by Jeff Wheeler
Mrs. Pullman dragged the body of Mr. Batewinch into the cell and left it in the middle of the floor.
“Now you have company,” said the old woman with a gleam of malice.
Sera stroked her neck. She could still feel where the old woman’s fingers had dug into her skin. There would be bruises for certain.
Mrs. Pullman slid the crowbar out of the steward’s limp hand. She turned to leave, only to swivel back around when she reached the doorway.
“Who are you to rule over us?” Mrs. Pullman said in a low, callous way. “You’re weak. Powerless. You don’t deserve the gilded palace you live in. What work have you ever done in your whole life? Your luck was to be born. That is all. Any mewling brat can be born. Our queen will soon rule in your place. All will kneel before her, out of dread, out of fear. You’ve had your chance, false empress. Now another comes. You are not worthy to lick the ground at her feet.”
The words were calculated in their malice. Designed to weaken someone’s will, to damage their sense of self. To make them feel unworthy of anything good.
Everything she’d said was a lie.
Sera could not help but think of Cettie as a girl, at the mercy of this cruel old woman. The image made her hate Mrs. Pullman even more.
“Not if I can help it,” Sera vowed, staring at the old woman with a look that promised vengeance. “You won’t kill me, Mrs. Pullman. Without me, that Leering will be closed forever.”
“She knows your weaknesses, child,” said Mrs. Pullman with a smile. “You will open the tomb of Ereshkigal. You’ll have no other choice.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE ADMIRAL’S DAUGHTER
The darkness was even more suffocating with a dead body in the room. Poor Mr. Batewinch, Sera thought. Lady Corinne had left so many bodies in her wake. She remembered the day she’d found Mr. Skrelling’s body rotting on the beach below Pavenham Sky. The horror of seeing Lord Fitzroy’s body flung off a balcony to an angry mob below.
Lady Corinne could slice Sera’s body like so many ribbons. She could poison her, torture her, cripple her. But she could not break her will. Only Sera could do that.
She’d learned much from observing people through the Command Leering in Lockhaven. Not all who lived in the City were miserable. Even the most oppressed woman, scrubbing dirty clothes in a stagnant fountain, could still whistle and sing while she worked. Many of her people, no matter how poor, had a resilience that made her heart proud of them. She, too, could be strong. Determined.
But the prophecy says you’re the one who will open it.
Sera huddled in the dark, considering the words Sinia had uttered so long ago. Sera did not want to release such an evil being, but events seemed to be drawing her inexorably toward some fate. Would she be forced to free Ereshkigal in the end? Would they twist her feelings for someone she loved to make her yield?
What had Corinne done to Cettie? Was she also being tortured, or would she be used against Sera in some way?
Would they harm Trevon if she did not fall into line?
Her arm throbbed, her face itched, and her throat craved a drink—sensations that had only grown keener with each passing hour. She leaned back against the wall, struggling to suppress a growing sense of dread.
What would you have me do? Sera thought into the blackness, reaching out to the Mysteries. Guide me, lead my steps. I will do what you wish of me. No matter what it may cost me.
In the quiet stillness of the cellar, she waited, straining for an answer. Some form of direction.
It came, but in a most unexpected form. She had the intuition that perhaps Mr. Batewinch had a flask or a waterskin on his person.
That would mean searching a dead man. She shuddered at the thought, but her thirst insisted she try. She crept forward on her knees, reaching out with one hand. When she touched his body, it was unnaturally cool. The life force within him, the soul that had caused his body to generate heat and breath, was gone. She fumbled in the darkness, using only her right hand. A jacket? Pockets. She searched them, finding a few coins, a silk handkerchief. There was a little box made of metal. When she opened it, the strong sweet odor of peppermint filled her cell.
She had to struggle with the body to turn it over to check the other side, a horrific task. Some papers, which she couldn’t read in the dark. And then, in his pants pocket, she discovered a penknife, something one used to sharpen a quill or a pencil. The blade was folded down and not very long. Excitement thrummed inside her.
