Storm Glass (The Harbinger Series Book 1)

by Jeff Wheeler

  She shook her head no and started to back away.

  He looked at her sadly, hand outstretched. But it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t go with him. Folding her arms to hide the blood, she began to walk briskly away down the alley, letting her hair dangle in front of her face. She remembered the warmth of sleeping in Anna’s bed. The dances they’d all practiced together, like “Genny’s Market” and “Sky Ship’s Cook.” A sob threatened to break loose, but she stilled it. She grasped the memories in her mind as she walked, going down alley after alley, not daring to lose herself in the maze. If Fitzroy came after her—and she believed he eventually would—she would need to find him before the officers of the law found her.

  She had no shelter. She had no money. She had no voice.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and she rubbed them away with the heel of her hand. Crying wouldn’t solve her problem. Thinking would.

  She needed to go to a place where Fitzroy would end up. Her first thought was the law office of Sloan and Teitelbaum. If she could find that place, near the square, she could wait for Fitzroy to arrive.

  If she didn’t starve or freeze to death first.

  SERA

  Most speculations end badly. All are masked in the guise of legitimacy. Early success can lead to frenzied participation. But often that early success is itself a clue that the idea behind the scheme is shallow at best. Men hope for riches without working to attain them. They will barter their very souls to advance another rung on the ladder, even though they risk falling from the ladder completely. But every so often there comes an idea—a genuine one—that will change the world. New ideas are delicate. The wise see these opportunities and get involved early. They are the ones to claim the rewards, often before their creators even glimpse them.

  —Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky

  CHAPTER THIRTY–FOUR

  HER MAJESTY OR NO

  Sera felt as if her life were dangling from giant hooks. She had never understood the world in which she was living. No one other than Mr. Durrant had ever bothered to explain it to her. Now, for the first time in her life, she understood the importance of the Mysteries in her society. And how woefully ignorant her parents had kept her of them. She understood how the estates and even the City itself floated. She understood the precarious balance of this awe-worthy magic and how people holding certain keys held it all together.

  Sera’s daydreams had ended. With an almost frenzied pace, she gobbled up every book on the subject of the Mysteries that she could lay her hands on—until Father found out and banished her from the library, ordering the keeper to lock the door. Rather than allow this obstacle to prevent her from her course, she improvised. In her mind, she went through every lecture she had received on all the facets of the Mysteries. She forced her mind to recall information, and she tried to write down notes from the snippets she remembered so that she could study them later. She wrote constantly, trying to conjure the studies that she had taken so casually, and she felt sick to her stomach that she had given them so little attention. She understood the why of the Mysteries now, which gave her the missing context that all the dry lectures had lacked. And it revealed her role, as a Fitzempress, in maintaining them.

  Mr. Durrant was a capable mentor, and he brought her books with each visit, mostly related to the Mysteries of Law, but he had dabbled in the other Mysteries. Just as she’d long suspected, she found herself most drawn to the Mysteries of Thought. She craved every scrap she could find and experienced an almost voracious appetite for learning. Her father was trying to forbid her access, and it only stoked the frenzy more. If she hadn’t known better, she would have imagined this was her father’s ploy to entice her into learning. But that no longer seemed feasible. Father no longer treated her like a daughter. He was convinced that she wasn’t his child at all, that Mother had committed adultery and she had been the result. It was utter nonsense. Her mother had angrily denied it and said it was a ploy Father was using to disinherit his own daughter.

  The breakup of her parents’ marriage had become a very public spectacle. Mr. Durrant did what he could to protect her rights, but he assured her that talk of it had spread throughout Lockhaven and then down into the City and across the empire. Sympathy for her was growing among the people, who saw this as a contemptible ploy by her father to strip Sera of her power as a Fitzempress and as a rival for her grandfather’s throne. The populace grew restless, he said, and demanded to see her. The pressure from the public was only making the prince regent more belligerent. Again, it felt as if she had two hooks in her, each one tugging her a different way, both agonizingly painful.

