by Jeff Wheeler
“Thank you for piloting us home,” Cettie said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak.
He came away from the helm, paused to stare at the manor for a moment, and then leaped down to the main deck. Rand heaved out a sigh as he slumped next to her. His look was dark and brooding, and she could tell he, too, was struggling with the events of the day.
He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. “When my father died, I was bereft,” he said stonily. “It’s difficult to describe. Words are inadequate.” He gazed off to the side, tilting his face away from her. “I’m not made of the same stuff as you. The poppy oil didn’t ease my pain, but it helped bury it.” He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
The gesture was tender, but her heart felt nothing. The zephyr dipped abruptly, and she felt his control of the craft weakening. He grunted, slapped his thighs, and then stood and went back to the helm. He cast her a backward glance, a small smile on his mouth. “You make piloting seem so easy.”
Cettie appreciated the praise, but if it were not for him, they’d both plummet to their deaths like poor Mr. Skrelling had the night of a terrible storm.
After Rand resumed his spot at the helm, the zephyr’s movement became smooth again. She shivered, the warmth he’d temporarily brought her seeping away. She gazed over the side, watching the manor become larger, noticing the breeze on her face. This was the very zephyr she and Fitzroy had used to test the properties of the storm glass—her greatest accomplishment—but even that memory had burned to ashes. There wasn’t even a spark of pleasure to be had from it. Her heart was a void.
She must have noticed the tempest in the landing yard at the same moment as Rand, for he leaned forward and called out, “There’s a tempest there.”
Cettie didn’t remember anyone announcing they planned on visiting. Poor Lady Maren was all alone too. For a moment, she dreaded it was the accursed Captain Francis again. The last time he had chosen to disgrace Fog Willows with his presence, Raj Sarin had beaten him into submission and sent him skulking away.
As they drew closer, Cettie got a better look at the ship. She didn’t recognize it. But Rand did.
“That’s Lady Corinne’s tempest,” he said in a surprised tone. He cast a sidelong look at Cettie, his eyes registering confusion, his voice betraying resentment.
Cettie rose from the bench, swayed slightly, and had to grip the railing. She gazed down as Rand maneuvered the zephyr and set it down near the tempest. His brows knit in consternation as he tossed the rope ladder over the railing.
“I thought your family was estranged from her?” he said.
“We are,” Cettie answered. Although her heart felt dead, a toxic brew of wariness, distrust, and fatigue formed inside her.
Rand climbed down first and then waited for her at the bottom, seeing her safely down.
“I don’t have a way to get back to Gimmerton Sough,” he said. “I can take the zephyr post tomorrow if you’ll let me stay the night.”
Cettie nodded to him. “I’ll have Mr. Kinross prepare a guest room for you.”
“Thank you,” he said, and together they walked to the main doors. She felt the magic of the manor respond to her presence, recognizing the key she wore, which gave her the authority to command it. But her home no longer felt peaceful.
When they reached the doors, she opened them, finding no butler or servants in the main hall. She tried reaching out to the Control Leering and felt its sluggish response. The key granted her certain abilities, regardless of her own worthiness or capability, but the power she accessed felt wrong . . . ugly. In a moment, Mr. Kinross appeared down the corridor, hastening to reach her.
“The Leerings just alerted me to your arrival,” he said to her, noticing with a small frown that she was alone with Rand. Her heart seemed to grow even heavier. He didn’t know about Joses yet. “We have a visitor. Lady Corinne is talking to Lady Maren.” He puffed out his cheeks as if trying to describe the moon growing flowers spontaneously.
“Would you tell Mother I’ve returned?” Cettie asked him, touching Kinross’s sleeve.
“She told me to watch for you,” Kinross said. “She wants you to join them.”
That was odd. But perhaps it was best for her to keep an eye on Lady Corinne. What she’d heard of Sera’s experience at Pavenham Sky had put her on her guard.
“Would you prepare a room for Mr. Patchett, please?” Cettie said.
