Prism Cloud

by Jeff Wheeler

  “True, but the message is valuable. Cettie has had a vision of your marriage to Prince Trevon here in Kingfountain.” His smile broadened. “I think this addresses both of our concerns. You are meant to marry him. You have your answer.”

  Sera felt a little prickle of doubt, but it was quickly washed away when she looked back at the table and saw Trevon gazing at her, clearly worried about the news and what it might mean. The devotion in his eyes was unquestionable. Besides, she trusted Cettie implicitly, and her visions had never been wrong before. The weight of her decision no longer felt so heavy. Yes, their differences would create challenges, but they would also bring opportunities. Perhaps the Knowing was trying to heal the breach between its warring children at last.

  “That is not news I was expecting,” Sera said. “Maybe Trevon’s desire to hasten the marriage is just another indication that we’re supposed to do this. Well,” she added with a hopeful smile, “I suppose I should give him an answer, then.”

  “I think you ought to,” Fitzroy said, smiling broadly.

  “I’m so grateful for Cettie’s vision. I would love for her to come and visit.” The thought of Cettie reminded her of the Leerings she’d seen earlier. Perhaps Cettie would be able to divine their purpose if she ever visited Kingfountain. Arranging such a thing would be much easier once she and Trevon were married. “Fitzroy, I discovered Leerings in one of the beach caves in Brythonica. Did you know of them?”

  “I did not,” Fitzroy said. “That is fascinating.”

  “It is. Did the letter say anything else? Anything we should be concerned about?”

  “Nothing,” Fitzroy said, shaking his head no. “All is well at home.”

  “What a relief to get good news only,” Sera said, touching his arm. “I dreaded what the letter might say.”

  “So did I,” he confessed. He turned and looked back at the table. “After you.”

  Sera returned to the table, but instead of taking her seat, she stood by Trevon’s chair so that she would be, for once, taller than him.

  Trevon gazed up at her face, his look suddenly hopeful. Sera’s heart felt ready to burst. She put her hand on his shoulder, partially to steady herself, partially to reassure him.

  “I wonder if there is any cake in the kitchen?” she asked impishly. “I’m feeling hungry for some at present.” Then she leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Tell the cook it is time to finish it. I will have you, Trevon.” She smiled at the two young princesses, who stared at her in shocked surprise. “I’ve never had any siblings before. It is about time to change that.”

  The look of joy on the prince’s face made her throat catch. He rose from his chair and embraced her in front of the entire gathering. And then he kissed her.

  There is a saying here in Kingfountain that I much admire. You cannot step twice in the same river. Change is inevitable and relentless, and I have found that it does not matter how slowly progress happens so long as it does happen. I think our persistence in treating peacefully with our enemies will yield, in the end, a lasting result. The Aldermaston I studied under taught me that people change for two reasons. Either they have learned much, or they’ve been hurt much.

  People fear change, however, and it requires much coaxing. Not because it is difficult, but because the future is uncertain. I am grateful for Cettie and her wondrous Gift from the Medium. It has made it much easier to face the future with courage. When she was a child, she was afraid of the dark and the ghosts she could see. It is easy to forgive a child for being afraid of the dark. The real tragedy of life is when one is afraid of the light.

  —Brant Fitzroy, Prime Minister

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE FELLS

  So many years had passed since Cettie had lived in the Fells. Yet seeing the ramshackle tenements, the suffering looks and gaunt cheeks of the hungry and impoverished, made her heart respond with pangs of memory. Her father’s bodyguard, Raj Sarin, had dubbed her Cettie Saeed, “Cettie of the Clouds,” a moniker that fit the young woman she’d become. But as she navigated her zephyr to the center of the earth-bound city, she was reduced to her earlier nickname—Cettie of the Fells. No amount of soap, no comfortable gown, no hard-earned confidence could purge the inner child that had felt trapped by this teeming city.

  “I don’t see how people can live like this,” Rand said, his voice betraying the pity he felt for those forced to endure it. “There’s nothing like this in Pry-Ree.”

