Mirror Gate

by Jeff Wheeler

  She gazed at a set of buildings and the gardeners working the shrubs, trying to listen with her eyes. She had always been adept at studying people, at understanding the subtle motives that drove them. Sometimes, she could even hear what they were thinking, whether those thoughts were directed at her or not. Cettie knew her powers were unique . . . they set her apart from the other students who attended the school with her. She’d been taught that some powers and especially an affinity for the Mysteries were inherited. What impact did her parents’ blood have on her abilities? Would she ever know who they really were?

  The truth will out, Fitzroy liked to say. But would knowing the truth make things any easier? Even if he was right about her ability to choose for herself, there was no denying that some hurtful truths ached to the core.

  As her mind wandered into morose thoughts, she observed a sky ship coming from the direction of a great hill called the Tor. There was a path that led up to the summit, which boasted a stone tower, and she had climbed it with Sera on several occasions. The sky ship was large—a tempest . . . the very tempest they were anticipating. Immediately the dark thoughts began to dwindle in anticipation of seeing Aunt Juliana again.

  If thoughts were a special kind of alchemy, she wanted to be sure she chose to foster the very best kind.

  SERA

  Some knowledge we only gain through much suffering. Some knowledge comes only after death. For three days and three nights, I passed in and out of the shadow of the next life. Each revival brought physical agony; each breach into the Beyond brought additional understanding.

  The abbey itself is a symbol of the doorway to what awaits in the Beyond. Power immeasurable. Power transcendent. In the past it was believed that only those with the blood of ancient families could be worthy enough to handle it. But we came to learn this was not true. While an individual with the fortunate birthright of such a lineage can be taught the principles early on in life, the same ends can be achieved by anyone who has carefully guarded their thoughts and submitted to the same requirements. I have learned from the Beyond, from the Knowing itself, that our civilization will suffer for deliberately preventing those without lineage from learning its ways. The cholera morbus is such a punishment. And it is only beginning.

  —Thomas Abraham, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THREAT

  The tempest was called the Royal Gale, and as it began its descent to the floating city of Lockhaven, Sera gazed down in awe. Though she had spent most of her life living in the floating collection of manors held in the sky by the powers of the Mysteries, she’d rarely seen it from this vantage point. The fog that usually masked the City beneath was gone, and the sprawling metropolis extended for miles beyond the portion covered by Lockhaven’s immense shadow. There were waterfalls that plunged from gardens and secret streams and descended as mist onto the denizens below. She could not imagine what it would feel like to live beneath such a massive structure, one that blotted out light half the day and turned the alleys and byways into a sprawling den of tenements and moldering factories. There were well-to-do estates down below, to be sure, and their turrets and parapets often broke through the fog that usually reigned supreme. Did they live with the oppressive fear that the power holding up Lockhaven would someday fail and the floating citadels would come crashing down? Surely they must. Yet shacks and homes and mansions had all been built there, and lotteries were held for those living below, to grant access to the manors above in the thousands of positions available to the ambitious and the brave.

  Her mother was in her stateroom, so when Sera heard the footsteps coming up behind her, she thought it was an officer come to warn her about leaning too far over the railing of the tempest. What would it feel like to fall from such a height? She was always fancying such strange things. Well, let him scold her if he wished. She was a Fitzempress and would not be told what to do.

  “Careful, Seraphin,” said her father, startling her. “There is no one who could catch you from such a fall.”

  His words evoked memories of her childhood. Once, she’d almost fallen from her favorite lookout tree. She could almost hear the cracking sound of the branch before it gave way . . . her father had rushed forward and saved her. He’d been worried and solicitous. But the look in his eyes at the moment couldn’t be more different. It indicated that he was, perhaps, resisting an urge to end their rivalry then and there in an “accident.” What had he become?

  She backed away from the railing, feeling part of her soul shudder. “I’m not a child anymore, Father.”

  She saw the subtle flinch when she addressed him that way. Good. She looked back over the City, her eyes drawn to the tendrils of smoke rising from thousands of chimneys. The sky was a crisp blue, and nary a cloud marred the expanse.

  “Your mother and I have spoken and feel it would be best if you remained with her during your stay in Lockhaven,” her father said. His voice was measured, guarded.

  She had already decided as much herself, of course. Her father did not consider her his true daughter, and she didn’t trust him with her safety. “That is acceptable.”

  “I have made arrangements for a companion for you,” he went on. She frowned, feeling resentment and rebelliousness flare up inside her. No doubt he’d hired someone to spy on her.

  “I do not need one,” she quickly countered.

  “If you wish. Then I will send Baroness Hugilde away . . . again.”

  “What? No!” She turned to face him and realized that he had outmaneuvered her. A subtle, mocking smile turned up his mouth. He arched his eyebrows at her. “I mean, thank you for sending for her. I haven’t seen sweet Hugilde in years.”

