by Jeff Wheeler
“What do you mean?”
“They turned silver and glowed,” Cettie said, “and then the Leerings obeyed him.”
“And you don’t think it was a hallucination? Brought on by fear?”
Cettie shook her head and looked down. “It was real. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Not even in the Fells.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, and she looked into his eyes again. “I believe you, Cettie. I wasn’t trying to sound doubtful. This just sounds like one of the Mysteries. One we haven’t been taught yet.”
The hallway door opened, and Mr. Skrelling came barging into the room in a disheveled state. Upon seeing Adam kneeling on the floor in front of Cettie, he immediately pinwheeled his arms as if he’d collided into a wall.
“Well! I’m . . . pardon . . . I see!”
Adam gave him a sidelong look, but he immediately backed away. Cettie could tell that he appreciated, as she did, that the situation might give a misleading appearance.
“Mr. Skrelling,” Adam said, rising to his feet.
The young advocate in training was tugging down his vest front. Cettie noticed that the buttons were mismatched. He’d clearly donned his apparel in haste. “Forgive the intrusion. I should have knocked first.”
Adam shook his head. “There is nothing untoward occurring, Mr. Skrelling. I can assure you of that. Miss Cettie was attacked last night, and the Aldermaston was critically injured. I was attending to her injuries after helping Doctor Redd in surgery all night.”
“You are hurt, Miss Cettie?” Mr. Skrelling asked, his voice dripping with concern. He edged closer, his body rigid, his movements awkward.
“I’m feeling a little better,” she answered, hands folded primly on her lap.
“Was it . . . was it that fellow I warned you about, miss?”
“Indeed it was, Mr. Skrelling,” Cettie said. She was so tired she didn’t want to deal with him. “I did want to thank you for the warning.”
“If I can ever be of service to you, Miss Cettie, I will, of course, do what I . . . as of course you already know . . . would do you the just honor to be of whatever service that you may . . . in time may indeed be . . . and, ahem, well—”
“Thank you, Mr. Skrelling,” Adam said, walking toward him with palms extended, as if he were determined to push the young man backward out of the room. “Miss Cettie has been up all night and needs her rest.”
Cettie was grateful for the interruption because Mr. Skrelling’s little speech was becoming more and more insensible the longer he attempted to make it.
“Of course,” Mr. Skrelling said, stepping awkwardly back. “I wouldn’t . . . far be it from me to . . . I’m glad to see you are . . . ahem . . . still so . . . well.” A look of mortification crossed his face, and he turned to leave—only to walk into the door that he’d closed behind him. He fumbled with the knob and then hastily exited.
Adam had an amused smile as he turned and looked at her.
She wasn’t sure what to say after such an uncomfortable interruption. Thankfully, Mr. Creigh spared her the agony of breaking the silence.
“You do need rest, Cettie. I don’t think you should go back to your dormitory. Not without an escort, and it wouldn’t be proper if . . . well, now I’m tongue-tied.” He sighed. “I think you should rest here, in the hospital, for now. I heard that Captain Hallstrom rounded up some cadets to hunt for the intruder.”
“I’ll be fine in here,” Cettie said, stifling a yawn. “You should get some rest yourself.”
Adam shrugged. “I may join in the hunt,” he said. “A doctor is used to being deprived of sleep. And I don’t think I’ll rest very well until we’ve found the man who hurt you.”
It was not easy finding rest in a hospital, and Cettie lay awake for a long while, seeing in her mind the attacker’s face—his dark stringy hair, his cruel expression. Eventually, despite the light and the constant low buzz of noise in the hospital, she fell into a fitful sleep.
She awoke sporadically, feeling sluggish and weak, until she roused to find her guardian sitting in the chair by the window, observing her. At first she thought it was a figment of a dream, but when she lifted her head, he smiled, and she instantly came up the rest of the way.
“Father!” she gasped and flung herself at him as he stood from the chair. He held her, gently stroking her hair.
“Having adventures, are we?” he asked in a tender way. He looked down at her and then cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “I’m so relieved you are safe.”
“The Aldermaston?” Cettie asked worriedly.
