worry creasing his brow.
“I fell sick after lunch yesterday,” Anna whispered, her voice hoarse from coughing.
“If any of the food had spoiled,” Doctor Donaldson said, “then the rest of the family would be sick as well. She’s the only one. None of the servants are sick either. It doesn’t make sense to me, but as you can see, she is very ill.” He looked at Cettie again and then pulled her aside to speak more privately. “I am concerned. Her mother should be advised of the seriousness of this illness.”
“She’s the one who asked me to check on Anna,” Cettie said.
The doctor’s face turned grim. “I know. But she needs to be told that she’s getting worse. I’ve not seen such a dramatic illness before. It is unlike anything I’ve experienced.”
Cettie’s heart was already burdened with the secrets from her vision. Now this. Fear filled her heart as she took in Anna’s frailty, her flushed cheeks from the burning fever, the listlessness as she writhed on the pillow.
“Have you sent for a vicar?” Cettie asked the doctor. “To give her a Gift of Healing?”
“I’ll summon one straightaway,” Rand said. He nodded to Cettie and departed the room.
“We’ll take good care of her, Miss Cettie,” said Mrs. Rosings, putting a hand on her shoulder. The words were kind, yet they didn’t feel kind. Even the weight of the woman’s hand reminded her of Mrs. Pullman and made her want to shrink away.
“May I have a moment alone with her?” Cettie asked, looking at the doctor. Mrs. Rosings slowly lowered her hand and then nodded. As soon as she and her sister were alone, Cettie squeezed Anna’s hand.
“I’m worried about you,” she said, feeling miserable.
“I don’t know what happened,” Anna gasped. “I feel so weak. I’ve had terrible nightmares. Like when I was a child. I want to go home, but it hurts to move.”
“I want to stay with you.” Cettie bit her lip as she pressed her palm to her sister’s forehead. It was burning hot and dripping with sweat.
“I don’t want you to get sick too,” Anna said with a sigh. “I’m so hot. Every part of my skin is burning.”
Cettie questioned her about her symptoms, trying to understand what had happened, but though she had studied the Mysteries of Wind, she’d never trained as a doctor. Shortly thereafter, Doctor Donaldson returned to care for Anna, and Cettie had no choice but to give way. She felt utterly helpless in the face of her sister’s illness.
At long last, Anna stopped coughing and then fell into a fitful sleep.
Cettie retreated from the room. Not knowing what else to do, she stood in the silent corridor, her back to the wall, her emotions wrecked. After a few moments, she heard the sound of two people approaching. When she opened her eyes, she saw it was Rand and Joses.
It was a relief seeing her childhood friend again, although he looked nothing like the street urchin he had once been. He was a man grown now and wore the uniform of a valet. He gave her an eager smile, but his eyes looked worried.
“Hello, Cettie,” Joses said.
“It’s good to see you,” she answered with a smile. That smile faded as she turned to Rand.
“I’ve sent word for a vicar,” Rand said, coming up to Cettie. “I should have thought of that sooner. Her illness came on so suddenly, we all began to panic.”
“Thank you for caring for my sister,” she said.
Rand seemed to be struggling with what to say next. She saw him flex his fists. “It’s difficult to be patient when patience is probably the best remedy of all. I would hate it if . . . anything happened to her. She’s a dear friend now. To both Joanna and me.”
Cettie nodded, feeling the awkwardness yawning between them. She was determined to bridge it. “I came for another reason, Rand.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “And what is that?” Joses shot her a surprised look too. He knew about the awkwardness between them, and the reason for it.
“Earlier this afternoon, I met with a lieutenant from the Ministry of Law. They think they know where the Fear Liath is skulking in the Fells. It’s killed again.”
Rand’s face turned hard. “And?”
Cettie didn’t let his expression daunt her. “They need help hunting it down, Rand. I’m going to help them find it and set some Leerings to prevent it from escaping. But they could use a good drago
on . . . to see this thing destroyed.”
“We should go!” Joses said excitedly.
Rand smirked. “Hunting things with antlers isn’t enough for you now, is it? A Fear Liath is a very different beast.”
“I know,” Joses said without a trace of fear, “but we can’t let the Law have all the glory, can we? They’re sniveling cowards. They need us!”
“They are not cowards,” Cettie said, trying to rein him in with a glare. “They asked for you, Rand. And I told them I’d deliver the message myself.”
There was a conflicted look in Rand’s eyes, but at least he hadn’t rejected the request offhand. “We’re very busy. I don’t know.”
“We are not busy!” Joses interjected.
Rand shot him a warning look. “Anna?” he reminded him.
Joses’s countenance fell. “Yes. That. Well, you’re busy, sir. I’ve been rather idle since yesterday. But you do have a sister who could watch over Anna . . .”
Rand sighed as he shifted his gaze back to Cettie. “I don’t know why I ever let you convince me to take him on. He’s been nothing but a bother since the day he came.” He tempered the insult with a teasing grin. “I do feel rather useless here. I’m no doctor. All I can do is twiddle my thumbs and worry. Where in the Fells did they find it?”
“I saw the map,” Cettie said. “But I no longer know the area like I did.”
“I do,” Joses said proudly. “If I saw the map, I could tell you. So we’re going?”