Storm Glass (The Harbinger Series Book 1)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Your father has fallen ill,” Welles said formally. “He had seemed in robust health for a man of sixty and two. There were no indications. Then his speech began to slur earlier today, his walking became awkward. He collapsed suddenly and has been totally unable to communicate since then.”

  Mother’s eyes, already wet, began to gush anew. She pressed a napkin to her mouth.

  Father’s eyes widened with surprise. “An apoplexy, do you think?”

  The prime minister sighed. “It appears so, Lord Willard. An astute observation, I should say, but not surprising coming from a man trained in the Mysteries of Wind. One does not have to be a harbinger to foresee that changes are coming to the empire. The emperor may recover quickly, rendering the need for this conversation moot. However, it has been my long experience serving in the admiralty that when a man has apoplexy, he is liable to have more, and the next will be even more debilitating.”

  Mother sniffled and waved her napkin. “But surely he can be healed?” she said through her tears.

  The prime minister gave her a respectful, if condescending look. He cleared his throat. “It has also been my experience, ma’am, that while it is always good to hope for miracles, it is not wise to count on them. Laws are immutable, my lady. Consequences come to kings just as they do to the poor souls who live below. Both can die of a cough. And have.”

  Mother shook her head in misery and continued to wipe tears from her eyes.

  Father was grasping the implications already. “You came here . . . first?”

  The prime minister bowed his gray head. “I’m not a harbinger . . . I cannot see the future. But I can see clouds in the distance and know the winds will soon be fierce. Foremost, I am a servant of the people and naturally anticipate what may be best for all. What may be the most acceptable. If the emperor is incapacitated, then we will need a prince regent chosen by the privy council. While I might personally prefer that this individual come from my own ministry”—here he offered a curt bow to Sera’s father—“I am pragmatic enough to recognize that the people would see a more natural answer from the Ministry of Wind. The emperor’s condition being a medical one, there would be more trust if the regent came from that branch. He also made no will to specify his choice of heir. And, to put it bluntly, your two brothers are both spendthrifts and have racked up considerable debts. I think the privy council will look to this house.”

  Father staggered back into the table, his hand groping for something to steady himself. The feeling of dread in Sera’s stomach yawned wide as the implication struck her like a fist. No, this could not happen. If this action put her even closer to the throne, how might her little freedoms be stripped from her?

  “You think . . . you think that I could be prince regent?” her father whispered hoarsely.

  “Yes. That is precisely what I think may happen. Prepare yourself, sir. If it does come to pass, you will need to form a new government based on your ministry. Beware the Ministry of Law doesn’t outflank you. They are rather subtle. You might have papers thrust in front of you to sign and seal. Do not sign anything until this is resolved. You have no debt, which is rare for our class, and so their ministry cannot bar you from stepping into the role. The Ministry of War, of course, will stand ready to aid you should conflict arise, but we are in a season of peace, save for some minor trade disputes.

  “I think it long overdue that the Ministry of Wind be given a turn at the helm of government. You might consider Fitzroy as your prime minister. The ghosts know the man wouldn’t want it, poor chap, but he’d do an excellent job. But it’s not my place to advise you. The Minister of Wind will hear of this shortly, if he hasn’t already. I’m glad I reached you first.”

  “T-thank you, Prime Minster,” her father said. A queer brightness lit his eyes.

  “Would you like to stay and join our meal?” Mother asked, dabbing her eyes.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Lord Welles said cheerfully. “I never walk away from a meal,” he said with a wry smile, looking down at the half-eaten plate that Sera had been forced to abandon.

  He gave her a secret look and winked at her.

  Just as thoughts are powerful, so are spoken words. There are words that are so powerful they can make cities float in the sky. To obfuscate such power from the masses—from the populace seething in the mills, the mines, and the manure—we employ other words. The rites of power are complex and must be studied. So we cloak them in language called the Mysteries. While there are infinite applications, there are four major schools: the Mysteries of War, the Mysteries of Wind, the Mysteries of Law, and the Mysteries of Thought. No one can master all we have learned of them. Even one branch of Law can take a lifetime to master.