  “I thought it would please you. If you do end up going to the court at Kingfountain, I thought it might be more agreeable to you to bring a familiar companion.”

  She swallowed her pride. This game they were playing was underway, she reminded herself, and those she knew and loved would suffer if she did not win. Well, he had attempted to outflank her before and had failed. She would not allow him to get the best of her this time either.

  “When does the delegation from Kingfountain arrive?” she asked, trying to shift their interactions to business matters.

  “Soon. As I’m sure Mr. Durrant explained, the delegation will be looking for suitable maidens. The selection process for the queen will take several years, no doubt. There are certain laws and covenants—I won’t bore you with the details—that require hostages—”

  “Hostages?” Sera asked with alarm.

  “That is a technical term,” he explained with a tone of exasperation. “One cannot take someone between worlds without leaving another in their place. You know the concept of equilibrium, I assume, from your studies?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Good. So if, for example, four girls are chosen from our court to attend theirs, then four of their maidens will remain here during the term of the covenant. It’s a simple matter. You won’t likely be chosen, Seraphin. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” He said the last words with a derogatory sneer. He was trying to goad her.

  “Who else has been chosen to come?”

  “Lady Vextel’s daughter. I think she is the oldest at eighteen. Then there is Lady Telephina, Lady Simprose, and Lady—”

  “My lord!” the captain of the tempest shouted as he hurried up to them.

  Father looked annoyed at the interruption. “What is it, Captain?”

  Once he reached them, he pitched his voice low. Sera was close enough to hear everything. “There was an attack, last evening, at Muirwood Abbey. The Aldermaston has been shot and is seriously injured. His pilot was killed outright. It’s believed the intended victim of the villain was Miss Fitzempress.”

  Sera’s stomach lurched with dread and fear. “The Aldermaston is hurt?”

  “Severely, ma’am. He may not survive the day. Word has come that a stranger was seen lurking in the village.”

  “Cettie
saw him,” Sera stammered, feeling her insides quailing. She had told her friend it was nothing to concern them. “By the Mysteries, what is this news you bring?”

  “I was given word by the prime minister himself,” said the captain to her father. “The privy council is awaiting your arrival to discuss the possible danger. I hate to think what disaster may have happened if we hadn’t come to fetch her.”

  Father looked genuinely surprised by the news. Did that mean he was innocent of any involvement? He glanced at her and then nodded. “Hasten to court, Captain. This must be addressed at once. An Aldermaston! Who would dare such an outrage!”

  “I don’t know, Prince Regent. The Ministry of War sent sky ships to the abbey immediately. I heard even a hurricane has been summoned for support.”

  “This will not go unpunished. Get us to the landing yard of the privy council at once.”

  “Aye, my lord,” said the captain, who saluted smartly and then turned away.

  The look on her father’s face showed that he, too, was reeling from the shock of the news. He turned to march away, and she thought she overheard him murmur under his breath, “He wouldn’t have!”

  The court palace was decorated with several paintings that dated back to the rule of Empress Maia. As Sera walked urgently down the marble-tiled corridor, paying little heed to her father and the servants sent to escort them, she glimpsed one that she remembered from her first meeting with the privy council years earlier. The painting was of the empress at her first privy council meeting. Sera had been fascinated by the image and had wished keenly that she could step into the painting hanging on the wall to observe the events portrayed in the image. What would it have been like? Maia had been the first female sovereign of Comoros, the one destined to rule over a massive empire.

  The privy council chambers in Lockhaven were not as opulent as those portrayed in the picture, which had been located on the land far beneath the present one, down by the river. The two doormen outside the chamber stamped their staves and opened the doors for them. Father strode in ahead of her, his longer stride easily outstripping hers. The room was paneled in decorative wood with crown molding on every aperture. Several tall bronzed pillars stood along the walls. A host of dignitaries surrounded the long rectangular table centered in the middle of the room. Each had his or her own private secretary prepared to scrawl notes documenting the event. A huge overstuffed chair waited empty on a dais at the head of the table, and Father strode up to the chair and seated himself. All the others in the room were standing. She saw uniformed officers from the Ministry of War, representatives from Law in their fancy waistcoats and jackets. After looking for Fitzroy, she was surprised to see he wasn’t there. The prime minister, identified by his green sash of office and black velvet cap, looked to be suffering from gout and hastily sat after her father did. The others began to sit as well.

  Sera was pleased that many members of the privy council were women. Most were stately older women, many of them widows, who had vast experience in the dealings of the empire. By her rough guess, they composed a third of the council. From Mr. Durrant’s reports, she knew their empathy for her had made a great deal of difference in her prospects.

  “Miss Fitzempress, if you would take a seat over there,” said the prime minister, gesturing to a smaller chair beside his. She saw some small pillows had been arranged at the foot of the chair, in case her feet wouldn’t touch. She bit her lip and choked down the affront as she deliberately slid the pillows to the side with the edge of her foot before sitting down.