  “Most of them don’t have a choice,” Joses said. He gave Cettie a solemn look from his seat across from Rand. They sat on opposing benches on the deck of the sky ship. No doubt Joses was thinking of the past too, of the days when they had scurried through the streets below trying to find food for the other children they lived with.

  At least they had not been hunted by a beast like the Fear Liath.

  It was excessively windy that day, and strong gusts had rattled the sky ship off and on throughout their flight. Debris from the streets flitted like ash in the air, working up clouds of dust. The tempest was a hardier ship, but it would have been too cumbersome to maneuver through the winding streets of the Fells.

  “It has gotten better, but not much,” Cettie said, bringing the zephyr lower to avoid another ship as it raced toward its destination. As a child, she used to stare up at the ships floating above the buildings. She’d never have imagined that she’d be piloting one someday. It felt as if a shadow had crossed over her heart. In one of her Mysteries of Wind classes at Muirwood, they’d studied prisms. Light carried every shade of color within it, and a prism could show different dazzling arrays of colors depending on how it was looked at. At some point in the class, a cloud had covered the sun, ending the experiment. Without light, a prism was nothing but clear glass. That was the way the Fells felt to her. They blotted out everything that was good.

  “Thanks to the prime minister,” Rand offered encouragingly, “that is changing. If slowly.”

  “He started charities in the Fells long before he became prime minister,” Joses said. He looked over at Cettie. “Where are we meeting the lieutenant? The ministry building?”

  “Yes, but I need to stop at Sloan and Teitelbaum first,” Cettie said.

  “Your advocates?” Rand asked.

  Cettie nodded. It was near enough to the ministry buildings that it would not delay their meeting. Light was the monster’s greatest weakness. The goal was to locate the Fear Liath’s lair before noon, when the sun would be at its brightest.

  She lowered the zephyr and dropped the rope ladder over the side.

  “Would you like us to come with you?” Rand asked.

  She shook her head. “If you’d wait here, I would be obliged. I won’t be long.”

  When she climbed down the ladder, she was met by a small group of urchins who’d gathered beneath the zephyr. How she longed to wipe clean their sooty faces and bring them all back to Fog Willows with her. Seeing them brought back memories of her own hunger and desperation. She opened her purse and began dispensing coins to each of them, earning words of “thank you, ma’am” and “bless you, mum” from them. On her rare visits to the Fells, she usually brought a purse of coins from her own private funds.

  She hastened to the law offices, knowing that even more children would be gathered around the zephyr upon her return. When she entered the building, she breathed in the familiar scents of old papers, wax, and aged timbers. There was a subtle edge of mildew to it. Various clerks sat at their desks, scribbling furiously. The desk that had belonged to Mr. Skrelling, her old classmate and admirer, was now occupied by a replacement. The reminder of his accident caused her pain, but she squelched it as she made her way toward the lawyers’ private chambers. She’d sent a zephyr post, so they should be expecting her.

  Mr. Sloan greeted her at the door and apologized that Mr. Teitelbaum was off on private business for Fitzroy.

  “Do you have way of communicating with Father?” Cettie asked, feeling again unsettl
ed by her earlier vision.

  “We do, if it’s an emergency,” he answered. “It takes several days, but our messages do arrive in his correspondence parcel. Is there something you’d like to send to him?”

  She thought again of the vision. Rand had assured her the message he’d sent to Admiral Hatch was already speeding its way there. Part of her questioned whether she’d done the right thing. Though she’d always shared her visions with Fitzroy first, this one felt different. In the past, they’d never tried to prevent something from coming to pass. They’d always reacted to the information as if it were unassailable. But this one couldn’t be . . .

  Why would she receive a vision of something that would affect her so painfully if it were unavoidable? It jarred with her sense of fairness, rattled her faith.

  “I will send it to you later.”

  He beckoned for her to join him in his private study, and she did so, taking the proffered chair as he went around the desk, scratching his snow-white hair. He had been the family’s advocate for many years. There was a friendly manner about him, which set him apart from the normally stern Mr. Teitelbaum.

