by Jeff Wheeler
Sera felt such strong emotions she thought the ocean was surging inside her heart. “But we could rule . . . together!”
Trevon gave her a slow shake of his head. “I don’t think your people would accept that. At least not yet. So I make no demands. I have no expectations. Whatever is right, we will do it. And you will be the most influential ruler since your forebear ascended to her power.”
Sera closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him to her with all her might. “I can’t believe you are saying this,” she whispered. “I would never have asked you to do it. I wouldn’t have dared hope for it.”
He pressed a kiss against her head. “I know, love. It wouldn’t have happened before the nightmare we went through. But these trials we’ve seen have bent me into a better shape.”
She looked into his face and leaned up on her tiptoes to reach his lips with hers. It was just as delicious as she remembered and stirred up all those familiar feelings in her heart. The surge of relief, of joy, of satisfaction radiated from the tip of her nose to the soles of her feet. She let the wave carry her.
“Are you sure, Trevon?” she asked him after their kiss, stroking his bottom lip with her fingertip.
“I am sure, Sera. But let’s ask the Aldermaston all the same. I’m thinking I would like to spend some time at the abbey. Learn what you have learned. See for myself how it matches with the traditions that I was taught. Perhaps I’ll take the Test myself someday.”
She gripped the front of his coat. “You’ve given me my heart’s desire.”
He stroked some hair away from her forehead and then kissed her there. “I know you are good at cleaning up messes. Let me help you this time.”
It’s been two months since I last wrote in this journal. These will be looked back on by others, and what can I say that has not already been said? These words may be of benefit to a future generation who did not live when the mirror gates allowed us to travel between worlds. The histories will reference names like General Leon Montpensier, but they will forget the flawed, ambitious man and only remember his deeds. They will forget the self-sacrifice of Trevon Argentine, who forsook a kingdom to live among people who were bitter and resentful of his homeland.
How can I, with this meager pen, relate such events? I will do my best.
Lord Welles chose exile instead of execution. He and those who speculated on his success have been banished to the island of Tenby. It is in the southern hemisphere on the other side of the world. It will take years before they’ve advanced to the point where they might be able to cross the seas again. They will have no Leerings for heat, light, or water. It would not surprise me if they made Welles their king, though a miserable kingdom it will be. The courts are still full of cases of treason, and the hurricanes will not disembark to Tenby until the end of the year. While the weather is lamentable here, it is strangely calm and beautiful in the southern sphere. Some of the gazettes have faulted the empress for her leniency. Some people are always thirsting for blood.
Mr. Durrant has been a capable prime minister and has already begun implementing the programs Her Majesty decreed. He is shrewd in his placement of officers. It seems the Ministry of Law has finally earned its turn at the helm of power. Yet the empress and her husband are wise to not let any one ministry control the whole. She seeks advice from all the other ministers as well, forming balance in her judgments.
There is one case that has been of especial importance to me. Cettie has had her trial too. I received word from Mr. Teitelbaum that it will be concluded today. The evidence was presented in secret council. The judgment will be pronounced today at the court of justice in Hyde Street here in the Fells. And so I must forsake my pen again. I would be there when the pronouncement is made. I hope it is fair.
—Adam Creigh, Killingworth Hospital
CHAPTER THIRTY−FIVE
THE VERDICT OF CELESTINA PRATT
Cettie sat solemnly at the council’s bench, sitting alongside Mr. Sloan, her advocate. Lady Maren had insisted that the family lawyers represent her case, and she was there as well, sitting on Cettie’s other side, holding her hand beneath the table.
The chief magistrate, Lord Wilcom Coy, sat on an elevated seat. Though his judicial robes and powdered wig were immaculate, he had the haggard look of a man who’d made judgment on hundreds of cases in the months since the mirror gates had all failed. Cettie had watched several people burst into tears as their verdicts were read. Many of them had been deemed guilty of conspiracy and would have to forfeit their lands and titles. How they had wept. The wheels of justice had ground them to dust. It was very intimidating, especially with the crowd of onlookers in the benches behind the wood barrier.
