by Jeff Wheeler
—Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FITZROY’S REPUTATION
Sera found herself secretly looking forward to Commander Falking’s lessons each afternoon. She’d try to feign indifference, but she would keep watch for his sky ship from her window. It was hard to feel indifferent to a set of warm brown eyes that would surreptitiously glance at her from a warm brown face that was always pensive—to look away from warm brown hands, always scribbling so studiously with a pencil. She adored William Russell, whom she called Will in her mind. He addressed her as Miss Fitzempress.
One afternoon, however, a different airship set down at the manor at the time Commander Falking and Will normally arrived. It was a tempest class that she’d never seen before. She watched from the window as a tall man disembarked, followed by a young man and two young women. There had been more visitors now that Father was prince regent, but most of them arrived in zephyrs.
Due to the size of the tempest blocking the landing porch, she didn’t notice the arrival of the zephyr bearing Commander Falking and Will, so she was caught kneeling on the seat, her eyes fixed on the sky.
“Sera!” Hugilde whispered harshly to get her attention. When Sera turned, she saw Commander Falking suppressing a cough on his fist at catching her in such an unladylike state. Will’s brazen smile caught her off guard, and she felt her cheeks flush.
“Excuse me,” Sera said, practically jumping off the seat. She felt a little dizzy at having been discovered in such a pose.
“It’s quite all right, ma’am,” Falking said in his crusty voice. “I used to gaze at sky ships when I was a lad. Stop smirking, Russell. It doesn’t do you credit.”
The rebuke startled the young man, and he straightened up and took his usual seat, looking discomfited. Sera quickly went to her desk and began to arrange her papers for the class, still feeling quite self-conscious. She caught Will glancing her way, offering an apologetic smile, which she eagerly returned.
“You have an august visitor today, ma’am,” Falking said as he paced in front of their makeshift classroom. “It does this house honor.”
Sera turned to Hugilde in confusion before shifting her attention back to Commander Falking. “The tempest, you mean? I don’t know who the visitor is yet. No one has told me.”
Falking frowned at the comment and shrugged. “It’s all the gossip in Lockhaven, ma’am. The tempest belongs to Vice Admiral Brant Fitzroy. He used to be with the Ministry of War, but now, as you know, he’s with the Ministry of Wind. Not that we wouldn’t accept him back, eh, Russell?”
“Yes, sir,” Will said dutifully.
“Lord Fitzroy,” Sera said in wonder. She had always wanted to meet him. She knew that he had two young daughters, one her own age and one older who—distastefully—shared a derivative of Sera’s name. Thankfully, she went by Phinia instead. But Sera was most intrigued by what she’d heard of Cettie of the Fells. Could one of the young women have been her? The lesson that stretched out before her suddenly felt like a form of torture.
“Yes, he’s to be the new prime minister, if I’m not mistaken,” Commander Falking said with a hint of smugness. “Your father could choose worse, and he’s taken long enough to replace Welles. The man has a good reputation despite some previous scandal. I rather doubt the younger generation even knows about it.”
“Scandal?” Sera asked curiously, her interest bubbling over. “What do you mean, Commander Falking?”
“It’s not really my place . . .” he hedged. He cast a pleading look to Hugilde to assist him.
“It is your place,” Sera corrected him. “You are my teacher. You are supposed to educate me in what makes a proper example. I’ve only heard the good about Vice Admiral Fitzroy, none of the bad. I must learn to judge a person impartially. Would this not be a good opportunity? Especially since the man is about to be declared our prime minister?” She blinked at him, showing firmness of voice and expectation.
“If it please you, ma’am,” Falking said, coughing into his hand. “Do you know the story of how Fitzroy saved six sky ships from being destroyed by a ferocious storm?”
Sera shook her head no. Will leaned forward, his eyes widening with interest. This felt more real than most of their lessons, which focused on long-ago conflicts, historic wars that were as dry as dust. This interested her.
“Well, the event earned him the reputation of being a harbinger of sorts. That’s one who can presage the future. Their squadron was on a dangerous assignment, going across the sea. It was a routine voyage, of course, but storms can be unpredictable in that quadrant. You must always keep a weather eye open, as the saying goes, eh, Russell?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sera frowned. “Can’t a sky ship go through a storm?”
“Minor squalls, of course,” Will said. “But no captain would willingly sail a vessel into a storm.”
“Quite right, young man,” Falking said, clearing his throat. “Disastrous consequences. Simply disastrous. A hurricane-class sky ship is called such in the expectation that it could survive one. But no admiral worth his salt ration would willingly fly into one. We cannot speak of the Mystery that keeps vessels aloft. But let’s just say that a sky ship is still made of wood and iron and struts that can be blasted apart by lightning. So, as the story goes, Captain Fitzroy was part of a squadron heading west. The evidence of a coming storm was not conclusive. Fitzroy signaled the commodore to warn him of danger. He didn’t have any proof, mind you, but he felt something was wrong. The commodore, anxious not to lose time, ignored the warning.” He frowned and shook his head. “It’s a common saying, ma’am, that men are promoted to the point of their greatest incompetence. I’ve been offered my own command and have turned it down. It’s a grave responsibility being the leader of a squadron of sky ships. Not everyone is suited for its rigors. Ahem, and so a squall turned into a storm. The commodore’s ship was blasted to fragments, sending every man aboard plummeting into the sea.”
