by Jeff Wheeler
Joanna squeezed the towel over the basin and then dipped it again in the water. “I remember it well. You were being snubbed by everyone during one of Lady Corinne’s teas.”
“You remember that?” Sera asked.
“I said I wished the war had never started. Cettie once told me that you met Prince Trevon there in disguise. He’d dropped a tray and made a mess. Your missing husband.”
The words stabbed into her, but she shook off the pain. “That’s right. It was him. In disguise. A good disguise can make a prince into a pauper, an enemy into a friend. And so you can naturally understand that I’m more than a little concerned about your loyalty.”
“Now we’re really talking,” Joanna said with a small smile. “I’d suspect me too, I suppose. The last time I saw Lady Corinne was when she came here a year ago to thwart my brother’s political ambitions. I was devastated when Pavenham Sky fell. And I’ve lived in dread that Gimmerton Sough may suffer the same fate. She owns it, after all. Why did the one manor plummet to the earth and not the other?”
“That’s not very comforting,” Sera said.
“It’s not supposed to be. I don’t even like this house. It’s gone dark again.”
“What do you mean?” Sera pressed.
“When we first moved here, things were strange. The Leerings didn’t work very well. I didn’t pass the Test, you know, but I did take it. This estate was full of . . . dark beings. Mr. Batewinch couldn’t control the main Leering. No matter what he did, the dark ones kept coming back and haunting our halls. Until Cettie came. For some reason, the Leerings obeyed her. I was grateful to her for that, and for what she did for Rand. He was very low back then. I feared he’d try to kill himself.”
Joanna finished scrubbing at Sera’s cheek. “Well, I think I got the rest of the blood off this scratch. But your arm is an entirely different mess. You were stabbed?”
“Lady Corinne did it.”
“I never would have thought her capable of such an act,” Joanna said. “She was always so mild, in person. But she was very cunning. I don’t know why she made me part of her set. It was almost as if . . .” She hesitated, shaking her head.
“Go on,” Sera pressed. Joanna was trying to pick the bloodied dress away from the wound, but it was a dried, wrinkled mess.
“I don’t want to make this worse. I’m not a doctor. Maybe if I just cut away the sleeve? I’d need a knife, though.”
“I have one,” Sera said, realizing she was still gripping the penknife in her good hand. She wanted to hand it over, but her feelings of distrust throbbed to life again. Sera paused, taking a deep breath, and stared into Joanna’s eyes. “I have to ask you a question first. Do not lie to me, Joanna. If you help me escape, I will reward you and I will forgive any past treachery, but I need to know if I can trust you.”
Her words had shaken Joanna. The young woman blinked rapidly, her eyes large in the dim room, but then she nodded in agreement. “What do you want to ask me?”
“Are you a poisoner?”
Joanna flinched. “A poisoner? Are you serious?”
“I am very serious,” Sera answered. “Look me in the eye and answer me.”
“I’m not, Sera. Truly. I’m not. The only way I even know what one is because Rand’s told me about them.”
“Rand?”
She nodded vigorously. “He . . . he knows things. From the Ministry of War, I think. He told me once that he thought I’d make a good poisoner. I thought he was jesting.”
She was so convincing. Her words felt true. But Sera still wasn’t convinced. The medallion Joanna wore didn’t have the traditional markings, but hetaera often gave their kystrels to someone else to wear. She knew, from the spies they’d captured, that hetaera had brands on their shoulders. Even Empress Maia had carried the mark on her shoulder.
“You don’t believe me,” Joanna said, shaking her head. “How can I prove myself loyal to you, Sera? I know my brother and I will be ruined if I do not help you. Believe me, I don’t want that. I’ll do anything I can to prove myself to you.”
Sera sighed. “Can I see your shoulders?”
“My shoulders? Why?”
“I cannot tell you. But if you want me to trust you, then do as I ask.”
“That’s a strange request to make.”
“I know.” Sera sat still on the stuffed chair, staring at Joanna with an unflinching gaze.