“Of course. If you’ll follow me.” He gestured to Rand, who looked at Cettie in concern and then nodded. His expression told her to be wary, as if she needed any further coaxing.
Mother and Lady Corinne were in the sitting room. Cettie knocked softly before entering. It would appear the day’s surprises were not over. The two ladies sat on adjacent stuffed chairs. Lady Maren’s face looked flushed and strained, and upon seeing Cettie, she jumped up from her chair and hastened to embrace her. Lady Corinne slowly stood, giving Cettie a dignified look, but one that showed some strain.
Cettie didn’t think she could bear any further news. She wanted to flee from the room, to hide somewhere and cover her ears.
“I’m so glad you are back,” Lady Maren said, swallowing as if to master herself. There were tears in her eyes. This was clearly news of the worst sort.
“What is it?”
“Can I tell her?” Lady Corinne asked, looking to the lady of the house for permission.
Maren gripped Cettie’s arm and led her back to the stuffed chair. There was just enough room for them to sit side by side. Lady Corinne seated herself again as well, her eyes still fixed on Maren, seeking permission.
“Yes,” Maren stammered. “Yes, it should be you.” Her mother’s voice, her gaze—all spoke of disappointment and sadness. What had happened? She squeezed Maren’s hands, as if clinging to a rope.
Lady Corinne was beautiful, but it was a cold, stately sort of beauty. Her posture was rigid and proper, her gloves edged just so with lace. Her hat, a confection of feathers and lace, had been placed on a nearby table. Cettie stared at Lady Corinne expectantly, daring her to do her worst. No news could be as awful as what had already happened.
She was wrong.
“Cettie, I came to Fog Willows tonight because I am finally at liberty to speak. What I have told Lady Maren, what I now tell you, will soon become public knowledge now that the binding sigil has been lifted. Do you know what a binding sigil is?”
Cettie nodded. Mrs. Pullman had used one against her as a child, preventing her from speaking about the former keeper’s abuse and the crimes she committed.
“I thought as much. What I tell you has been a secret since before you were born. It is a shameful secret, but it can be kept silent no longer, for it affects the government of this world and worlds beyond. Lord Fitzroy, before he was prime minister, had long searched for the identity of your mother in order that he and Lady Maren may adopt you. It was not until he became prime minister, however, that he was able to discover the truth, which has been deliberately concealed.” Lady Corinne paused, her lips pressed firmly together.
Before she could say any more, Cettie knew. It struck her like a lightning bolt. “It’s you,” she whispered.
Lady Corinne looked down a moment, her emotions under firm control, then gazed up at Cettie and nodded. “Yes. I was very young when I had you. Because of the scandal it would have caused, a binding sigil was performed to prevent me from speaking of it. I assure you, I could not have told you even if I had desperately wanted to. And I did not. I was young and naïve. And I gave in to the advances of Willard Richard Fitzempress, who is your natural father.”
At the words, Cettie felt a sudden surge of heat inside her heart. It shocked her, made her squirm. She stared at Lady Corinne in disbelief.
“You are a Fitzempress,” Lady Corinne said.
The news shocked her, overwhelmed her, overturned her self-identity. She and Sera were . . . were sisters?
“B-but Mr. P
ratt,” Cettie said, shaking her head.
Lady Maren began stroking Cettie’s arm. “He is Sera’s father,” she said, her voice quavering. “That, too, has been kept a secret. He has no authority over you. He never has.”
Cettie was in a whirl of confusion. “I-I don’t understand.” She had been told that her father was the kishion.
“Has it not seemed strange to you,” Lady Corinne said, “why your birth mother never came forward? I could not. Nor did I want to bring shame on myself . . . or Richard. I was unable to do so.”
Cettie stared at her, unable to cry, but feeling like she wanted to. “You left me in the Fells?”
Lady Corinne looked down. “You were taken from me at birth,” she said huskily. “I didn’t know you’d been sent there. There was no doctor when you came. My parents wanted to be rid of you. To purge the stain of my shame. They signed the deed under an assumed name and did it in the Fells where it wouldn’t be questioned or researched. Illegitimate children are not rare down there. I didn’t even know what they had named you.”