  “Have you an update on the state of Stephen’s debts?” Cettie asked him after he sat down. Stephen was the Fitzroy’s oldest offspring and only son. He’d accumulated excessive debt while working at the family mine. Though he was a changed man, the shackles of the past still had hold of him.

  Cettie hoped more than anything that her father would survive, but she thought it best to prepare for the worst.

  Mr. Sloan pursed his lips and tapped his fingers together. “Since we last spoke on this matter, well over a year ago, he has not taken on any more debt and has worked out payments with his creditors. It will take him roughly four more years to settle them all, assuming he does not fall back into his spendthrift ways.” He smiled at her. “He’s quite changed since the incident at the mines. He looks more and more like his father every day. Thank the Mysteries, he’s begun to act like him too.”

  “Four more years,” Cettie said, sighing regretfully. “How much would it take to eliminate the debt altogether?”

  “The interest is the problem,” Mr. Sloan said. “We have renegotiated some of the rates of interest on his behalf, as you requested, but the obligation was sizable. We did our best.”

  “I know you did, Mr. Sloan, but he cannot inherit Fog Willows with this debt.”

  “No, he cannot,” Mr. Sloan said. “Lord Fitzroy’s instructions were explicit. Phinia cannot inherit either, as she is not a maston. That means Lady Anna would likely inherit.”

  Cettie felt her pangs of worry increase. Anna was so ill . . .

  “Is something wrong?” Mr. Sloan asked. “You look troubled.”

  “Anna is very sick,” she answered. “I’m worried about her . . . and Fog Willows. Lady Maren would not inherit?”

  “No,” said Mr. Sloan. “The estate must be passed from father to child. Upon Lord Fitzroy’s death, which will not happen for quite some time, Lady Maren would be entitled to a stipend, but it will not be within her power to control the destiny of the manor. Lord Fitzroy has no siblings. He has three children and has sought, as you well know, the right to adopt you, which would also make you a possible heir to the estate. But there is still time. Four years really isn’t very long for Stephen to pay off his debts. When your hair is as silver as mine, you’ll understand what I mean.”

  Cettie closed her eyes, debating whether she should tell him. She hadn’t told Mother, even though she’d longed to share the burden. But the news of Anna’s illness had deeply affected Lady Maren. Her skin had taken on a pale cast that had put Cettie in mind of her mother’s former illness, the one Mrs. Pullman had instigated. She’d decided it would be better to stay silent and hope for the best. Rand’s idea should work.

  “Mr. Sloan, I would like to pay off Stephen’s debt.”

  The advocate’s brow wrinkled. He gave her a solemn look. “Did he ask you to?”

  “No, of course not,” she answered hastily. “He would never do that.”

  “He might have not that long ago,” Mr. Sloan pointed out.

  “True, but he never did.”

  “I don’t think this would be wise, Miss Cettie,” he said, rubbing his earlobe. “Nor do I think your father would approve.”

  “Here is my intention,” Cettie said. “I have, as you know, saved a sizable amount of my salary as the keeper of Fog Willows. I want to use my savings to do away with the prohibition against him inheriting. Stephen’s payments can come to me until he has paid off the full amount, without interest.”

  Mr. Sloan leaned farther back in his chair. “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you my reasons, Mr. Sloan. I believe I have sufficient funds.”

  “You do,” he agreed. “I’m assuming you don’t want him to know that you are helping him?”

  “I don’t,” she answered. “I would prefer if Father didn’t know either.”

  Mr. Sloan inhaled slowly, looking troubled. “I can arrange the papers, of course. It will take several days, maybe longer, but I would have to advise you against this. You earned your money through hard work, and you’ve saved much of it. Stephen made entirely different decisions and has justly earned the consequences he now bears.”

  “I understand,” Cettie said, leaning forward and putting her hand on his desk. “But my funds are mine and can be spent as I see fit. I know you have a duty to Father that supersedes your duty to me. Can you see your way toward helping me?”