  —Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky

  CHAPTER NINE

  TUTORS

  It was not often that Sera was summoned to a meeting with her father and his private secretary. In fact, Hugilde’s complexion turned a shade of green when she received the summons. Much had changed since the prime minister’s visit; Sera’s willfulness remained the same. The day was still young, and Sera had hardly had time to daydream, which she preferred to Hugilde’s incessant repetition of boring lessons. How could she focus on a geography lesson when she’d barely traveled beyond her front door? What did investments mean when she had no way to spend the money she already had a right to?

  The servant introduced her at the door to her parents’ chamber, and she walked in, surprised that her mother was not present. This broke her parents’ unspoken rule of never meeting with her alone.

  Her father was seated at the study desk, an elegantly crafted piece of furniture that could have withstood a battering ram. Papers were strewn around, and his secretary, a man named Case, stood beside him, one hand planted on the polished wood. Sera didn’t care much for the man. He was always sweating and seemed half choked in his tie and constricting vest, his golden spectacles crimping his nostrils.

  “She’s here, sir,” Case said gently in her father’s ear.

  Father looked up from his papers.

  “Where’s Mother?” Sera asked brightly, gazing around the study. Father had a huge collection of tubes, racks, tongs, and weighing stones—the implements needed to study the wind, though he had never explained any of them to her. His study smelled crisp, like burned metal, a smell that had always been strangely pleasant.

  “She’s writing letters to members of the family,” he answered tonelessly, glancing at the papers on his desk. “She does that often, you know.”

  “I was just curious,” Sera said. “We normally don’t have private interviews.”

  Case took out a silk kerchief and mopped his upper lip. He should have mopped his forehead. It was nearly dripping with sweat, and his greasy, thinning, dark hair was flopping around in it.

  “I wanted to go over your new education schedule,” Father went on, his mood curious.

  Sera’s brow wrinkled. “Isn’t the baroness in charge of my education?”

  “Not anymore,” Father said. “She is your governess, true. But your education is about to take a dramatic turn.”

  “Am I going away to study?” Sera asked, feeling an eagerness kindle inside her. She would do anything to leave the cold, silent manor—it didn’t matter where. The majority of her daydreams involved traveling through the clouds in a sky ship. The look on her father’s face squashed that hope instantly.

  “Don’t be absurd,” he laughed, seemingly delighted with himself. “We’ve finished our arrangements for your study. Your new tutors will be coming here, starting this afternoon. Tell her, Case.”

  A sour feeling entered her heart as the private secretary cleared his throat. “We have, ahem, Doctor Choate to teach her the Mysteries of Wind. Commander Falking will oversee her study of War. Ahem, for Law . . . you chose the firm of Eakett and Baggles, and the responsibility will be shared between the two advocates. And for the Mysteries of Thought, we settled on your private chaplain, I believe.”

 
“Indeed,” Father said smugly. “That will save a formidable sum while not sparing in the quality of her education. Your first lessons will begin this afternoon under Doctor Choate. He’s an excellent man and very knowledgeable.”

  “Is he boring?” Sera asked. She wanted to learn more about the Mysteries—the prospect fascinated her—but she feared these new masters would teach her in the same way Hugilde did.

  Father’s brows beetled. “What difference should that make, Seraphin Fitzempress? Word of the emperor’s apoplexy is spreading through the empire. That our humble family was chosen to help lead shows that all of our efforts have not been in vain. You are our only child. Someday, in the distant future, you may become empress. Your education now is therefore paramount.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sera said, the blood rushing in her ears. “Why cannot I be sent away for my education like others have been? Why limit my training to just four teachers?”

  “Ahem, five,” Case butted in with a finger. “Eakett and Baggles.”