  She was in the middle of reviewing her notes when a knock sounded on the door. For a moment, she let herself imagine Baroness Hugilde was still with her. That she would answer the door. She so missed her friend’s companionship. With sorrow, Sera put aside the papers and answered the door. Mr. Durrant bowed to her, and she stood aside to let him enter.

  “I brought this for you,” he said, handing over a small black book. “I saw it in my library this morning and thought you might enjoy reading it. It’s very old, very dusty, and it will probably bore you to tears, but it is one of the earlier works on the Mysteries of Thought—”

  She snatched it from his hand before he finished his little speech, earning a chuckle from the man.

  “Well, maybe you will like it after all,” he said with a genuine smile. “It was required reading when I went to school, but they offer more modern interpretations these days.”

  “Which school did you study at, Master Durrant?” she asked, holding the precious volume in her hands. She was eager to begin reading it right away.

  “One of the eastern ones. Not the most famous, of course, but it suited my tendency to walk and brood by the sea.”

  “Thank you.” Sera squeezed the book in her hands and resisted the temptation to start reading it right then and there. She set it down on the table. “Is there any news regarding my case?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “I was summoned here today to meet with the prince regent’s advocate to review some contracts and papers. Every week he has attempted to extort your mother into signing something or other, and we refuse to cooperate until your rights are addressed. Which, of course, your father refuses to do. It’s a vicious game of tug and war. Do you know it?”

  Sera shook her head.

  “It’s popular down below. Two teams of equal size grip a rope from the dockyard and try to pull the other side across the pier into the water. Obviously the losers get wet. It’s rather barbaric, but intriguing to watch. My offices are near the docks, so I see such matches play out on occasion. I wonder what nonsense your father will attempt today.”

  Sera clenched her teeth and fumed. “I wish he would catch ill and stop all this nonsense.”

  “They are only ploys, Sera. You are made of tougher stuff than this. The people are worried about you because they see you as a potential champion of the poor.” He smirked. “It only took some whispers in the right ears. Now I hear it every day as I walk the streets below the City. You are loved by a populace that scarcely knows you. They are beginning to clamor loudly on your behalf, and your father’s rejection of you is only heightening their animosity toward him.”

  “But I hear nothing up in Lockhaven,” Sera said, starting to pace and wringing her hands with anxiety.

  “It’s probably better that you don’t,” he said wryly. “It’s very noisy down below.”

  “Is there any other news of interest, Mr. Durrant?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Indeed, there is,” he replied, scratching his sideburns. “The prime minister has called for Lord Fitzroy. Actually, he’s a vice admiral, but I tend not to use ranks when one has left the military. The Ministry of War has caught wind, if you’ll pardon an intentional pun, that he has made a major discovery. Something rather impressive, I hear. I do not know what it is, but, apparently, he’s been hunkering down—or up, I should say—at
his estate, Fog Willows, and may have unraveled a new Mystery. He’s not a man prone to exaggeration, and his reputation for integrity . . . well, I need not repeat it. There are investors aplenty who wish to get in on a scheme, if he has one.” He sighed and rubbed the single lock on his forehead. “I fear the man has so many scruples that he may be taken in by those with few. You may even see his tempest approaching from the northwest if you watch your window.”

  “Is he coming here?” Sera asked.

  “I believe the prime minister will be meeting him here, yes,” Durrant said. “On the morrow, I think.”

  Sera shook her head. “I feel sorry for him, then. My father will try and ruin him and steal whatever he’s discovered.”

  Mr. Durrant shrugged but didn’t argue the point.

  There was another rap on the door. Mr. Durrant obliged her by answering it himself, and there was her father’s new advocate, Mr. Swan. He was younger than Mr. Durrant, with a charming smile and the look of a man who had won a fortune in a speculation. He wore the latest fashions and an elegant golden cravat with a jewel pinned to it.

