by Jeff Wheeler
The prince introduced her to the other dinner guests at the table, and she promptly forgot their names and titles.
The general made a flourish with his napkin, and the servants began to place dishes on the middle circle of the table. It rotated so that each person could be served a portion.
“Don’t worry about being poisoned, Miss Fitzempress,” the general said, reaching up and using the large silver spoons to ladle food onto his plate. “We serve all our dishes in this manner. Every person takes their own portion. A simple precaution . . . in case you were worried.”
She turned away from him and looked at Prince Trevon. “Can you explain the dishes to me?”
The general’s eyes flashed with anger. His personality was excessively strong, and it was clear he was not accustomed to being snubbed.
“The best delicacies come from the sea,” Trevon said, gesturing to the various dishes and calling out an assortment of shrimp, pike, lobster, oyster, and salmon. Each had a colorful sauce and appealing little garnishes. “The berries are from Brythonica, a treat of themselves. I think you’ll fancy them. May I?” He offered to serve her, and she nodded her acceptance. He gave her small portions of each dish while General Montpensier began devouring his food like a soldier who’d been on the march for too long.
“You’ve come to negotiate the armistice?” Fitzroy asked her, his eyes holding hers. If only they could talk in private . . . if only she could consult with him privately.
“The surrender,” Montpensier grumbled with a mouthful.
“I have indeed, Lord Fitzroy. Where is your bodyguard? I would have thought to see him with you.”
Fitzroy shook his head. “We were separated when the hurricane went down.”
“The Bhikhu, yes?” the general interrupted.
Fitzroy glanced at him. “Yes.”
“You saved him from a poppy addiction on another world,” said the general slyly, “if my intelligence officer informed me correctly?”
“You have capable men, General.” Fitzroy looked not the slightest bit flustered.
Montpensier took his wine goblet and twirled the contents. “I do indeed. Which is why I know a surrender is in order. My prince, I am a soldier first and foremost. Some say I am Fountain-blessed.” He shrugged as if it meant nothing, but Sera could almost hear his jacket buttons straining to pop off. “I have a gift for strategy and leading men. I’m especially adept at playing Wizr. Which brings me to a suitable analogy. We just captured your most valuable piece, Miss Fitzempress. The rest of the game is a foregone conclusion. We both know that. Without your harbinger, you will not be able to predict where we will strike next.” He slammed his palm on the table suddenly, jostling the dishes and silverware. He had tried to startle her into flinching, but she didn’t. She gave him an icy stare instead. “You’re defeated,” he continued. “Your Highness, let’s save further bloodshed and negotiate terms in this light. Surrender is your most viable and promising option. You must forsake your religion before it is ripped away from you. Marry His Royal Highness, Prince Trevon, and someday you will become Queen of Kingfountain and ruler of Comoros too. You’ll get what you’ve always wanted.”
Sera picked up her napkin and dabbed her mouth with it, buying herself time to think. She glanced quickly at Fitzroy, who sat stern but imperturbable, and then turned toward the prince.
“I think the salmon is my favorite,” she said. “The lemon and pepper adds such a delightful contrast.”
Trevon looked surprised at her coolheadedness. He’d no doubt anticipated a more hotheaded response to the general’s tactics.
Montpensier hissed in resentment, pushed his plate away, and signaled for a servant to refill his wine goblet.
“The lobster is my favorite,” Trevon said. “I was always frightened of them as a boy. They look like monsters.”
“I’ve never seen one,” Sera answered.
“If you wish to frighten yourself, I can take you to the kitchen afterward,” he said with a small smile.
“General,” said Fitzroy in a low, thoughtful voice.
“Yes?” the younger man replied peevishly.
“The scenario you disclosed just now would be quite compelling. If it were true.”
Montpensier scowled and sat up. “What do you mean, Admiral?”
Sera fixed her attention on Fitzroy, her heart beating hard in her chest. He was looking at the general, but she had a feeling that his words were meant for her. He was sliding a dominion card across the table to her to help her hand.