It could have been evening outside, but there were no windows to mark the passage of time. The only light came from Leerings hidden by translucent glass. It was Cettie’s turn at last. Whatever came next, she was comforted by the knowledge Mr. Sloan had done his best to defend her. She did not feel exempt from justice. She embraced it.
“Now hearing,” said the ministry official standing at Lord Coy’s elbow, “the verdict of the case of Celestina Pratt of the Fells.”
Mr. Sloan nodded to the man and leaned back in his chair. He looked completely at ease. Cettie wished she felt equally confident in the outcome.
Lady Maren squeezed her hand again.
Lord Coy cleared his throat. He was a large man with a reddish-brown beard that clashed with the white wig. He had penetrating eyes and a solemn expression.
“Now to the next case at hand,” he said, looking through the papers stacked before him. “This is a complex case, and as such, we saved it for the end of the session today. Lady Fitzroy, our apologies you’ve had to wait so long for a resolution to this matter.”
“Her ladyship thanks you for your consideration,” said Mr. Sloan, dipping his chin.
“In summary,” said Lord Coy, “Celestina, known as Cettie Pratt, willingly joined the woman declaring herself as Lady Corinne Lawton of Pavenham Sky, who was, as the record now shows, an imposter by the legal name of Christina Towers . . .” The judge went on to describe, in brief, all that had occurred since, but Cettie found her thoughts wandering. The legal talk made her story feel like something that had happened to another person altogether. A tale completely bereft of emotion.
She snapped back to attention when Mr. Sloan gently tapped her arm. He glanced toward the judge, his message obvious. Her attention was once again required. The verdict was about to be announced. Lord Coy folded his hands together, leaning forward on his desk. “All charges against Miss Cettie have been withdrawn. As the natural daughter of Christina Towers, Miss Cettie is considered a full member of the empire, entitled to all its privileges and rules of adoption.
“Lord and Lady Fitzroy have pursued the rights of adoption for many years and were only barred because they lacked the consent of Mr. Pratt, who now holds no legal rights over her whatsoever. The motion to adopt her has now been granted, and the Ministry of Thought has given its permission for Miss Cettie to be bound to the Fitzroy family by irrevocare sigil. Once the ceremony has been performed at the abbey of their choice, her legal name will henceforth be Cettie Fitzroy.”
The magistrate smiled at her as Cettie’s eyes widened. She could hardly breathe and stifled a sob. She’d expected she might face punishment, imprisonment or exile or worse, for her part in the events of the last months. She hadn’t expected this . . . But judging by the pleased expression of her mother and Mr. Sloan, they had been keeping this secret from her.
Lord Coy tilted his head. “It is my understanding, Lady Maren, that your son, Lord Stephen, has agreed to act as proxy for his father in the ceremony?”
“I have,” said a voice from behind them.
Cettie hadn’t known he would be there, and she twisted in her chair, gasping when she saw Stephen, Anna, Phinia, and Milk were all seated in the row of seats behind her. They had slipped in without her noticing. Her throat
was so constricted she couldn’t speak, but she smiled at them. Then she saw Adam, sitting farther in the back, as if he wasn’t quite sure he belonged. A congratulatory smile lit up his face. She blinked quickly, struggling to contain the tears that had welled up in her eyes.
“This is by order of the Ministry of Law and the Ministry of Thought. The adoption decree has been approved. This court is now adjourned. Congratulations, young lady.”
Cettie turned and embraced Mother, squeezing her. She felt wet tears on her cheek, not her own but Lady Maren’s.
“How long have you known?” Cettie said, choking on her words.
“Sera wanted it all done legally. She could have ordered it so, but she felt that a trial would do more to appease your conscience than anything else we might do.” She caressed Cettie’s cheek.
