by Jeff Wheeler
“Empress Maia had a special gift. It was called the Gift of Invocation. She had a special affinity toward Leerings. To her, each one had its own chord. They were almost like music.” He gave her a piercing look. “Do you hear the music that fills this room, Seraphin?” He gazed up at the illusion of the skylight.
Sera felt the power of the Mysteries in the room. But it did not strike her as music. It struck her on a more visceral level, one that made her slightly afraid, like one would feel in the presence of a lion or another savage animal.
She wasn’t about to answer his question. “Why did you bring me here, Prime Minister?”
He gave her a shrewd look.
“Empress Maia was warned by her grandmother, a harbinger, that a foreign power would attempt to invade her empire by sea. She built Lockhaven to master the air. But being so high above the City, she feared losing touch with the common people and their needs. She maintained a spy network, of course, as most rulers do. But she did not wish to rely on their reports alone. The lifeblood of any civilization is its water. People need to drink, to bathe, to grow food, to wash. Water is paramount. Within the City below, there are dozens of fountains that provide fresh drinking water through Leerings. The people are ignorant of how this water comes to them, of course, but the fountains were a gift from the empress. The people had their water, and the empress could watch over them from this room. Here, put your hand on the stone, and I will show you. You will see what your father has often seen. Are you brave enough to face it?”
So it was a test of her courage, was it? What grisly scene might unfold before her? What horrors did he intend to show her?
“Thank you, Lord Prentice. I would be glad to see my subjects.” She steeled her resolve, stepped forward, and put her hand on the stone.
At first, she felt nothing but the smooth texture of the rock on her skin. The air smelled damp. Then the prime minister joined his hand to the Leering and invoked it. She felt the power surge inside of her, and then the waters of the pool began to ripple. As she watched in fascination, the ripples calmed, and the pool no longer reflected the light beating down on it from above. It showed her a scene from one of the many fountain squares in the City below. People had gathered around the fountain—washerwomen scrubbing laundry, some carrying pitchers to tote water back to their homes. The square down below was grimy and noisy. She could hear the nicker of horses and the clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestones. She heard arguing and some women shouting at each other in anger. All her senses fired—in addition to seeing the scene, she could hear it and smell it as surely as if she were standing in their midst.
“This is happening right now,” Lord Prentice said. “See how they scold and yell at one another? Do you see the urchin, that little girl, reaching her grubby hand into the filthy water to steal a drink? See the washerwomen. Listen to them reproach her.” Sera heard it even as it happened. “Even though they’ve dirtied the water, they still prize it.”
Sera’s heart panged as she watched one of the washerwomen seize the little girl and cuff her on the ear and yell at her to go away.
“Sometimes, like during the Whitsunday festival,” he continued, “people climb into the fountains and dance in them with their muddied shoes. They profane what gives them life. But of course, people will profane anything when they are drunk, and the people in the tenements drink constantly. They do it because they suffer, and they believe inebriation will quiet the ache in their hearts. But that ache is caused by the debauchery of their lives. You may as well prick a finger with a sharp needle and beg it not to bleed. They cannot see the true cause of their suffering. No, they blame it on us. And those in Kingfountain consider these abominations an utter sacrilege.”
“That’s not true,” Sera answered, her feelings becoming more and more riled as she watched the village square. She spoke her words vehemently. “They are oppressed. And we are their oppressors.”
“I agree with you,” he answered, which startled her. “But not in the way you are thinking. We oppress them because we show them there is a higher way to live. They want what we have. But they don’t want to get it the way we have gotten it. They’d like it to be given to them.”
“Some do,” Sera countered, thinking of Cettie.