Using her teeth, she released the blade, which snicked into place. She instantly thought of the wooden doorframe. She rose and carried the penknife to the door, feeling the edges where the latch fit into place. The blade plunged into the soft wood easily. Sera bit her lip and began scraping away.
She worked at it for hours, digging and twisting, and breaking off little pieces of bark. Time had already lost all sense of meaning to her, but she felt urgency to complete the task. Occasionally, splinters would jab her fingers. She ignored the blood, carving and gouging and prying at the wood until the large piece on the other side of the bolt came free.
Her efforts were rewarded when the door swung open.
Her first instinct was to light the Leering and see her way out, but she stopped herself, knowing that Mrs. Pullman, as the keeper of the house, would sense it. She could pass the Leering in the dark, however, and its eyes would be blind to her. Gripping the penknife in her good hand, she slowly walked down the corridor, bumping into barrels along the way. Her senses screamed at her to run, lest Mrs. Pullman return, but her logical mind knew it was best to walk slowly, keeping aware of her surroundings. And so she continued to walk slowly, one foot in front of the other. At the end of the corridor was another door, but this one wasn’t locked. Sera twisted the handle and sighed with relief when it opened.
Darkness greeted her on the other side. No windows were nearby, but the lack of any glowing Leerings indicated it was nighttime. Sera carefully shut the door behind her and stepped forward until she reached a set of stairs. She climbed them swiftly, her ears keen for any sound that would reveal danger. Every muscle in her body was taut with dread.
After mounting the steps, she found herself in another storage room and continued to bump into crates and chests. She had to feel her way from wall to wall until she found the door. After turning its handle, she was greeted by moonlight pouring in through a high window. Her eyes, sharpened by the hours she’d spent in the dark, could make out the details as if it were the brightest day. There was a corridor, carpeted, which led in two different directions. Which to choose?
She paused at the doorframe, listening for sounds. Hearing none, she took a right and quickly found a dead-end and a locked door. So she reversed her path and went the other way. The gauzy curtains fluttered as she passed them, and the moonlight through the windows continued to light her path.
The corridor deposited her in another hallway. She quickly looked both ways, her heart pounding with excitement and fear. She brushed her wrist against her mouth to remove a sheen of sweat from her upper lip.
From what Cettie had told her about Gimmerton Sough, and from what she remembered from attending a ball long ago, it was not a vast estate. If Sera could find her way to the landing yard, she could steal a zephyr and be off. Or, barring that, hide until the zephyr post came.
Light.
Sera froze, watching as the yellow gleam of a lantern rounded the corner, heading her way. Mrs. Pullman held a lantern in one hand and carried a tray of food in the other.
Sera quickly backtracked, trying not to scuff her shoes on the carpet or make any sound at all. Her heartbeat, already worried, now beat frantically. She had passed a staircase going up and decided to take it. If Mrs. Pullman were heading to the cellar, she’d soon know that Sera had escaped. That meant she needed to find a place to hide, a place where the keeper could not use the Leerings’ eyes to track her down.
As she mounted the steps, she kept her eyes fixed on the approa
ching glow of the lantern beneath her.
Which was why she didn’t see Joanna Patchett coming down the stairs until they collided.
Joanna gasped with fear, but didn’t cry out. Neither did Sera.
“Are you hiding from Mrs. Rosings?” Joanna whispered. A band of moonlight revealed her concerned expression to Sera. She was wearing a white nightgown and shawl.
“Yes,” Sera whispered back.
Joanna nodded and gripped her shoulder, tugging her upstairs. “This way. I’ll hide you.”
Sera followed, and they turned the corner on the curving stairway just before Mrs. Pullman arrived at the bottom of the steps.
“Who’s up there?” Mrs. Pullman’s voice rang out.
They both froze on the steps. Joanna pressed a finger to her own lips, a signal to be quiet.
“You get to bed right away,” Mrs. Pullman snapped. “If I catch you in the corridors, you’ll be dismissed.”