  “Ah, Durrant. I had heard you’d arrived.” He flashed his teeth. “The prince regent is waiting in the parlor with the girl’s mother. Shall we?”

  The deliberate reference to her as her mother’s child made Sera boil with anger. She caught a disapproving look from Mr. Durrant, who had reminded her on multiple occasions not to be goaded by the ill manners of others. Sera held her head erect and took the book from the table to bring it along. The meetings—arguments, really—between her parents could be dull, and she was craving a chance to start reading. Since the book didn’t belong to Father, he couldn’t take it away from her.

  They walked down the corridor and entered the parlor, which had become the agreed-upon meeting place for their respective advocates. Mother was sitting in stony silence. When Sera entered, her look did not change in the least. Her skin was ashen from the constant worry and festering anger in her heart. The hatred between her parents was palpable to all in the room.

  Father, on the other hand, was trying to conceal a self-satisfied look, and that immediately put Sera on her guard.

  “Let’s begin, Swan,” he said with agitation.

  Mr. Durrant’s brow creased—a sign that he, too, had noticed her father’s mood—but he paid his respects to Sera’s mother and even kissed her hand. Then he turned and subtly motioned for Sera to take a seat near where he stood.

  “Yes, we shall begin and end if all goes well,” Mr. Swan said. He smiled pleasantly, although it wasn’t a pleasant occasion, and produced a leather folder from his jacket pocket. Opening it, he said, “You will find . . . madame . . . a deed signed by yourself and your lawful husband one year ago, on this precise day. It is a deed with an option to be exercised, and the prince regent would like to exercise that option. Today. The deed is in the name of Seraphin Fitzempress.”

  The advocate then turned his charming smile to Sera as she felt her world lurch and begin to spin.

  Sera’s mother began to speak fast and breathe even faster. “What is this . . . What are you saying? Mr. Durrant, what is he saying?”

  “May I see it?” Mr. Durrant demanded, stepping forward.

  “Gladly,” Mr. Swan said with a triumphant tone. “It was witnessed by Eakett and Baggles. They have a copy in their offices, duly stamped and signed, which you may, at your upcoming leisure, peruse for yourself. This is the original and has been authenticated by the Ministry of Law.” He puffed out his chest and handed over the document. “All is in order, Durrant. You lost.”

  “I never signed a deed,” Sera’s mother said accusingly.

  “Ah, but you did, madame,” Mr. Swan said with his oily smile. “I have ample samples of your signature to verify it, and it was done in the presence of two advocates, not just one. The Mysteries prevent the forgery of such a document. See for yourself.”

  Sera’s heart was racing with terror. “Am I to be sold, then?” she asked with growing dread.

  “Indeed you are, young lady,” Mr. Swan said succinctly. “For the rights and terms according to the deed. I believe the prince regent has been making some discreet overtures to possible buyers.”

  “I have,” her father said coldly, not even looking at her, but gazing contemptuously at her mother.

  “Mr. Durrant, do something!” her mother begged.

  Mr. Durrant was reading the document quickly, his face growing white. Sera could see already that it was a binding document. Never had she imagined her father would stoop to such an action. Deeds were signed by the poor, never for the wealthy. Never for a princess. She gripped the edges of her chair, afraid she might leap up and start striking her father with her fists.

  “It appears to be in order,” Mr. Durrant said in a choking voice. “Surely my client was unaware of what she was signing. You can see by her expression this was not done willingly.”

  Mr. Swan looked unconcerned. “But she did sign it. It is not my fault that my client had more wisdom and foresight. The lord high chancellor has reviewed it, Durrant. He cannot go against the law.”

  “But the people may revolt,” Durrant said passionately. “They do not understand the intricacies of the Mysteries. It could lead to another uprising.”