Joanna shrugged and opened more of the buttons on her nightgown. She then slipped the fabric down on her right shoulder, revealing the pale, unmarked skin.
“The other one too,” Sera said.
Joanna lifted the fabric up again and then turned and pulled the nightdress down on the other side. “What do you think you’ll find?” she asked curiously. She gave Sera an arch look from over her shoulder. There was nothing. Nothing but . . .
Joanna was about to pull the nightgown back up, when Sera stood up from the cushioned seat. “Wait.”
The young woman paused, confusion on her face. “What is it?”
“Something on your neck,” Sera lied. “Look away.”
Joanna’s brow wrinkled. She turned her face away from Sera, who took up the wet towel. There was a slightly different coloring on Joanna’s shoulder. It had almost escaped her notice, but the candlelight had revealed it. Sera raised the moist towel and dragged it across the spot. The discoloration wiped away, revealing a brand. The fountain lily Sera recognized from the shoulders of the other hetaera they’d caught.
Joanna’s hand seized Sera’s wrist, her grip punishing, and pulled it away. As if nothing had happened, she lifted the gown to conceal the brand again and buttoned up her nightdress. She turned to face Sera, her expression angry but not alarmed.
Sera licked her lips and shook her head slowly. “You are very good. I almost believed you.”
Joanna cocked her head. “I knew it would be hard deceiving you, Your Grace. I hoped it would work.”
“How long?” Sera demanded.
Joanna’s eyebrows wrinkled in a mute question.
“How long have you infiltrated the empire? I’m assuming when you first arrived with your brother.” Sera stopped, looking askance at Joanna. “Or is he really your brother? He’s not, is he?”
Joanna smirked. “No, we just pretend to be siblings. I may as well tell you. The irony is delicious.”
“What do you mean?” Sera asked.
“Randall Patchett is being confined at the poisoner school where I was trained. He believes he’s making a sacrifice to save his younger sister’s life. He doesn’t know that she’s being held at another school. The Rand you know is Will Russell.”
Sera started. “He didn’t die?” It struck her that this other part of the war, silent and full of layer after layer of deceit and trickery, had been in motion for years.
“You’re beginning to see now, aren’t you?” Joanna said smugly. “We began recruiting Will when your father sent him away. Nothing chafes a man more than being robbed of his inheritance . . . or his opportunity for glory. He was a prime target. His feelings of revenge against you and your father were fierce. The accident on the sky ship . . . it ruined him. He’d always relied on his looks, but his face was mangled, scarred. Everyone thought he was dead, but we were waiting for him beneath the waves. Will is a kishion now. He can’t wait to see you again. We promised him his revenge, and he will get it.”
Sera felt revulsion at the words and the callous way Joanna delivered them. “So he never cared for Cettie. It was a ruse, a plot.”
“You’re very astute, Your Grace,” Joanna said.
“And what about you?” Sera pressed, trying to subdue her outrage and anger. “How is it you both look like the Patchett siblings? Is it magic?”
“I cannot tell you, Your Grace. It’s a Mystery.” She smiled condescendingly. “As for myself, I’m here to keep you under guard until Corinne returns.”
“Is that even who she is?” Sera demanded. “Or is it another trick? Another deceptio
n?”
Joanna’s brow narrowed. “I’m not at liberty to divulge all of our secrets, Your Grace. This game would have been more fun if I’d fooled you. If you think cutting me with that little knife will do you any good, I’d like to disabuse you of that notion. You cannot hurt me. Though if you feel the need to try, by all means, do so.”
Sera felt a little foolish brandishing a penknife against someone who’d been given years of training as a poisoner. Rather than allow Joanna to twist it out of her hand, she dropped it on the floor, listening to it rattle as it landed.
“Where’s Cettie?” Sera asked.
Joanna gave her a long, probing look. “She’s on her way back to Lockhaven as we speak. She’s a hetaera now. And a poisoner. She will become you.”
Sera closed her eyes. Not her friend. Not her confidante.
“We’ve been preparing her for a long time. It was all so innocent at first. She didn’t know that by befriending you, she was helping us overthrow the empire.”