Cettie stared at the floor, unable to cope with the tumult the news had unleashed inside her. Suddenly, it struck her that this would not just affect her. It would affect Sera as well.
“So Sera is illegitimate as well? She has gone to Kingfountain in the hopes of marrying Prince Trevon someday.”
“I know,” said Lady Corinne dispassionately. “When the emperor found out, he was willing to let the marriage happen to be rid of her forever. But Lord Fitzroy discovered the binding sigil and had it removed. If he tells the truth, it will destroy the peace treaty between our worlds. The emperor . . . Richard wants the marriage to proceed, but he does not want to grant Sera the right to inherit when he knows she cannot.” There was a little pause. “There may be another way to solve this problem. That is why I came here. You could take Seraphin’s place in the marriage contract. The peace treaty will not expire for another six months. Perhaps you can set things right. You are a Fitzempress, no matter that you were born out of wedlock, and thus of a rank to appease the court of Kingfountain. You have the power over Leerings that Sera has always lacked. When she was living at Pavenham Sky, I saw that she was no true heir. Now I know it is you. As I have no other children, Cettie, you will inherit Pavenham Sky and all that I possess.”
Cettie felt herself swooning beneath the weight of this new information. The dramatic change in her fortunes was completely unexpected. But a feeling in Cettie’s heart assured her that Lady Corinne was being truthful.
“What . . . what happened to Mr. Skrelling?” Cettie demanded. “He went to Pavenham Sky before he died. Did he know?”
Lady Corinne looked at her fixedly. “He stole the Cruciger orb. And yes, he discovered the truth. It was his work that led the prime minister to the binding sigil. The orb was lost at sea when his zephyr went down. His death was a tragic accident.”
Cettie gazed at Lady Corinne, feeling a mixture of horror and respect to learn this woman was her natural mother. The lack of emotion in Lady Corinne’s face showed that she had long ago mastered any feelings she might have about the matter. Cettie was jealous of that. She hated being so distraught.
“I cannot imagine Father countenancing such deception,” Cettie said, shaking her head. “Even if it meant securing permanent peace with Kingfountain.”
“I came here tonight to persuade Lady Maren to let me bring you to him. I do not know the outcome,” Lady Corinne said, a small smile curling her mouth. “The emperor would never permit it, so I risk his wrath and displeasure. If the truth is exposed, I will lose my reputation and my position on the privy council, but I will not lose my wealth. Perhaps a change of worlds would be best for me at this time. Either way, I suggested to Lady Maren that you should no longer be the keeper of Fog Willows. You cannot take your key to another world, and it would be best if it were kept by someone she trusts while you are gone and this . . . affair . . . is settled. Now that I can speak the truth, I have options that I did not have before.”
Lady Corinne stood abruptly. “I will leave you both to discuss what you will do. My understanding is that the wedding will happen in three days unless it is prevented. I suggest you decide quickly. I can arrange for passage through a mirror gate. It is up to you.”
The lady of Pavenham Sky turned to leave but paused. Cettie saw only her profile as she said, “I should like to get to know you better, Daughter. You may bring your answer to my estate.”
The privy council is at loggerheads with Richard Fitzempress over the terms of the marriage contract. He has offered to triple Sera’s dowry in exchange for forfeiting her right of succession. His persistence is a nuisance, but I know something he does not—he will yield, and the marriage will, indeed, happen this week as Cettie foresaw.
Without a strong supporter, Richard lacks the discipline and persistence to see his aims through. And with the government officers tightening the net around Lady Corinne’s interests, his last key supporter will be hobbled. I’ve instructed my private secretary to reveal Corinne’s duplicity to him following the wedding. Even Richard Fitzempress will cringe at a charge of murder, and his office will not allow him to stop the wheels of justice once the case is passed along to the Ministry of Law. I plan to have her arrested upon my return from Kingfountain. It will be a lengthy and complex legal battle, but I have arranged the case against her meticulously.