  Sera wanted to throw something at him. “I had thought, Father, that when I turned fourteen, I would go away to study at a proper school.” In truth, that prospect was the one thing that got her through the long, tedious days. There was a part of her that was excited to learn these things. The Mysteries, at last! But the crushing disappointment of not going away to study, of not meeting other children her age, tore at her heart. When would she be able to learn dancing? Would she be trapped permanently with Hugilde as a partner? All her life she had been surrounded by adults.

  “It’s an unnecessary expense,” he answered gravely, steepling his fingers. “It will cost much less to have tutors brought here. And they are all capable, qualified men who will instruct you in the Mysteries. I will not tolerate any sluggishness or laziness on your part. You daydream too much, Seraphin. That must end. If this responsibility is thrust on us, then we must rise to it.”

  She bit her lip, squeezing her hands into fists. She hated crying. “What does Mother have to say about this?”

  Father’s cheek twitched. “I did not invite you here to negotiate with you. This change in circumstances will require me to travel frequently, and I wish to be assured that your education will accelerate in my absence. Think of this as an opportunity, Daughter. Most young women who go away to school are only given the opportunity to focus on the Mysteries of Thought or the Mysteries of Wind—and then only because of the musical component. The Law may be tedious, but as a member of the royal family, it’s crucial for you to understand trade agreements and commerce. Even military strategy. Do you understand me, Seraphin? You have no siblings. You are closer to the throne now than you’ve ever been!” His eyes were alight with ambition. She wasn’t sure if he was directing his words at her or himself.

  “You’ve been chosen as prince regent, but that—”

  “Ahem, may be chosen,” Case corrected.

  She turned to him, eyes blazing. “I don’t think the prime minister would have come to tell us in person if it weren’t already a foregone conclusion!” Sera said to Case, her voice rising as her temper flared. The secretary wilted beneath her tone of command.

  “Enough,” Father said in rebuke.

  “I’m sorry. This is just so sudden. I want to learn, I do. I never thought that there was much of a chance that I’d become empress. At least not until I was much older.”

  “Of course not until then. Do you think you are remotely capable of such a heavy responsibility presently? Were my indebted brothers and I all to perish, you would still need a regent to rule for you until you came of age, and perhaps for some time afterward.” He began to rise from the stuffed chair and planted his knuckles on the table. “But you are a Fitzempress. A blood royal. I think Baroness Hugilde has been far too lenient with you thus far. I’ve instructed Case to warn her, sternly, that should you fail to progress in your new duty of education, she will be sent away permanently, and I will find another governess who will manage your temper.”

  A shard of fear stabbed through Sera’s soul. Though she did love to tease the governess, she was the only person in Sera’s life who seemed to genuinely care about her. To know her. Hugilde was the only stable part of her world. “It’s not her fault that I get lost in my fancies,” she stammered.

  “I know that,” Father said pointedly. “You are responsible. Not anyone else. And you’ve failed to live up to our expectations. You’ve dawdled and overslept and wasted too much time on nonsense.”

  “I’m only twelve, Papa,” she said, her voice choking.

  His stern eyes softened with just a touch of compassion. “You’re too easily distracted. Too impertinent and willful. I am your father, and you owe me your filial duty. Now that I am to be the prince regent.” His voice became even firmer. “How can I rule others if I cannot rule my own household?”

  Much of what he said was true, but that he was saying it in front of Case only added to her humiliation. The spark of defiance was beginning to boil now.

  She lifted her chin and tried to calm her quavering voice. “Now that you’ll be prince regent, you can do something to help the poor.”