“We know about your spy network, General. The Espion. And we’ve allowed it to operate unmolested. It helps us more than it hurts us.”
“Fancy words, Fitzroy,” said the general petulantly. “You are bluffing.”
“For example, the identity of the harbinger is a deliberate ruse. You were led to believe, wrongly, that I am the one with that rare gift. I am not, but I know who it is. And so does Miss Fitzempress. That is why your threat holds no concern for us. You strike through a mirror gate again, and there will be a fleet of sky ships waiting for you. If you don’t believe me, by all means, throw the lives of your men away in testing it.”
Cettie. It could only be Cettie. Sera felt a thrill go through her heart. Yes, Fitzroy was giving her a dominion card, the most powerful one in the deck. She had not known the truth until that very moment. But Fitzroy did not lie, ever—according to him, she knew the harbinger, and she did. He was trusting her intuition to figure it out. The dinner was just another phase of the negotiations. They’d thought they could leverage her into acquiescence by demonstrating Fitzroy was their hostage. But he had given her a bit of knowledge that had foiled their plan. She was so grateful to the Mysteries for arranging the dinner.
“I would like to try some of the berries, General,” Sera said sweetly.
A hand touched Sera’s arm and gently shook her. She came awake drowsily amidst the enormous stuffed bed that was so soft it felt like sleeping on a cloud. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw Becka next to her, shaking her.
“Look, Sera! Look!”
It was morning already. It felt like she had laid her head on the pillow only moments ago, but brilliant light filled the room. There was a pleasant odor in the air, a flowery scent. Becka tugged at her nightdress, and Sera sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“Look!” The maid pointed toward the anteroom with the bath. A look of fearful interest shone in her eyes. “It just started filling itself.”
There was a hazy steam coming from the bath, and Sera scooted off the edge of the bed before walking that way. Near the bath, the tiles were damp with mist under her bare feet. As they approached the massive tub together, Sera saw that it was indeed filling itself. Had the magic been done by Leering, water would have gushed from stone mouths carved into rock. Instead, it appeared as if water was rising from beneath.
“Magic,” breathed Becka in wonder. The flowery scent came from the water, and heat emanated from the pillars around it. She could feel the gentle tingle that always accompanied the Leerings. It was similar magic, just applied differently. Sera went to the edge and scooped up a palmful of water, which was milky in color rather than clear. It was very warm. She shook it off.
“I suppose it’s time for a bath,” Sera said. She disrobed and stepped into the tub and felt her muscles immediately relax.
“Which gown would you like for today, Sera? The red one?”
“Yes, the red one.” The temperature was perfect, and she felt little tingles from the bath as if the water itself contained some revitalizing magic. At the edge of the tub were various vials and cakes of soap. The weariness of her journey seemed to melt away in the bath. Her mind became sharp and alert. She wanted to speak to Fitzroy, to tell him what she’d learned about Lady Corinne. But he was here as a prisoner, not an ambassador. She would need to negotiate for his freedom as well.
After the satisfying bath, she emerged and fetched a towel to dry herself. Becka helped her put on her undergarments and the red gown
. It was a luxurious satin with a glossy sheen and a wreath-like girdle that went on the outside instead of the confining corsets she was used to wearing beneath her gowns. The cut was elegant, the bodice decorated by a golden choker and pendant. Sera asked Becka to braid part of her hair back, and she did it quickly and deftly.
After she was done, a knock sounded on the door, and servants entered with trays of food for their breakfast, mostly consisting of slices of various-colored melons, quince, and more of the delicious berries she’d tried the night before. Before she’d finished eating, the door opened and the prince’s sisters, Lyneah and Elaine, came in excitedly. They spoke to each other in giddy tones as they approached and dropped into deep curtsies before her.
“Good morning,” Sera greeted them, rising. She mimicked their curtsies, which were different in style than the form of greeting in vogue at Lockhaven.
“Did you sleep well?” Elaine asked.