  “Prime Minister,” Father said angrily, “what more have you learned about this outrageous attack on the abbey?”

  “Details are sparse presently, Prince Regent,” he replied in his nasally voice. “We await word from Minister Fitzroy. His ward was injured during the attack.”

  Sera leaned forward, eyes blazing. Cettie was hurt?

  “Is she all right, Prime Minister?” she blurted out.

  “I don’t know, ma’am,” he answered, shaking his head. “She was your companion. Naturally you would fear for her well-being.”

  “I wish to know of her condition straightaway,” Sera demanded.

  “Of course. We are only too grateful that you were not injured. Thanks to the prince regent’s foresight”—here he nodded his head in respect to her father—“you were brought here before the attack. No doubt this blackguard, whoever he was, intended to do you harm. His goal may have simply been to prevent you from being considered for the throne.”

  It made Sera sick to her stomach to think that the man had been watching her dwelling for several days. That she had so flippantly ignored the warnings. Her father’s muttered comment on the deck of the tempest had stayed with her—it was like a splinter that chafed and bothered her. Did he know the attacker?

  “What is being done?” Father demanded.

  “The Ministry of War was authorized to dispatch investigators to—”

  “I know this already. What else has been done? Has the royal surgeon been sent?”

  The prime minister looked uneasy. “Doctor Redd at the abbey . . .”

  “Is quite capable. But send the best to the abbey. The very best. In the meantime, what is the Ministry of Thought doing to replace the Aldermaston?”

  Another man at the table stood. He had snow-white hair and a matching goatee. “No replacement is being contemplated, Prince Regent. The extent of Thomas’s injuries is still unknown.”

  “But there are so many students who need to take the Test,” Father said. “Including my own . . . including Miss Fitzempress. This must be seen to at once. Cannot another Aldermaston from another abbey be sent for in his place? See to it, sir. And what of the Ministry of Law? Someone must have procured a sky ship to reach the abbey. It is surrounded by water. I want an investigation started immediately to discern how the attacker made it to Muirwood. Have your advocates research all possible short-term and long-term deeds.”

  “But that could take months, Prince Regent!” complained Lord Halifax, the Minister of Law.

  Father shot him a withering look, and he promptly went quiet. A hush fell over the room.

  Her father looked very regal in the chair, despite his ill health. He projected an aura of decisiveness and confidence that made her feel very young. “I will not have it said, ladies and gentlemen, that I took this threat on Seraphin’s life lightly. That I dismissed it as of no worth. An Aldermaston lies dying. This assault must be treated with the greatest seriousness and discretion. If the investigation does not yield results, then it is likely—if not probable—that this action emanated from among our ranks.”

  At that moment not a sound could be heard in the room. A queer, sick feeling bloomed in Sera’s gut.

  “If so, we will still discover who did it and why. And a house will fall because of it.”

  Sera was impressed by her father’s bold actions, his leadership. As she looked around the room, she could see that same look in the eyes of many members of the privy council. What had she said or done to contribute? What suggestions had she to give?

  Nothing.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE TYRANNY OF THE PAST

  The privy council had been kind and courteous to Sera. Unfailingly polite. But when she left the council room with the charge to return the next day and appear before them, Sera already felt like a failure. She was frustrated with herself for not speaking up more and worried that her poor performance—and her ready accessions to her father—would jeopardize her future.

  Her mother was leasing a manor house in Lockhaven called Castlebury, and they were brought there by zephyr immediately following the meeting. Because her parents were estranged, the privy council subsidized the rent on the Castlebury manor out of the allowance the prince regent was given. Mother had her own inheritance as well, which Mr. Durrant had managed to apportion, and so when Sera arrived, she found a beautifully appointed residence. It was on a street with thirteen other homes, which shared a common
landing area. As Sera walked into the manor and observed the servants busily at work, she felt herself a stranger and longed for the simple dormitory at Vicar’s Close.

  Mr. Durrant was pacing the foyer energetically as he awaited their arrival. The moment she entered, he walked up to her with a worried look. But she gazed around him and saw Hugilde waiting with the keeper of the house. Sera practically squealed and rushed past Mr. Durrant. Her former governess had aged quite a bit over the last four years. She had more wrinkles and was gaunter than before.

  “Hugilde, sweet Hugilde!” Sera gushed, hugging her and kissing her. Her cheek smelled of peppermint.

  “There’s my little Sera,” Hugilde said with tears in her voice. “My, how you’ve grown!”

  “I’ve not grown at all,” Sera said, pulling back and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “But you have. Yes, you have. What a beautiful young woman you’ve become.”

  Sera was conscious that her mother was watching them, but she could not restrain her effusiveness. Hugilde had been more of a mother to Sera than anyone else. She had put up with Sera’s tantrums and stubbornness, always, and while her governess had become exasperated with her at times, there had never been any doubt as to her feelings.