Will’s knuckles turned white at the thought, his gaze deadly serious. Sera could only imagine the horror of such a thing.
“The commodore of the squadron died in the blast. The second in command, another captain within the squadron, panicked and relieved himself of command.” He chuckled softly. “Everyone turned to Fitzroy, who had predicted the storm. He ordered the sky ships to beach in the waters, even though waves can turn quickly into mountains. And they started rescuing survivors, those lucky souls who managed to survive the fall. There were six ships in all. Two were lost. It was a miracle they all weren’t brought down. The men worked all night long, fighting against the storm as they tried to save as many men as possible. When it was over, the ships were waterlogged. It took days to pump out the water, but it was done, and they went aloft again. Made it to port. News had already traveled to the City that they’d been destroyed. Fitzroy was treated as a hero, and he was made commodore and, shortly after that, rear admiral. He was young, but a promising officer, a good leader of men. He’s calm under pressure. Not many are.”
Sera scrunched up her nose. “Nothing you have said is very scandalous, Commander Falking.”
He smiled. “No, I’m not at that part yet. You see, admirals are part of high society, ma’am. Fitzroy struggled in that role. He did not ingratiate himself to the society folk. He was a bachelor still, as many in the fleet are, because the duty weighs so heavily. It’s not easy being the spouse of such a person, always being left behind. But they say a young woman caught his eye. She was vivacious and beautiful, with an excellent singing voice and a disposition toward poetry. He was entranced by her, but she had given her heart to a known scoundrel. Fitzroy waited patiently for her to see the truth about the one she’d given her heart.”
“This is Lady Maren?” Sera interrupted, wrinkling her brow.
Falking nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It so happened that Lady Maren was invited to a ball here in Lockhaven, even though she wasn’t normally included in such circles. To
have merited an invitation to this particular ball was an honor of consequence, because it was held at the home of Lady Corinne at Pavenham Sky. And, as you already well know, she dictates the code of fashion among the upper crust. Well, Lady Maren made a spectacle of herself at the ball by seeking the young man’s attention. You see, he’d become engaged to another young woman—one of far more consequence than herself! She was shunned by society for her behavior.” His face was stern with disapproval. “She ruined herself and her hopes. Some said she even tried to do herself harm.” He shook his head meaningfully. “But Fitzroy looked past her disgrace. He salvaged her reputation by asking her to be his wife. No one else would have. She’d slighted him for a lesser man, yet he forgave her. They were married shortly thereafter and have three fine children.
“Even so, Lady Maren’s health has been poor ever since. He resigned his commission to tend to her, but he was given the rank of vice admiral—a promotion that was underway at the time of his resignation—as a mark of honor . . . and also to provide him with an additional pension of sorts. Mines can be temperamental things.” He paused, brooding a little. Then he brightened. “It’s nothing in comparison to the pension he’ll receive as prime minister, of course! He’s a good man. It’s been nearly twenty years since his wife’s disgrace. I think even Lady Corinne can finally overlook the indiscretion now.”
Sera thought the story was terribly romantic, and it raised Fitzroy even higher in her esteem.
“Now, if we can start the lesson,” Commander Falking said. “Let us apply the principles of the impact of storms on sky ships to the impact of war on them. The Battle of Triffinger is an excellent study of both of these points.”
Sera was outraged. Her blood was scalding, and she stamped her foot when she found Mother at her needlework in the drawing room.
“Case won’t open the door to let me see her,” she said accusingly to her mother.
“Really, Seraphin. You must learn to control your anger. This is not the proper way to address your mother.”
She stamped her foot again. “Tell Mr. Case to open the door! I want to see her!”
Her mother rubbed the bridge of her nose and set down the needlework. “I set Mr. Case there for a reason, Daughter. In all honesty, I’m amazed Lord Fitzroy would bring someone like . . . like that into our home. It’s disgraceful.”
“It’s compassionate,” Sera said in a huff. “This may be my only chance to meet someone from the Fells, Mother.” Not to mention another girl her own age.
“You are Seraphin Fitzempress,” her mother said in a haughty tone, her voice struggling for patience. “You shouldn’t even be thinking such thoughts, let alone desiring to act upon them. They are different from us. The blood of the noblest families runs in your veins. What you stand to gain as a princess of the realm is beyond imagination.”
Sera took a step closer to her mother. “But shouldn’t we try to help them? If I could help one of them, like Lord Fitzroy did, I would—”
“Stop! I beg you, child, stop! You are not going to see that . . . that urchin. Next you’ll be asking for her to be brought over as a playmate, and then you’ll want to visit the noxious place that birthed her. You are special. You are different. It is time you began to act like it.” Her mother’s eyes were wide with turbulent emotion. “If you only knew . . . if you only knew . . .” Her voice trailed off as tears began to gush from her eyes.