The court in this world is sparing no expense for the prince’s nuptials. They have already hung garlands on the bridges, and arrangements are being made for the celebrations.
There is a real chance that permanent change is near. I want to hope that it can happen. But there is a part of me that says something isn’t quite right.
—Brant Fitzroy, Prime Minister
SERA
CHAPTER TEN
VANISHED
The evening had turned out to be much more enjoyable than Sera had anticipated. Trevon had assembled a small string quartet in one of the palace’s many sitting rooms, and they’d invited his siblings for a dancing lesson to prepare them for the celebratory ball following the wedding. Trevon and Sera had taught his brothers and sisters several of the popular dances from Comoros with the aim of surprising the guests at the ball with a display of cultural solidarity. Sera had already learned the court dances from Trevon’s world. It was something she had relished. The two styles of dance were very different, the one in Kingfountain less scripted, more intimate.
Trevon’s sisters, Lyneah and Elaine, had taken to the idea with great enthusiasm. Sera and Trevon were the teachers, and they demonstrated the sets together before pairing off with the different siblings individually to help. After the quartet finished an impressive rendition of “Sky Ship’s Cook,” she and Prince Kasdan applauded the musicians while Elaine insisted that everyone do that one again.
“Thank you for being patient with my clumsiness,” Kasdan said, nodding to Sera. He was several years younger than Trevon, the next in line to the throne, and had always been on the quiet side.
“You did quite well, Kasdan. It’s your misfortune that you had to stoop so low to dance with me.” Sera flashed him a self-deprecating smile.
Kasdan was not one for bantering, though, and he did not take the opportunity to tease her as Trevon would have. “I’m grateful for the influence you’ve had on my brother,” he said in a serious tone. “I’ve always looked up to him, and I think the two of you will make a strong couple.”
“Thank you for your support,” Sera said. The music did not start up again. Kasdan offered his arm, which she accepted, and they began to walk slowly toward Trevon and Lyneah.
“Well, I wanted you to know that you had it,” he said, his tone and the arch of his brows implying something she didn’t understand.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He pursed his lips. “Not all quarters are pleased at the match.”
“Oh?”
His brow furrowed further. “It’s no secret that General Montpensi
er has made efforts to discredit you with my parents. They’ve made it clear to me, privately, that they oppose your marriage to Trevon for personal reasons. They trust neither your empire nor your father. I think they believe that the emperor will not yield in the negotiations and that the wedding will be scuttled.”
She intended to marry Trevon in just a few days. Why was she only now learning that his parents opposed the match this vehemently? Her stomach became queasy.
“That is why I wanted you to know,” Kasdan said in a low voice, “how I feel. I think my parents are wrong to oppose it. In fact, I’ve spoken to each of my siblings privately, and they all think the world of you. As do I.” His smile was sincere. “Weddings can be rather political among our class. But a marriage doesn’t have to be. I hope you and Trevon will come visit me in Ploemeur.”
“In Brythonica?” Sera asked in surprise.
He nodded, a little smile starting on his mouth. “Now that Trevon has chosen you, I’m free to marry. One of the possibilities is the heiress of Brythonica. Within a year or so, I hope to become betrothed to her. If she’ll have me.” His cheeks turned a shade of pink. He had never been so talkative with her before, but she appreciated his candor and, even more importantly, his support.
“Brythonica is probably my favorite place in this world,” Sera said. “That means we would see you quite often.”
“I would like that,” Kasdan said. “After our older brother drowned . . . Trevon has been a strength to all of us. Did he tell you what happened?”
“He did. And I’m surprised you’re not afraid of the sea because of it.”
He shrugged slightly, for they had finally reached Trevon and Lyneah. “I’ve learned to overcome my fears.”
Trevon raised his eyebrow at the last comment. He reached out to take Sera’s hand, but Lyneah had already enfolded her in a hug. Sera returned the embrace, feeling a rush of warmth at the generous affection bestowed by her intended’s siblings.