The other family members came around the barrier, and Cettie hugged them one by one. Even Phinia seemed sincere in her congratulations.
“Do you know what abbey you would prefer?” Stephen asked her after embracing her. “You get to decide.”
“Muirwood,” Cettie said without hesitation.
Stephen’s eyes crinkled. “I thought so. We’ll make the arrangements. I’m glad you’ll be my sister at last.”
She felt a rush of warmth. Once again, she reflected on how proud she was of the man he’d become. Stephen had stepped into his role as the leader of the family, and he wore it well.
“I think someone else is waiting their turn,” Stephen said, giving a subtle nod toward Adam Creigh, who waited at the barrier patiently, his palms resting on the wood.
Anna turned to look, and when she saw him, she walked over and put her hand on Adam’s. She said something to him, and he nodded. Butterflies fluttered in Cettie’s chest. Were they about to announce their engagement? If so, she would bear it. She would be happy for them, no matter how much her heart hurt for what could have been. Then Anna left him and joined their mother, pausing only to squeeze Cettie’s hand, and Cettie knew the time had come for her to greet him.
“I’m happy for you,” he said as she approached him at the barrier.
“Thank you,” Cettie replied, feeling her cheeks growing warm. “And thank you for coming.”
“If you have time in the coming days, I would like to show you the hospital,” he said. “But I’ll admit I have selfish motives. I’ve studied the cholera morbus for years and am no closer to discovering how to stop it. I hoped . . . if you’re willing . . . to share the information I’ve collected with you. I haven’t forgotten how you and Fitzroy discovered the storm glass together. Perhaps you might see something I haven’t. I would be grateful if you’d come.”
“Of course,” Cettie said. “I doubt I’d be much help, but I’m willing to learn.”
Lady Maren approached them. “She can borrow the zephyr tomorrow and come to you in the morning?”
“That would be ideal,” Adam said. “I look forward to it. Come as early as you like.”
Cettie visited Killingworth every day for the next week and soon was known throughout the hospital as Dr. Creigh’s particular friend. The building had once been a manor house, though it had been refurbished to make it suitable as a hospital. She was impressed by the order, the rhythm of it, and especially Adam’s insistence that whoever came there was treated, regardless of their ability to afford it. No one was turned away. With the empress as his patron, he did not lack for funds. Cettie learned that another hospital, similar to it, had been chartered in the City.
They spent hours together poring over his studies, especially the map he had made of the latest victims of the cholera morbus. Some days they traveled together to new neighborhoods where deaths had been reported. The danger she’d felt as a child in the Fells was slowly changing. Officers from the Ministry of War had been assigned to patrol the streets. The gangs feared the dragoons, and so the thievery and violence had diminished. There were also many construction projects underway, putting people to work and improving their living conditions.
Cettie had always shared Adam’s passion for the work of the Ministry of Wind, and the days seemed to go by in a blur. At the end of each day, she’d return by zephyr to Fog Willows. Part of her didn’t want to go back. She wanted to stay with him. He didn’t speak of Anna, which made her wonder whether there was indeed something between the two of them. She dared not ask. To be near to him and discuss his work at the hospital was not a duty to her. It was a passion. Her mind kept racing to solve the mystery of the disease. Though Adam had come so far on his own, something was still missing.
A week after the trial ended, she was poring over his map yet again in his office, the two of them alone, considering the various houses and buildings. Why were so many of the deaths clustered in the same general area? Not all of them, of course, but so many.
“There is something they have in common,” Cettie whispered. “We just can’t see it.”
“There were four more deaths yesterday,” he said, joining her at the map. “Here and here. Three from one household. One from that house, there.”
Cettie remembered walking down that street with Adam over the last week. She could imagine the houses perfectly in her mind. She remembered the cries of street vendors, the rush of children, the washerwomen gathered at one of the Leering wells washing clothes.
Cettie remembered how filthy the water was.