“Still unconscious. He lost a great deal of blood. What has surprised us all is that he could be shot. The pilot as well. Both were mastons.”
Cettie nodded. “I’ve been wondering that myself. In my Ministry of War classes, they teach that officers cannot be shot down. One of the Mysteries, I know, and one only revealed to students of War. I wasn’t sure if the Aldermaston would share that immunity, but I did wonder.”
“The Aldermaston should have been protected from such a wound. Do you recall when I shot Lieutenant Staunton with an arquebus after he betrayed us? It did not kill him or even injure him overly much. What happened to Mr. Neal and the Aldermaston was entirely different. Adam said the pistol caused a plume of smoke and belched flame. That is not something I am familiar with, and I served in the Ministry of War for many years. No, what attacked you last night was something new. Something rogue.”
“How long have you been here?” she asked him. “Judging by the light, is it noon?”
“It is,” he answered. “I’ve been here an hour or so. I didn’t want to wake you. Adam said you didn’t sleep last night.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Did they find the man?”
He shook his head no. “Not yet. The Ministry of War has issued orders, however, and a full investigation is underway. There are people searching your dwelling as we speak. The prince regent and Sera only arrived this morning to Lockhaven. The privy council has grave concerns that the intended victim was supposed to be her. Trust me, my dear, this incident is being treated with the utmost seriousness.” He sighed. “I wish Captain Hallstrom hadn’t sent cadets into the woods surrounding the abbey. They aren’t adequately trained, and I’m afraid they’ve made a mess of things. They meant well, anyway.”
“Did they find the man’s tracks?” Cettie asked.
“They did. The attacker beat a hasty retreat. Unfortunately, the trail has been trampled by now. It led to shore on the east side and then vanished. He probably had a zephyr hovering there, waiting to take him away. If it came in at night, it wouldn’t have been seen.”
Cettie shook her head. “But the man first appeared when Minister Welles came to see Sera. What if he works for the Ministry of War? Asking them to investigate this could make it only too easy for them to disguise the evidence.”
Fitzroy looked at her in concern. He put his hand on hers. “He is a politician, Cettie. I’m not ignorant of that. But let us reason this through. An attacker shot and nearly killed an Aldermaston. He killed the man’s pilot. This is outright murder we are talking about. No politician would risk being so blatant. Minister Welles was startled to hear the news. He took prompt and decisive action as if reacting to a crisis he was hearing about for the first time. I’ve observed men under pressure before. He acted exactly as I would have in the same situation. If this man was seeking Sera Fitzempress . . .”
“He wasn’t,” Cettie said in a low voice. “He came for me.”
Fitzroy’s brow furrowed with consternation. “What do you mean?” he said gravely.
“He said he had no name, but to call him kishion. Have you heard that word before, Father?” she asked him.
His eyes widened with shock.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE FIRST EMPRESS
“The look in your eyes worries me, Father,” Cettie continued, her heart sick. “I can see that you have. Please tell me. My attacker claime
d to be my real father. He came for me, not for Sera, to take me away before I could take the Test. He said it was a heresy.”
“A heresy?” Fitzroy exclaimed with alarm. She watched his hands go behind his back, where he began to wring them as he started pacing. “The situation is far more grave than I realized. You never heard the word ‘kishion’ before last night? Never in the Fells?”
“Never,” Cettie answered. “He said he didn’t have a name anymore. As if it had been robbed from him.”
Fitzroy’s frown went deep, as did the furrows in his brow. “I’m perplexed. Does this mean that Mr. Pratt is not your true father? That the records and evidence my advocates have assembled these last years were all collected in vain? The truth will out, as I’ve said. But this one seems to be buried under layers of deception. Describe the man, if you please.”
“I will try. He had a dark countenance. A look of distrust and anger . . . maybe I should call it resentment. His hair was black, darker than mine, and he was very strong. He was disguised as a merchant. And he had a quiet step. There was a scar on his face here,” she added, running her finger down her own cheek.