“Of course,” he said placatingly. She could hear the condescension in his voice. “There will always be exceptions . . . like your friend. But let me tell you the truth of things, Seraphin Fitzempress. It is a truth that even Empress Maia, who once shared your idealism, came to realize. Only a small portion of the people will ever reach their true potential in life. Because it is difficult. Because one must pursue excellence with unwearying vigilance. And that, my young friend, is beyond the capacity of most of humanity. People like to believe that success is merely the product of hard work. But it isn’t. The secrets of the Mysteries aren’t yielded to hard work alone. We are all tested by the Knowing, every single day. These people living in squalor are tested! Will they put another’s interest above their own? Will they speak kindly instead of screaming? Will they let themselves be cheated without growing resentful? Do you see them, Miss Sera? Are they even capable of it?”
Sera’s anger was blazing now. She stared at him across the pool. “Are they given the chance?”
“Of course!” he replied with scorn. “The Ministry of Thought is constantly teaching these principles. Yet, sadly, the teachings are almost universally ignored when it comes to the drudgery of daily life. They sit in a stupor on their holy days, anxious for the meetings to end so they can get back to work and earn a few pents. The men beat their wives, and the wives scold their husbands. They both torture their offspring in ways that would disgust you were I to share even a portion of what I’ve seen.”
Cettie had begun life as an urchin, a poor and helpless soul mired in the drudgery of daily life in the Fells, and she had become . . . spectacular. No one at the abbey had more talent than she. Then there were plenty of other cases of the rich and powerful, of the mastons, squandering the gifts they’d been given. Stephen wished only to enjoy his wealth and prestige. Her father, the prince regent, wanted only power. And there was a very good chance someone in the highest echelons of the government had arranged for the attack at Muirwood. No, the prime minister was simplifying things. He wished for an easy answer, and so he’d found one that assuaged his guilt.
“You are wrong, Prime Minister,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.
“Am I? Have I not risen to the pinnacle of power because I have harnessed the power of Thought? I tell you, Miss Sera, that thoughts can be as contagious as diseases, like the cholera morbus. You wish to build a bridge down to the City to enlighten them. A noble cause to be sure, but most of the drudges who live down below lack all self-control. You, my dear, would bring the diseased to us to infect us with their spores. And by doing so, you would cause Lockhaven to come crashing down into the planet’s tender crust.”
The image shifted to another. This one was a windswept prairie full of boulders. No . . . the crumbled ruins of a fallen manor. The grassy valley was in the midst of a crater the size of a lake, and Sera gasped when she saw the devastation. If a single manor had caused so much damage, what would Lockhaven do if it ever fell?
“You are gazing from the eyes of a Leering set by the Ministry of Wind to study the healing process of the land,” he explained dispassionately. “It took years before plants would start to grow again in that pit. The blow was so deep that jets of noxious gasses were expelled from the slits and seams in the earth. It is quite a fascinating study.”
“Why are you showing me this?” Sera challenged, gazing back from the wreckage to his cunning eyes. “Do you hope to change my mind? To persuade me to abandon the very hope that drives someone to succeed? That would be hypocritical of you, Prime Minister.”
He removed his hand from the Leering and stepped around the pool. He didn’t alter his tone or try to sway her. “No, Seraphin. Because I wanted it to be very clear in your mi
nd why I will oppose you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SHIFTING LOYALTIES
If Lord Prentice had intended to rattle Sera with his declaration before the meeting, he had only succeeded in making her more determined to overthrow him. She was beleaguered by the privy council’s questions, but she had done her best to project confidence and self-assurance. That her goals would, in the long term, benefit soldiers and statesmen, bankers and borrowers alike. They had wandered off the path Empress Maia had set out for them, but it was not too late to return to it. No doubt her mother and Mr. Durrant would be eager for her to recount the meeting, but she needed some quiet, some time to think. At least she would have a few moments to herself on the zephyr back to Castlebury.
She didn’t notice that she had attracted an entourage of a dozen soldiers from the Ministry of War until she boarded the zephyr. When her zephyr rose into the air, four other zephyrs and a tempest, which loomed overhead, immediately surrounded it. She craned her neck, seeing the military insignia on the great ship’s hull.