“The Water Leering,” Cettie said, the image of the gouged face hidden from sight with stone panels sharp in her mind.
“I’ve examined the Leering,” Adam said, shaking his head. “It’s perfectly sound. The water is clear. It supplies the entire neighborhood.”
Cettie scrunched up her nose. “But the water in the fountain . . . the water they wash with. That water is filthy.”
“Of course. So is the water from all the fountains.”
Cettie stared at the map. A thought niggled in her mind.
“What if the disease is in the filthy water? Some people are so thirsty they’ll drink anything. What if . . . what if something is poisoning the water after it comes out of the Leerings?”
Adam gazed at her. “Why would anyone drink from it?”
“Let’s go back to the Leering well we went to yesterday. The one here,” Cettie said, pointing to the middle of the dark marks on the map.
“Very well.”
He grabbed his coat and her cloak, and the two of them left Killingworth together, walking side by side down the busy street. In half an hour, they had arrived at the well and found, as they had before, the washerwomen scrubbing laundry in the fetid water.
“Let’s sit for a while and just watch,” Cettie suggested.
They picked a place away from the others and sat on the edge of the fountain. Just as they both remembered, the water was murky and full of filth.
“I appreciate that you keep coming every day,” Adam said, folding his arms. He didn’t look at her, just gazed at the crowd walking to and fro around the fountain.
“I like coming to the hospital,” Cettie said, rubbing her palm on the smooth cool stone.
“Could you see yourself living in the Fells someday?” he asked her. “It’s changed quite a bit already, and Sera says her work isn’t done.”
She felt a prickle of gooseflesh on her arms. “What do you mean?” she asked, looking the other way.
“If you had to choose between Fog Willows . . . and living here.”
She swallowed, feeling heat rising up her neck. “Do you need more help at the hospital?” She glanced his way.
“Always.” He chuckled softly. “But that’s not what I had in mind.”
She licked her lips. “What did you have in mind?”
He turned and met her gaze. “I still love you, Cettie. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Her heart lifted. She’d longed so dearly to hear those words from him again. Had she dared believe he might say them? “What about Anna?” she forced herself to ask.
Adam’s eyes softened. “I tried loving he
r. I knew you’d expect me to. So did she. We went on walks together at Fog Willows. Sometimes she came here, but she was always so uncomfortable. Not like you.” He looked down. “At the end of the trial, she told me that she wanted you and me to be happy. She knew she’d rather have me as a brother than lose me to the family completely.” He stared into Cettie’s eyes. “I did try, Cettie. But my heart wouldn’t have it.”
Cettie folded her hands on her lap. “After all I’ve done?”
His hand snaked over and clasped hers. Then he met her eyes again. “It’s you. Or it’s no one. Take as long as you need to decide. I’ll keep waiting. I didn’t want to rush you.”
She didn’t need time to decide. Her greatest hope had been answered.
“I will,” she whispered to him, smiling. She could imagine their future together at Killingworth. Husband and wife, they would work side by side to right wrongs and provide for their people. From time to time, Sera would need her as a protector, a guardian, and a hunter of evil people who sought to destroy the peace they were cultivating, but this would be her home. He would be her home.
And then she noticed the weeping woman washing soiled baby linens. Her mind opened up in a vision, and she saw the woman’s baby dying of the cholera morbus—and the waters in the fountain spreading the disease to everyone else who washed clothes there.
The disease was being spread by the washerwomen. And they didn’t even know it.
Her hands tightened on Adam’s.
“You will?” he asked, his mouth turning to a smile.
“Yes. Yes, I will!” she said, growing more excited. “But I see how the disease is spreading. I see it, Adam, and I know how we can stop it!”
She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Her feelings were so overwhelming at that moment, she couldn’t bear the ache of joy. With her hands clasped around his neck, she leaned forward and kissed Adam, grateful for the kindest of men who had rescued her heart.