“Thank you,” Fitzroy said. “That is sufficient. I will give your description to the captain in charge of the hunt and encourage him to use caution. The man who assaulted you is very dangerous. I thought all the kishion had been eradicated long ago. It is important that he be captured, and, if possible, we must determine where he was trained.”
“Why have I not heard of them before?” Cettie asked.
“Very few know of their existence, and it is by design. Curiosity can bring untold mischief. There was a time, long ago, when those who sought personal power enlisted the aid of unscrupulous servants to achieve their ends. The men in this order are trained to know the vulnerable parts of the body. They are adept at using poisons and disguises. They infiltrate supposedly secure places to gain access to people of consequence.” His eyes narrowed. “They kill without mercy. There are some ancient tomes, Cettie, that describe in rather obscure ways their methods. They would sooner quaff poison than reveal their secrets to the world. They have secret signs and passwords to distinguish one another. Any betrayal of the order is met with tortured death. To become one of them, it is said, a man must renounce family and allegiance. He must murder a close family member in secret. They are only loyal to their secret brotherhood after this. Thus even their name is anathema to them. They are called kishion. I do not know the origin of the term. What I do know is that they were stamped out and exterminated by order of the first empress, Maia Soliven, long ago.”
Cettie’s blood had turned cold. Was her birth father a murderer? The thought filled her with horror. Once again, she could not help but wonder if there was darkness in her blood, if her destiny was not in her own hands.
Fitzroy gave her a sympathetic look and came over and touched her shoulder. “None of this is your fault, Cettie. In the days before the first empire, the kishion were more common. They were used to hunt down and destroy the mastons, and certain ruthless kings would use them to increase their power. Princess Maia was assigned a kishion as a bodyguard, a protector. She saw firsthand what they could do. Her protector was eventually killed, and after she became empress, she ordered that the band be rounded up. It was a costly and perilous task. It took stalwart persistence to weed them out. Some she offered a pardon if they chose to forsake the order, but many of those who did were found dead, mangled and brutalized. But even stone will crumble under constant pressure from wind and rain, and because she was persistent, the location of their training school was eventually discovered. And destroyed. It was an awful war, and her husband was critically injured during the final attack, but the war was finally won. It became a crime punishable by death to knowingly support or engage in the hire of such men. Do you see why I am so alarmed by your news? If this man operates in secrecy among our society, then it is a sign that the corruption Empress Maia snuffed out has returned. Of course, he could also have come from another world to sow mischief among us. The court of Kingfountain, I know, has a similar breed of assassins, only they are called poisoners. Any civilization that supports such people is doomed to recurring civil war.”
“I’m frightened, Father,” Cettie said, coming off the bed. The possibility that she could be related to such a man made her question everything she’d thought she understood about herself.
“So am I, Cettie. So am I.” He embraced her and held her close. “If the man’s truly a kishion, I don’t think one of the ministries is behind it. I cannot believe any of the ministers would stoop to such a thing. Or that they could convince someone to keep it secret.”
“Maybe it’s not one of the current ministers,” Cettie answered. “Maybe it is someone who wishes to become one.”
“A weed can thrive at the edge of a garden better than in the middle where all can see it. It would take someone with power or influence. Or this man could be a poisoner from Kingfountain sent to meddle in our affairs. He may not be your father at all. It’s possible he merely said that to mislead you. As you know, the prince is looking for a bride. Someone could be deliberately sowing dissension between our civilizations.”
He pulled back and looked into her face, his arms still wrapped comfortingly around her. “You mentioned the word ‘heresy.’ As you know, each world has its own version of the Mysteries. In Kingfountain, it is enshrined in the dogma of the Fountain. They are just as committed to their beliefs as we are to ours, even though they’re similar in essence.” He paused. “Cettie, the word ‘heresy’ comes from an ancient word, haireisthai, which means the inborn ability to choose. That means you get a choice regardless of your parentage. Only you can decide who you will be. This is what makes me wince at my eldest son’s choices. Yet I cannot deprive him of his responsibility to choose for himself, as much as I’ve tried to teach him by example. You see, our parents may try to mold us after their desires. But your own haireisthai”—he tapped her forehead—“will always supersede it.”