“We’re getting an escort from now on, my lady!” the captain shouted down to her above the thrum of the wind. “Compliments of the Minister of War!”
The shadow of the tempest sky ship reminded her that her life was in very real danger. That there might be a faction inside their own government, or perhaps an external enemy, that did not want her to ascend to the throne. She had always wanted to experience something truly exciting, however, and couldn’t deny that the risk brought a certain element of thrill.
When they arrived at the landing pad, the pilot’s declaration from earlier was confirmed. A squad awaited her arrival on the street. Each soldier had an arquebus strapped to their shoulder, and they stood at fixed attention as her sky ship landed. The feeling of excitement intensified as she wondered if Will might be one of them. He had said he would soon be in Lockhaven. She leaned over the rail and examined their faces, but they were a good distance away, and each was wearing a hat as part of their uniform.
She descended the gangplank into the yard, and the two columns of soldiers snapped to attention and hoisted their weapons. Strolling confidently ahead as if this kind of reception were ordinary for her, Sera clasped her hands before her and discreetly examined each soldier’s face. Some were young, but most were seasoned and experienced. Will was not among them. It would seem her speech had at least impressed Lord Welles.
When she reached the doorway, it was opened by her mother’s butler, who greeted her and directed her to the study. Mr. Durrant, her mother, and Hugilde awaited her with cups of tea.
Mr. Durrant sized her up. “Well, she still looks regal. They did not flatten her like a pan of potato hash at least.”
“Welcome back, Daughter,” her mother said primly, but her eyes were eager for news.
“There are guards in front of the house,” Sera said. “And we were given an escort from court.”
“Yes,” Mr. Durrant said flippantly. “I had to prove my credentials before they would let me into the house. It’s a necessary inconvenience. Lord Welles must prove he is taking his duty seriously. A captain is quartered inside and is interrogating the servants to ensure none of them poses a danger. This is serious business, Sera. But, back to the matters at hand. How did the privy council go?”
“I have a pounding headache if that’s any indication,” Sera answered. She saw a pitcher of water and poured herself a glass. Her throat was parched, and the water tasted delicious. Then she remembered the display from earlier that day. She remembered the little girl getting slapped.
“Council meetings can be arduous,” he said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
Sera set down the glass and turned to face them, more determined than ever. “It went as well as could be expected. Before the meeting started, Lord Prentice took me to the secret room that controls the Leerings of the court. He made it very clear to me that he opposed my ascension. In the council meeting, he kept harping on my youth and extreme inexperience. He made it clear that if the council chose me, he would demand there be a regency so that I could learn, more slowly, how to take on the reins of government.”
Durrant started to massage his own temples, as if her headache had proved contagious. “Well, that was bold of him! What game is he playing, revealing the valuable Dominion cards in his hand so quickly? I thought Prentice was more clever than that. He must be overconfident that he can win the set.”
“He lectured me,” Sera went on, trying to bridle her temper and failing, “on my interest in helping the downtrodden. He all but confirmed that they are deliberately suppressed to prevent their lower thoughts and ways from ‘infecting’ our way of life. He warned that mixing with them would cause calamities that could rupture the earth. No one could ever accuse the prime minister of being too understated.”
Her mother’s expression indicated she agreed with the prime minister’s outlook, something Sera had long suspected. It was the one thing her parents agreed upon. “But surely, Seraphin, it would be wise to proceed with caution . . .”
“Please, Mother,” Sera said, cutting her off. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture. Consider the adage we’re all taught in school. Isn’t it true that we reap what we sow? Lord Prentice gave me a glimpse of the misery and suffering down in the City. And what I saw only confirms what Cettie has told me the last four years. Our problems impact their lives, just as theirs impact ours. How many have died from the cholera morbus within Lockhaven itself? It takes effort and labor to maintain a garden, even more so to maintain an empire, but we’ve let the garden run wild for years. Building a higher wall won’t keep us safe, nor will it solve anything. I tried to explain this to the privy council. I know it will take time. Yes, the work will be arduous and difficult. But I am determined to see it done.”