  Mr. Sloan shrugged. “It is your money, as you said, Miss Cettie. I do not see how Lord Fitzroy’s interests would be harmed by this arrangement. No, if anything, it provides more flexibility. If this is your wish, I will see it done. I’ll come by Fog Willows when I am ready for your signature on the deed.” He folded his arms and gazed at her. “I’m not usually surprised, Miss Cettie, but your generosity has taken me aback. It’s no secret that Stephen once disdained you. I could not be so forgiving.”

  Cettie rose from the chair. “Thank you, Mr. Sloan. I didn’t deserve Father’s mercy in bringing me away from the Fells. Yet I am grateful, every day, that he did. I will do anything for the Fitzroys.”

  Mr. Sloan rose from his chair. “I hope your purpose in coming is fulfilled. It is good to see you once again, Miss Cettie.”

  “Thank you for helping me,” Cettie said, feeling good about her decision to help Stephen anonymously. It was the sort of thing Fitzroy would have done . . . and did . . . for someone else’s child.

  They rendezvoused with Lieutenant Fields at the Ministry of Law building, which had a solemn gray stone facade and grimy windows. The young lieutenant greeted Rand with a grin of relief and thanked him for joining the party.

  “Don’t thank me,” Rand said offhandedly. “Thank her.”

  One thing she’d always respected about Rand was his outspokenness, his sometimes brutal honesty.

  The assemblage was impressive. Some of the officers carried Leerings the size of bread loaves, which they brought aboard zephyrs that had been prepared for the mission. There were a few sharpshooters as well, but it was clear they were looking to Rand to take down the beast. He was a dragoon, after all, trained in the Ministry of War. All in all, about two dozen people had been gathered for the mission—a bigger and better-armed group than the miners she and Stephen and Rand had led to the beast’s old lair in the grotto. After the entire group had gathered, Lieutenant Fields ordered them to board the zephyrs and make way for the area they intended to investigate.

  Cettie rode in a zephyr with Fields, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she gazed down at the broken streets, teeming with wagons and small carriages. The place looked familiar, yet all streets in the Fells, save for in the nicer neighborhoods, were full of broken crates, trash, and useless debris. Smoke billowed from the various factories’ smoke stacks, obscuring the view at times, and a few shrill bursts of whistles reached them above the billowing wind.

  When the zephyrs arrived, sh
e had an uncanny sense that she’d been there before. Could it be true? Or did all the streets look this similar? A queer, uneasy feeling made her hold her stomach.

  There were skylights in many of the roofs beneath them, offering the sky ships easier docking since the streets below were crowded and unsafe.

  “We’ll go down below, ma’am,” Lieutenant Fields said. “The map I showed you earlier featured this general area. If you can sense the monster, let us know, for we can impose the boundaries before luring it out of its lair.”

  She nodded and watched as he threw the rope ladder over the edge of the craft and then climbed down to the roof below. She saw Joses and Rand climb down from their zephyr too. Joses glanced her way, giving her a reluctant smile. It would seem the adventure suited him less than he’d thought it would, and no wonder. The memories were heavier down here in the thick of the Fells.

  Cettie took a deep breath and climbed down to join them.

  The building’s attic was musty and dank, and they had to make their way down several flights of stairs to reach the street. People stared at them, and Cettie reassured herself that no one could possibly recognize her for the urchin she’d been. Not now that she was dressed properly and had tidy hair. They couldn’t know who she really was. It was a warm day, so no cloak or veil was needed, but she suddenly wished she had one, if only to conceal her twisting emotions.

  She felt a hand grip her arm. “Are you all right?” Rand asked worriedly.

  The answer was no, absolutely not, but she nodded anyway, her throat too swollen to speak. A feeling of uneasiness permeated the air, making each step feel like it required extra effort.

  “This way,” Lieutenant Fields called out, waving them to follow him. He had an arquebus slung over his shoulder. The Leerings had been stowed in packs and were being carried by four different men.

  They turned at the street corner, and she stopped short, recognizing the small market she’d passed hundreds of times as a little girl.