His words, which directly spoke to her greatest fears, brought her a measure of comfort. She hugged him again, pressing her cheek against his chest. He always knew what to say to make her feel better. Regardless of who had parented her, Fitzroy was the father she chose.
“I have one more bit of news for you,” he said after a pause. “Anna has offered, of course, to be your companion now that Sera is in Lockhaven. I applaud her bravery, especially in light of what has happened, but there is someone else who would be a safer choice.”
Cettie looked up at him. “Who? Raj Sarin?”
He shook his head no. “I have asked my wife’s sister, Juliana Haughton, to come.”
“Aunt Juliana?” Cettie said with surprise. The woman was one of the few female captains of a tempest.
“The very one,” Fitzroy answered with a smile. “I see that you approve. She said she would be on her way immediately, fair winds or foul. You’ll be staying on her tempest, which will be moored within the abbey grounds.” He pinched her chin. “I take my responsibility to protect my family seriously. Raj Sarin taught her the Way, just as he has taught you. I will feel safer knowing you’re with her.”
Juliana was her favorite relation through the Fitzroys.
“I would like that very much,” Cettie said. “It’s been two years since we last saw her.” Then she remembered something that she knew she should tell him. “Father? Mrs. Romrell told me that she knows of an open post to be a governess.”
His eyes crinkled. “Did she? That was very thoughtful of her.”
“I have been considering it. I would like to hear your opinion on the matter.”
“Well, I’m gratified you would ask for my opinion. Not all of my children do.”
Cettie smiled. “Of course I would. I trust your judgment. You want what is best for me. If you thought I shouldn’t consider it further, I would refuse without asking questions.”
He smiled again, pleased by her compliment. “What is best for us
isn’t always easy. You’d make an excellent governess. I would recommend you to any family Mrs. Romrell would suggest. She is a capable teacher, and I admire her. But I hope you know, Cettie,” he added with that twinkle in his eye, “that I have far bigger plans for you.”
After getting some rest, Cettie felt well enough to attend her final classes that day. While the bruises on her neck and arms were evident and sensitive, her muscles were sore in the way they always were after strenuous activity. It was difficult to concentrate in her classes because her mind kept wandering back to the startling events of the previous night. Fitzroy pledged to stay at Muirwood until Aunt Juliana arrived, and with the Aldermaston still gravely injured, she did feel the need for his calming influence. Anna and Phinia probably did too.
Word of her attack also brought unwanted attention to her. The usual teasing and spiteful comments had stopped, but she felt like everyone was staring at her injuries. A few girls asked if she was all right, and even some of the ones who had been cruel to her ventured to ask her about it. No doubt they wanted something to gossip about. She thanked them for their concern and left it at that, denying them the fuel they wanted.
After her last class, she wandered the grounds, enjoying the freedom of being out-of-doors. She had not seen Adam Creigh since morning, but she caught herself turning every time she glimpsed someone of his stature. He was likely working alongside Doctor Redd, trying to save the Aldermaston’s life. Her mind jumped, and she imagined him carrying a leather satchel and a wide-brimmed hat as he hurried down the ramshackle streets of the Fells, hastening from one home to the next. There were so many sick, so many who would need him there. No doubt he’d return home to a small tenement each night, exhausted but satisfied at a hard day of work, pleased to have relieved some little suffering in the world. It made her want to smile, but it also made her sad, seeing him—alone—in that little vision in her mind.
Fitzroy had said he had plans for Cettie following the Test. He hadn’t said what they were, however, and he’d asked her not to speculate because he didn’t want to distract her from the final weeks of study. Could he have plans for Adam too? Something that would prevent him going to the Fells, going to a place he was determined to go? Cettie felt that wouldn’t be fair. Adam wanted to go, and he should be allowed to pursue his dream. Yet if he did make his life there, she knew she would worry about him. Worry that one of the street gangs would attack him. Worry that a boy like Joses used to be would pick his pocket to steal money to feed himself—a well-intentioned theft that would nonetheless end in someone going hungry. Why was there so much misery in the world?