“Of course she did, doesn’t she look rested?” Lyneah answered for her.
“Are you going to marry Trevon?” Elaine asked, earning a sharp elbow from her sister.
“You can’t ask her that,” Lyneah scolded. “I’m sorry, Miss Fitzempress.”
“You can call me Sera,” she replied. Her mouth tilted into a smile. It was impossible not to smile around these two. “I don’t have any siblings. I didn’t realize Trevon had so many.”
“They’re mostly brothers,” Lyneah said sourly. “We’re the only girls.”
“I wish I had a sister,” Sera sighed. No sooner had the words left her mouth than Elaine hurried forward and hugged her. The show of affection surprised her, but the hug felt pleasant. The girl’s emotions were ever on the surface.
“My brother is ready to see you,” Lyneah said. “We’re supposed to take you to him.”
“I will come, then,” Sera replied.
“Are you finished with your breakfast?”
“I’ve had enough. Shall we?” She linked arms with each of them and let them lead her out of the room. As she left, she glanced back at Becka, who was already starting to make the bed.
The girls led her through the twisting corridors of the palace, past sentries armed with pikes, and through a set of double doors leading outside to a different garden. There were pavilions erected on the grounds to provide shade. Trevon was at the archery butts, his jacket folded over a chair. He had a longbow in one hand and was nocking an arrow when he turned and saw her approach. Several targets were lined up in front of him at varying distances. She saw several arrows sticking from each of them.
“Do you shoot, Sera?” he asked her, easing the tension on the bowstring.
She’d been more of the dancing sort at school, but she remembered how talented Cettie had been. She wished her friend were there to show up Trevon.
“Is this another attempt to make me feel inferior at something?” Sera asked archly. The two sisters giggled and then pranced over to one of the other pavilions to watch them from a discreet distance.
Trevon turned to face her. “So you don’t shoot?”
“I don’t shoot well,” Sera said. “But I’m not afraid to handle a bow.”
“There is a Fountain-blessed lass from Legault,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “She shot an apple off her father’s head. She is quite amazing.”
“Are you suggesting I go over and stand by the target?” Sera said with a laugh.
“No, not at all.” The arrow was still fixed on the string, and he raised the bow, drew it back at an upward angle, and loosed it. The bow twanged, and the shaft flew to the farthest target, embedding itself within one of the inner rings. “It clears my head when I need to focus. It is easy to get distracted by what’s beyond the mark.”
There was a square wooden table nearby with leather shooting gloves and several other bows propped against it. Sera took one of the gloves and began securing it but couldn’t get it quite right. Trevon offered to help her, but she shook her head and persisted until she managed it herself. She examined the different bows and took the smallest one. It had been a while since she’d practiced, so she took her time preparing the arrow and then brought the feathers back to her cheek. The need to hit the closest target roiled inside her. She didn’t want to embarrass herself. It would be easy to avoid the challenge completely, but she wanted to portray self-confidence to him. Even if she missed, it was better to have tried than to be afraid of trying.
She loosed the arrow, which struck the center of the target by some miracle. Sera laughed in surprise and noticed Trevon’s upturned eyebrows.
“Again you deceive me,” he muttered.
“Maybe you’ll believe me if the next one goes into the woods. I don’t think I have ever hit the center before unless I was standing next to it.” She lowered the bow but held it with both hands.
The prince studied her closely. “So Fitzroy isn’t the harbinger after all.”
“I think you know him enough by reputation to realize he wouldn’t lie deliberately.”
Trevon nodded. “Your father, when he was prince regent, asked him to become prime minister. And he refused because of a little girl.” He nodded to her. “Your friend.”
“A friend I haven’t seen in three years.”
Trevon looked down at the grass. “You’ve been at Pavenham Sky all this time. How did you find Lady Corinne’s company?”
“Considering that she and Lord Welles plotted with my father to undermine my rights . . . well, you could say she’s not my favorite person.”
“She’s formidable,” said Trevon.
Sera looked at him. “So am I.”