Sera had a rush of uncomfortable intuition. If Mrs. Pullman hadn’t been carrying a tray, she would have followed them up the stairs. The light retreated.
The last time Sera had seen Joanna Patchett was at one of the balls she’d held in Lockhaven. As Lady Corinne’s popularity and influence had waned, Joanna’s had risen proportionately. She was a charming and affectionate girl, a gossip, and Sera had always liked her because she’d befriended Cettie.
But wasn’t it odd that Lady Corinne had chosen to hide Sera in Gimmerton Sough, a floating manor that she owned and had leased to the Patchett siblings? Moreover, Joanna and Rand were the children of dead admiral Patchett, who had been a close friend of Lady Corinne’s husband. Could Joanna be trusted?
“This way,” Joanna said in a low voice, guiding Sera down the hall.
Sera stopped, shaking off the other woman’s hand.
Joanna stopped and looked back at her. “Do you want to get caught?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my brother’s room. He’s gone right now. No one goes in there. She won’t be able to find you.”
“Why do you say that?”
Joanna drew closer. “It’s one of the Mysteries. I can’t explain it. Just trust me. She can see into almost every room in the house. Except that one.”
That meant there were no Leerings in it. If Joanna recognized her, she hadn’t indicated it. The dark may well have kept her identity secret, for the moment. Sera decided she had no choice but to trust Joanna, so she nodded. When the lady of the house turned and walked down the hall, she followed her to a closed door. Joanna opened it, revealing yet another dark room.
“I’ll light a candle. Give me a moment,” Joanna said.
Sera stood at the entryway, trembling with worry. The room smelled of leather and a musky scent.
There was a strike of sparks, then a taper was lit, which was used to light a candle.
“Come inside. Quickly. Shut the door.”
Sera hesitated a moment and then did so, pressing her back against the door, ready to flee if need be.
“What has she done to you?” Joanna said, holding up the candle. “You’ve got blood on your dress. And your cheek is—”
The light had finally revealed Sera’s face. Joanna’s eyes bulged in surprise.
“Your Highness!” she gasped.
“I’ve been abducted,” Sera answered, concealing the penknife behind her back. She didn’t truly trust Joanna. Her surprise seemed genuine, but she’d been deceived before.
“What? How?”
“Lady Corinne brought me here. You didn’t know?”
“Certainly not! The servants have been acting strangely all day. And Mrs. Rosings said the steward fell ill suddenly. I was on my way just now to check on him. Something doesn’t feel right. I never thought . . . I’m in total shock.”
Sera glanced around the room. “Where’s your brother?”
Joanna shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s been gone for several days. But that’s not unlike him.” She continued to gawk at Sera. “Look at your face. Did Mrs. Rosings do that?”
“No, it was Lady Corinne,” Sera said. “They were keeping me in the cellar. Mr. Batewinch tried to call for help, but the keeper has tampered with the Control Leering. She . . . she killed him. Mrs. Rosings isn’t her real name. She’s Mrs. Pullman. She used to be the keeper of Fog Willows years ago.”
Joanna’s face lost color, and her mouth dropped open into a little O when Sera revealed poor Mr. Batewinch’s face. “Mrs. Pullman?” she said at last. “She came by recommendation of Lady Corinne, who told Mr. Batewinch to hire her.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Sera said. “So you knew nothing of this?”
Joanna shook her head quickly. “I thought you were one of the servants out wandering the hall at night. I know Mrs. Ro—well, whoever she is, doesn’t like it. The servants don’t like her, but she’s always been very pleasant to me. I . . . I can’t believe we were living with someone like that all this time.”
Sera’s trust was growing, but her instincts urged her to take care. They told her that all was not as it seemed. “Are you a maston, Joanna? Did you pass the Test?”
Joanna hung her head. “I did not.”
“Can you . . . I know this sounds strange, but can you open your nightgown a bit? I need to see if you’re wearing any jewelry. A medallion specifically.”
Joanna’s eyebrows bunched at the request. “I have a locket my mother gave me. How did you know?”