“Is Trevon alive, then? Is he part of this too somehow?” She wished she could punch Joanna in the mouth. Her earlier feelings of helplessness had returned. She was trapped once again. Deceived and betrayed.
Joanna smiled knowingly. “He plays a part in this, yes. We need him alive for now. Just as you are needed for the illusion to be perfect.”
I have been developing my map of the disease. I’ve hand-drawn a map of the streets around Killingworth Hospital. I’ve walked these streets a hundred times and so their names are familiar. Some streets are straight, others crooked. Each building is a square or rectangle on my map. Within each of these, I have tallied the number of victims whose lives have been claimed by the cholera morbus. There are lines in factories too, but I’ve noted that most of the tally marks are in the tenements and houses.
What am I missing? There seems to be an unusual grouping of tally marks on Marshall Street. Is there something about it that causes so much death? I can’t say how many times I have walked down this street. Seen the women scrubbing clothes in the fountain Leerings. Watched the pigeons strut along the rooftops. Listened to the clack of carriage wheels on the cobblestones. Marshall Street is four blocks away from Killingworth Hospital. I go there every day, knocking on door after door, asking how many have died. How many are sick. Another scratch. Another tally.
And the sun goes down once again.
—Adam Creigh, Killingworth Hospital
CETTIE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE GROVE
The jostle of the carriage wheels on a patch of uneven ground roused Cettie from her slumber. The noise of the hooves and the rhythm of the wheels had made it easy to nod off. The boy sat next to her, staring out the window, a peaceful look on his face. Across from her sat the man who had rescued her from the Hotel Vecchio in Pree. After they’d put enough distance between themselves and the hotel, he’d freed her from the chest, leaving her unharmed but for a sore neck.
She felt a weight on her lap and noticed someone had set the scabbard with the raven sigil across her lap. Once again, she noticed the subtle melody it exuded. It radiated magic. She lowered her hand to the smooth leather scabbard and felt her skin tingle.
Cettie became aware that she’d been relieved of the aches and bruises from her fight with Will. She rubbed along her forearm. No pain, not even a little spot.
Her eyes lifted and met Owen’s. He was smiling knowingly at her.
“What have you done?” she asked him. It was as if she’d been healed with Everoot.
“I found that scabbard when I was younger. It has certain powers. I thought they might be useful while you slept.”
Cettie rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
“Don’t be. You’ve missed some excellent scenery, but that is all. We’re approaching Brythonica. We’ll be there by nightfall.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” Cettie said. “I would like to know more about you. You’ve been very kind to me.”
Owen shrugged. “There’s too much to tell.” He folded his arms. “The story would fill a book. But now isn’t the right time. Are you nervous about returning home?”
Home. The word brought a pang of guilt. She didn’t deserve to go home.
Cettie looked down. “I think so, yes,” she stammered. “I wonder what will happen. I’ve disappointed so many people. I . . . I wasn’t always like this. I was deceived. Led down a dark path.”
Owen said nothing, just looked at her with sympathy.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have left like I did. I’m afraid of what will happen to my friends. The people who trained me threatened to kill them.”
“I imagine they did.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “There is no greater fear than that of suspense. Your mind begins to imagine the worst.”
“It’s true,” Cettie said. “But I’ve seen some of the worst. It’s not an idle threat. My return will lead to many troubles.”
“So what if it does? You’ll face them.”
Cettie sighed and nodded. If she could do something to help Sera, the empire, then it was worth the risk of being executed by her own people. In any case, she couldn’t predict the future. She wasn’t a harbinger anymore. The last vision she’d had was the one of the attack on Fitzroy—the one that had set her down this path.
The carriage began to slow, and there was a thump from the driver’s seat.
Owen slid across the seat to open the window. “What is it?”
“Road blocked ahead, sir,” shouted the driver from above. “Soldiers.”
“Whose?”
“Occitanian.”
“Is everything all right, Papa?” Curtis asked. His brow wrinkled.
“It will be fine,” Owen said comfortingly. The carriage continued to slow.