  Father turned to look at Case, his expression changing to one of disappointment. He hung his head and shook it slowly. “The poorer classes have thousands of advocates speaking on their behalf, Seraphin. Much of the business of the lower courts is mired down in their complaints. Their savage conduct to one another. Their murders and robberies. No, if I am chosen as prince regent, my efforts will be poured into achieving what comes next. Being prince regent is just a precursor to becoming emperor. It takes great mental strength, a determined purpose to lead. I cannot be distracted by the pangs and pains of those thrashing about in the mire. They have made their world what it is down there. We have made ours. We rule them because it is our right, and they cannot make a city move. It’s time you remembered whose blood flows in your veins.”

  “I do,” Sera answered, steeling herself. “But if I were ever to become empress, I would help them.”

  He snorted. “You think it’s that easy? For every urchin a man like Fitzroy saves, there are a thousand who die coughing or frozen. You cannot possibly imagine what it is like down there. If you walked the filthy gutters, dressed as you are now in your fine frock and custom shoes, if you walked there alone . . . you’d be torn apart like a piece of meat thrown to the dogs.” He jutted his chin out at her, purposefully harsh. “They’d sell your hair. They’d sell scraps from your clothes. They’d even sell you. Cease this endless fascination with the lower world, Seraphin. You were born to rule the clouds. Let the Ministries run the commons as they have for ages. If you are to ever take your place here, it’s time you started to earn it.”

  Sera didn’t see it that way. The same government ruled both worlds. And that was where the problem lay.

  Sera did her best that afternoon. During the lesson on Law, she thought her mind would explode from the boredom. There was nothing in the lecture that helped her understand how it applied to her or to the people below. Nothing that related to the things she did know and understand. Try as she might to focus, she began to fancy again. She even imagined what would happen if her mind did indeed explode—and repressed giggles at the thought of the shocked look that would pass over Baggles’s face as her headless trunk slumped to the floor.

  Doctor Choate’s lesson was not an improvement. She gave it her best effort, for Hugilde’s sake, even when her head began to throb and it became more and more difficult to conceal her yawns. There was nothing practical done, no demonstration of the Mysteries. Everything she was told flitted around in her head, like so many butterflies, only to go out her ears again. She fancied this, too, and it made her break into a giggle, much to the annoyance of the doctor.

  “Do you find blood leeches so amusing?” he asked her with a wounded air.

  She apologized and tried to be respectful. But the humor of leeches and butterflies was too much, and it started a terrible giggling fit that soon spread t
o Hugilde, who lost her composure as well, much to the doctor’s severe annoyance.

  By the end of the afternoon, Sera’s stomach was absolutely gnawing itself to pieces, she felt faint from lack of food and the shortage of exercise due to her punishment, her head ached, and there was still one more lesson to endure. While she had always pretended to Hugilde that the Mysteries of War were the most interesting to her, in reality she felt more drawn to the Mysteries of Thought, something she wouldn’t dare admit because it was the one expected from most young ladies. It was also her mother’s specialty, and her father openly scorned it.

  “Sera, they’re here!” Hugilde whispered in a scolding tone, breaking her from the brief reverie. It was time for her lesson on the Mysteries of War. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she lifted her head and saw the middle-aged Commander Falking in his dark uniform jacket lined with enormous buttons on the front and the cuff, a sword belted at his waist. But her eyes immediately went to the person in his wake, a young man of fourteen or fifteen with dark hair that looked windblown from a sky ship. He was the most handsome young man she had ever seen. Her neighbors’ children, whom she’d spied from climbing trees, were all uncommonly ugly, and she’d only been to a few gatherings with other young people. This young man put them all to shame. His eyes were fixed on her, his expression firm and serious, bound by duty. But there was something else in his eyes. It looked like interest.

  “Pardon, ma’am,” Commander Falking said to Hugilde in a voice that was nearly hoarse from yelling against the wind. “But I’ve had to bring this young man, William Russell, with me because of a previous obligation. Will’s a lad I’ve been tutoring. Already a midshipman, as you can see by his uniform. I hold the deed to him, and he’s spent the last two years under my command. We’re a bit sunburned, Will and I, but we know our duty; you can be assured of that.”