Dread grew in Sera’s heart. “Can I see it, please?” She adjusted her grip on the knife.
Joanna set the candle down on a nearby dresser. Sera watched her closely, concerned that the other woman might attack her if she relaxed her vigilance. Joanna unbuttoned a few buttons on her nightgown, revealing a golden chain and locket. Sera’s heart raced. Was it a kystrel?
Joanna pulled the locket out of her bodice. The candlelight made it gleam. It was the size of a gold coin with decorative edges.
“It was my mother’s,” Joanna said, angling it toward the light.
“Can you take it off? I’d like to see it more closely.”
Joanna reached behind her neck and worked at the clasp. When the chain dropped away, falling into Joanna’s cupped hand, Sera nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Here,” Joanna said, handing the locket over.
That surprised Sera. She’d learned from the Aldermastons that a hetaera never removed a kystrel willingly unless she was giving it to someone else who planned to use it. Sharing it that way would expand her power. As Sera took it, she felt no energy or magic emanating from it. The metal was warm, but only because it had been against Joanna’s skin. Sera turned it over, seeing the worn and antique facade. Although there were decorative patterns on it, none of them contained the whorl-like symbol of the kystrel.
“How did you know I had it?” Joanna asked.
“I thought it was . . . something else,” Sera said.
The sound of a key entering a lock came from behind Sera. She whirled and heard the mechanism click into place, locking them in the room. She grabbed at the handle, trying to twist it, but she was too late.
They were trapped.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HER GRACE
“What are we going to do?” Joanna whispered as the light from the candle flickered. Sera stared at the door, the barrier, and felt like screaming in frustration. This door was even sturdier than the one in the cellar.
“I don’t know,” Sera said, her voice sounding miserable even to her own ears. But she would not give up hope. There were other servants in the house. Could they be alerted? She rubbed her forehead, feeling the weariness, pain, and fear weigh on her. She still wasn’t sure she could trust Joanna.
“Here, sit down. There is so much blood. Let me see if I can wash some of it away. I think there might be some water in that pitcher. There’s a towel by Rand’s shaving bowl.”
“Water!” Sera said greedily, seeing the pitcher on a nearby dresser. She rushed to it a
nd thankfully, mercifully, it was still half full. She didn’t care how old and musty it was, she drank deeply from it, finding relief at long last. Never had a drink been so refreshing. Joanna stared at her as if she were slightly daft, but didn’t comment on it. There was still plenty of water left after she was done.
“Here, let me help you,” Joanna said. She poured water into the shaving bowl and dipped the towel into it. Sera sat on the cushioned seat by the table. It struck her that this was where Joses must have shaved Rand every morning—before the valet’s death. As part of her fruitless search for Cettie, she had heard multiple reports of that fateful day, the day before Cettie vanished. Joses, Cettie’s childhood friend from the Fells, had been killed by the Fear Liath in front of her eyes. The mental anguish must have been excruciating.
Where are you, Cettie?
The sting of Joanna’s ministrations as she wiped away the encrusted blood on her cheek jolted her from her thoughts.
Wincing, Sera asked, “Did your brother get a new valet after Joses died?”
“No,” Joanna answered. “It’s hard to find someone of quality these days, especially with the war going on. All the young men are off fighting. His room’s a mess, as you can clearly see, because of it.”
“How is Rand? Is he still considering public office?” Sera asked, scrunching her nose. She hadn’t kept up with the Patchetts much since Cettie’s departure, other than hearing about the brother’s failed attempt at politics. And talking would help distract her from the pain.
“Do you really want to talk about my brother?” Joanna said with a hint of doubt. “I’m tending the empress in my brother’s chamber because my keeper is holding us both hostage and killed our steward. This may be normal for you, Your Highness, but I’m a little rattled.”
“This is not normal,” Sera agreed. She looked up, meeting Joanna’s eyes. “It’s hard to trust anyone these days. When I first met you, it was at Pavenham Sky. Do you remember?”