“I already knew that!” he joked. “Before we continue our negotiations, I wanted to ask you something that I’m afraid might be uncomfortable.”
She’d expected this might come up. She lifted her eyebrows and looked at him questioningly.
He took another arrow, set it in place, and turned back to the targets. “Tell me about the dragoon.”
She was tempted to ask what sordid rumors he’d heard about her, but truth and transparency were her best allies here. “Will Russell was a friend who betrayed me. Before I was sent to Muirwood, my father had me tutored at home. One of my tutors was Will’s mentor, which meant he used to come along for our lessons. He and I became friends and wrote innocent letters to each other. I’ve always been concerned about the plight of the poor. That’s something else you and I have in common, I think.”
Trevon loosed the arrow, and it struck the target right next to hers. “It is.”
“His father was cheated by someone living in a sky manor. It ruined him, and he was forced to sign away his son’s deed to the military. My father was angered by Will’s attentions to me and practically exiled him. Years later, we met down in the City, where he promised to return the letters to me lest my father find some way to use them against me.” The memory of that night still made Sera burn with fury. She didn’t know how she could talk about it so dispassionately, but she managed it. “I realized too late that he’d made an agreement with Lord Welles to humiliate me. To shame me. We did kiss that night, but it ended there. I fled out of a window as soon as I discovered his intentions. I was lucky to find safe shelter until my advocate arrived, but we were caught by Welles’s stooges shortly after that. The privy council never gave me a chance to explain myself. I told Lord Fitzroy the truth, so you can ask him if you don’t believe me.”
Trevon took another arrow. “I did ask him.”
“And?”
“He said to speak to you. He said you’d be honest with me.”
“And I was. Shall we see if honesty works both ways? Have you loved another? Would you break your beloved’s heart to make this truce between our worlds?”
Trevon picked up another arrow and examined it closely. He pursed his lips as he set it on the string. “I had an older brother . . . Dallis . . . who drowned many years ago. He and two of my younger brothers, Renowen and Gannon, were exploring the shoreline in Averanche. They wandered
too far along some rocks at low tide, something they didn’t realize until the waves started coming back. The waves kept beating them against the rocks. Dallis helped Gannon climb up to a boulder above the coming tide, but he and Renowen kept slipping each time the waves came.” He stared at the target but didn’t lift the bow. “They tried calling for help, but they were too far from the others. The waves kept getting higher and higher, and he knew that they were both going to drown. My older brother lifted Renowen up on his shoulders. The waves kept smashing them against the rocks, but he held our brother up for as long as he could. He drowned before help arrived. It was a terrible day. I was fifteen when I became the crown prince.”
He raised the bow and loosed the arrow, which struck on the other side of hers. “Since that day, I imagined that someday I might marry a lady from Comoros to try and heal the breach between our worlds. To stop this never-ending cycle of violence and death. It would not be easy. There are people in both our worlds who do not want it to happen.” He lowered the bow and gave her a serious look. “But since I met you three years ago, I have not been able to imagine marrying anyone else.”
I begin to think that this troublesome princess may be more thorn than rose.
—Leon Montpensier, Duke of La Marche
CETTIE
CHAPTER TWENTY−THREE
SECRETS
As the tempest descended toward Fog Willows, Cettie’s mind was in a state of turmoil that only increased when she saw the military sky ship already moored there. It, too, was a tempest, and the dread in her heart deepened at the sight of it. She had pushed her own vessel to its limits, and Rand had insisted they go to her home first. He’d suggested that he could take the zephyr post later to return to his sister and Mr. Batewinch.
Although she had not felt like talking, Rand had coaxed from her memories of Fitzroy and how he had rescued her from the Fells. What she didn’t understand was why she had seen a vision of him and Sera together in Kingfountain, something she absolutely could not share with Rand. He had to be alive, didn’t he? Worry mingled with doubt and heightened her anxiety. She could not bear to lose him, not so soon. It was the one thing she knew she lacked the strength to endure.