Cettie felt her stomach clench with dread. She had her poisoner bag on the seat beside her, plus the pistol she’d stolen from Will and the dagger she always carried. She would not let anyone harm the old man and his grandson.
“What are we going to do?” she asked him, her voice becoming firm.
“We’re going to reach our destination,” he answered. “Just a minor delay. I wouldn’t worry.”
“I am worried,” Cettie said. She leaned toward the window and tried to look ahead. It was a military blockade. Pickets had been erected to block the road. Horses were tethered to them, and there were twelve, maybe thirteen, men assembled, dressed as soldiers and armed with muskets and sabers. She glanced at the other two passengers.
“It’s all right,” Owen insisted. Then he reached for the Raven scabbard. “But just in case.”
The carriage slowed to a halt. Cettie heard the soldiers talk to the driver, but their voices were garbled. Owen looked at Curtis and smiled. “Stay in here with Cettie. I’ll talk with them. Don’t come out of the carriage, all right?”
“What will you do, Papa?”
“I’m just going to talk to the soldiers. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
“I know you’re not. Take care of Cettie for me?” He looked at her as he said it.
“I will, Papa!”
“Good. Stay in here.” Gripping the scabbard in one hand, he opened the carriage door and stepped outside without hesitation. One of the soldiers shouted at him to return to the carriage, but he did not heed the man.
Cettie put her arm around Curtis and pulled him closer to her. She watched as Owen disappeared, and then she slid along the bench to get a better view. Though she couldn’t hear what was being said, he was addressing the soldiers in low tones. They had all gathered around the carriage now, and some had their weapons aimed at it.
The captain of the soldiers had an unfriendly look on his weather-beaten face. “So you claim this is your daughter and her child?” he said, loud enough to be heard through the open window. He craned his neck, looking around Owen at her and Curtis. “I think you are traitors and spies!”
“Please let us pass,” Owen said calmly, speaking louder in respon
se to the captain’s bluster. “We are doing the Fountain’s will. Stand aside.”
“You are not in charge here, old man!” the captain snapped. “Seize the carriage. Arrest them.”
“I don’t think that is a wise choice, Captain,” said Owen, drawing the sword from the Raven scabbard.
“You think I’m afraid of an old man?” the captain sneered. “I said seize the carriage. Driver, come down at once, or you’ll be shot.”
Owen’s shoulders sagged. “I’m afraid, Captain, that I can’t let you do this.”
“You’re daft! Bind him in irons, I say.”
Two of the soldiers approached Owen, one of them carrying irons. Cettie stared, wanting to use the power of the kystrel to save him. Even though Owen had broken it, she wondered if she could still invoke its power—although doing so would likely bring Will down upon her.
Just then, Owen swung the scabbard around and struck one of the two men in the temple, dropping him to the ground. The other froze, staring at him in shock, and Owen kneed him in the stomach. A gunshot rang out, the explosion jolting the cabin and startling the horses, who neighed in terror and bucked. The air was instantly hazy with smoke. Cettie was about to charge out and join the commotion, but she felt Curtis tug on her arm.
“Papa said to stay inside.”
“He may be hurt,” Cettie said.
The boy only smiled. “He isn’t.”
Some of the smoke cleared, at least enough to see. She watched in awe as Owen whipped his sword around, cutting the arm of a man armed with a musket. The soldier promptly dropped his weapon, backing away as he winced in pain. Another gunshot sounded, and Cettie gasped, afraid the old man’s streak of luck had finally ended, but the shot missed. The captain raised his own pistol, aiming directly at Owen’s face, and pulled the trigger.
Cettie nearly screamed out. At that close range, he couldn’t have missed. But the pistol jammed, and the captain, snarling, shook it and tried again. Nothing happened, so he threw down the pistol, which fired and hit one of his own men. Bellowing with anger, he drew his saber and charged at Owen. The two exchanged quick blows before the captain was pierced in the breast by Owen’s longer sword. He groaned and dropped to his knees, trying to stanch the blood.