Sera was used to her mother’s emotional spigots. The side room door opened, and Father stalked in, his face enraged. His clothes had grown fancier with his promotion to prince regent, and she’d noticed that he was putting on weight. His smiles had become fewer and further between.
“He has rejected it!” Father said with a biting tone. He looked offended. “The presumption of that man! I can scarce believe my own ears.”
Mother turned on the couch, trying to wipe her eyes. The gesture was not lost on Sera’s father, who regarded her with disgust. “Control yourself, woman.”
“I am trying,” Mother said angrily. “But Seraphin wanted to go meet that child. I’ve forbidden it, of course.”
“For once you do something to her credit,” Father snapped. His eyes seemed to shoot flames at her. “His attitude is disgraceful. Go to your room while your mother and I discuss this between ourselves.”
Curiosity compelled Sera to speak. “Lord Fitzroy refused to become prime minister? Why?”
Father’s lips trembled. “Because of that child of the Fells. He won’t send her away. Not to a boarding school. Not to an orphanage. I don’t know how much he’s spending on researching her parentage, but it’s robbing his legitimate heirs of future wealth. What nonsense! And he dared to bring her into our home without asking first. I told him to take her back to Fog Willows and never impugn the dignity of Lockhaven again. If word of this gets out, we’ll be stained by it. How reckless.”
Sera was in a state of shock. Her ears were ringing as she tried to absorb the information. “Are you saying, Father, that you made it a requirement of becoming prime minister that Lord Fitzroy give up that little girl?”
He looked at her as if she’d grown another nose. “It is well within my right as prince regent to call whom I will to form a government. Do you think I want a prime minister who is distracted by a protracted legal case? He already has an ailing wife, as if that weren’t disadvantage enough. But he flatly refused to send her away to a place better suited to her station. He wants the position, mind you. He has ambition enough—I could see it in his eyes. The wealth, the power, the esteem. Oh, he wants it. He must be doing this to spite me. To make me beg to have him. And suffer insults and derision from the other ministries? I think not! No, this is completely unacceptable.”
“But who will you call to be prime minister now?” Mother asked worriedly. “I thought surely Fitzroy would do it.”
“So did I,” Father spat out. “I thought he was a reasonable man, but he’s too emotional to make a logical decision. We should have seen it with his decision to marry someone so beneath his station. Now he’s trying to adopt someone even lower.” His expression was black with rage.
Sera felt completely different. Fitzroy was a man of principles . . . a man of his word, and her father wished to punish him for it.
“This makes him lesser in your eyes? In both of your eyes? I should think it would speak to his leadership. He is a strength to the empire. A man with vision. You . . . you both disgust me!” Sera said angrily, and then whirled and ran out of the room, hearing her parents splutter and shout behind her. It would cost her later in some consequence she didn’t deserve, but she could not regret it. Tears stung Sera’s eyes, and she clenched her fists to try to quell them. She dashed down the corridor and saw that Mr. Case was no longer guarding the door. But as Sera ducked her head inside, she saw the chamber was empty. So she ran down the corridor, hoping to reach the landing platform before it was too late.
As she raced up the stairs, out of breath, the two doormen blocked her. Left with no other alternative, she pressed her face against the window. Through the beveled glass, she saw a blond-haired girl bound over the railing from the plank and disappear on board. Fitzroy followed her across the plank to the tempest, holding another young woman’s hand. The girl had dark hair, almost as dark as Sera’s. The girl was looking up at her protector, so Sera only saw her profile. Her heart raged inside her, and she wanted to pound the glass with her fists until it broke. She wanted to ask them if she could stow away on board.
The unfairness of the situation made her so furious. Fitzroy would have been a wonderful person for that position. He would have improved the lives of the less fortunate.
Which is why, she realized, her father had ultimately refused him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EAKETT AND BAGGLES
Of all Sera’s tutors, the ones she enjoyed the least were the advocates—Masters Eakett and Baggles. They were both a study of contrasts. Eakett was tall and charismatic. Baggles was short and dumpy
. Eakett liked to roam the room, hardly standing still, full of energy. Baggles would sit in a chair, often complaining of a sore back, and his speaking voice was dreadfully dull. The man refused to respond to her goading, and if she asked a question he deemed irrelevant, he’d completely ignore it by continuing with his lecture. It was infuriating.
Master Eakett, she realized, was losing patience with her inability to grasp the aspects of the Mysteries of Law that he was trying to teach her. He had a sturdy head of hair—thick, dark, wavy curls—above his face. He wore a smug look, one that had no doubt developed over years of reciting and regurgitating senseless facts.
“Now, let us try this concept again,” Master Eakett said, sighing with frustration and kneading his forehead. “Delegation of authority. Can you give me an example, my dear, of when it might be used? Perhaps an example involving your father, the prince regent?”
Sera’s mind had been wandering, and only at the end of his sentence had she realized he was addressing her again. “Can we talk about deeds, Master Eakett?” she asked.
His lip quivered with suppressed impatience. “We were discussing delegation of authority, ma’am.”
“Well, you were discussing it. But I wasn’t paying close attention.”
“Obviously,” he snorted under his breath.