  “They’re ignorant ruffians. Dogs. They will come to heel when the master lifts his cane. Come now, man. Have the good grace to concede defeat. You cannot protect your client from this. It’s her mother’s fault, after all. It’s all . . . her . . . fault.”

  At his cruel, barbed words, Sera’s mother began sobbing with despair. Her father, the prince regent, had a look of vindication on his face. She could see that he was relishing seeing his wife suffer. Inside Sera’s heart, the remnants of the love she had once held for him withered away, replaced by fury and hatred. She had always wished to leave her confinement. But not like this. Not as a bond servant.

  Her voice was trembling, but she spoke up anyway. “How l-long?” she asked, trying not to stammer. She knew from her studies with Eakett and Baggles that deeds were for fixed periods of time. The life of a child in the Fells was drastically short, so a deed might only last a few years.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Swan asked, showing some annoyance.

  “How long is the deed for?” Sera asked again, more firmly this time.

  Durrant was holding the document. “Seven years. A veritable lifetime.” He smacked the paper down on his hand. “This prevents her from studying the Mysteries. Prevents her from ever inheriting the throne.”

  “Indeed it does,” Mr. Swan said. He gave a passive shrug.

  “This is what you want?” her mother accused with a hysterical sob. “Because you were jealous of her rights? Because you couldn’t bend her to your will?”

  “I have nothing further to say,” the prince regent said. “I do not owe you or anyone anything.”

  “Father,” Sera pleaded in anguish.

  The word jolted him. He stiffened with physical pain and shook his head, shuddering. He was still suffering from the pain of his belief that she wasn’t his true daughter. Whatever information he had been told had convinced him utterly. Even if it had been a lie.

  An idea blossomed in her mind. She blinked quickly, watching her father knead his brow with his thumb and middle finger. Mr. Swan put his hand on her father’s shoulder and whispered to him. Mr. Durrant looked impotent. But Sera felt a calm sense of self-assurance. It was just a little thing. The tiniest of whispers, but maybe this was the power that Mr. Durrant had explained to her, the one behind all the Mysteries. The one that could enlighten a mind and pierce a heart. The one that could make thoughts into a command. She had never felt its influence before. Maybe it had finally come to her in her hour of need.

  Sera held herself erect. “And what if he is not my father, Mr. Swan?”

  Her words landed like thunder.

  Mr. Durrant leaped on them, his eyes widening with surprise. “Has not the prince regent begun an investigation as to th
e facts behind the purported adultery of his wife? What Princess Seraphin has said is very relevant to the point. Only the child’s father can rightfully sign the deed. Until the investigation is complete, this deed cannot be enforced.” He smacked the paper down on his hand again, a look of triumph blazing on his face.

  Her father’s look of victory trembled and then, with a great shudder, collapsed into acrimony.

  “You said it couldn’t be broken!” the prince regent shouted at Mr. Swan in anger. “There was nothing that could stop it!”

  Mr. Swan was flummoxed. His cheeks were blotchy and red.

  “Clearly your advocate underestimated the intellectual acuity of a child,” Mr. Durrant said with particularly spiteful emphasis to the word. “As did I,” he added, chuckling to himself and turning to give Sera a proud look. “As did I.”

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY–FIVE

  LOST

  Cettie hurt all over. Not just from the walking, but from the cuts and scrapes that she had suffered so far that day. She was hungry, tired, voiceless, and lost in a sea of angry faces. She stopped at a circular fountain in a court where washerwomen were attempting to clean clothes. She sat on the far side from them. Although she was thirsty, the water looked dirty and uninviting. Still, she might have tried to scoop up a handful and drink it if not for the sight of the soiled clothes being cleaned in it.

  Dipping her hand into the water, she started to wipe away the dried blood from her arms and legs and was almost immediately accosted by one of the washerwomen.

  “Oy there, be gone with you, waif!” one of them said, scowling. Rising from her work, she stalked over and lifted her hand. The threat was clear. “Don’t be getting your filth in the waters now. Off! Off!”