Her mother looked as angry and out of sorts as the prime minister had an hour ago. Mr. Durrant, on the other hand, looked pleased by her little speech.
“Well said, Sera. A bit idealistic and simplistic, but the argument is sturdy. I’m sure you studied the faces in the room. It’s not important that you delivered a decent speech or upheld your high principles. Were you convincing? How many looked at you skeptically? Do you know their names? How can we, through careful coaxing, win more to your side? This is the art of politics, my dear. They all have concerns about having a young woman rule over them, and some of their concerns are bigger than others. You are much younger than Empress Maia was when she ascended to the throne, and she had already proved herself by managing a rebellion and then a war.”
“I know the history, Mr. Durrant. And yes, I did try to see who was engaged and who was disinterested. I am tired, however, and I’d rather not spell it all out right now.”
Mr. Durrant sighed and nodded. “Very well, Sera. Maybe I’ll go to court and gauge the mood for myself. I’m confident Lord Fitzroy is still on your side. I am also inclined to believe that Lord Welles can be swayed. Personally, I think he detests your father. The Ministry of Law, which favors the status quo, will of course side with your father. That leaves the Ministry of Thought. The Aldermaston of Muirwood has always spoken highly of you, but he’s not the minister. You are a chaste, exemplary young woman. If three ministers support you, I don’t see how you can lose. The rest of the privy council will take their cues from them.”
“But the prime minister is still powerful,” Sera said.
Mr. Durrant shrugged. “Prentice is. Everyone knows that Fitzroy would have been a better choice. It was your father’s resentment that prevented it. Many still see that as a flaw in your father’s judgment. I have high hopes for you. Well, why don’t you get some rest? I will return this evening for dinner to tell you what I’ve learned.”
“Thank you, Mr. Durrant,” Sera said with a sigh of relief. “I would appreciate that. We will see you tonight.”
He bowed to her and offered a pleasant farewell to Sera’s mother before departing.
Sera chafed her hands, wanting to be alone. “
I’m going to my room, Mother.”
“Sera,” said her mother worriedly.
A sigh escaped Sera’s mouth. “Yes?”
“I know you’re tired. But please . . . there is some truth in what Lord Prentice said. You have not taken the Test yet. There are some Mysteries you still do not understand. If you do become empress, and I hope that you do, you will choose wise men and women to advise you. I would ask, I would hope, that you would permit me to serve on the privy council. I would be a devoted ally for you. You know you could depend on me. I hope you will consider it?”
Sera had thought about it, and, in truth, her mother was the last person she would consider for such a position of trust and responsibility. She never spoke of the people, only of herself and the injustices done to her.
“I really must rest, Mother,” Sera said, her voice falling.
Her mother’s countenance fell when Sera didn’t immediately give her the reassurance she desired. There came into her eyes a look of accusation, a look of grievance, a look of bitterness.
Without saying another word, Mother turned and left, the door striking shut harder than usual.
Sera’s insides twisted with the conflict. Had she just made another enemy?
“Shall we go to your room, Sera?” Hugilde asked softly, coaxingly.
“I should enjoy that,” Sera said. There were so many worries plaguing her that she hadn’t taken time for her practice with the Leerings. The changes that had come so suddenly had nearly made her forget that she still had to pass the Test, or the privy council might not even consider her.
Arm in arm, she and Hugilde walked up to her room together. From the window, she could see the soldiers milling on the street below. Lest one of them should look up and see her, she took a seat in the chair by the mirror, out of sight from below. Hugilde started to unbraid her hair while she sat still, gazing at her reflection, seeing the little smudges on her face from the embellishments Hugilde had applied that morning. Had she pretended to be someone she wasn’t today? Would the people even want someone like her, someone so unable to concentrate and remain focused?
