by Jeff Wheeler
Adam followed her into the room, leaving the door open. He glanced out into the hall.
“Are you worried that no one is here with us to chaperone?”
He smiled. “I know the customs here are quite different than on our home world, but I still try to honor them. For courtesy’s sake.”
“You are an admirable man,” Sera said. “Let’s walk the corridor, but we had best speak quietly. These walls have ears.”
They headed out into the corridor, and Adam was quick to relate his news. “She is frightened but unhurt, save for a head injury. She still has no memory of how she arrived in the tunnels. That may be a result of a fall. If she struck the floor hard enough, she could have been dizzy and confused for hours. I’ve seen similar cases over the years. She had a knob on the back of her skull, but it was not broken. I examined her for other signs of injury or mistreatment and found none. They feed her regularly and let her walk outside this morning to get some sunlight.”
“How do you know they didn’t tell her what to say?” Sera asked angrily. Anger wouldn’t help anything, of course, so she tried to focus on her gratitude that at least Adam had been allowed to see Becka.
“I interviewed her alone. She acted as I would have expected someone in her situation to act. She answered my questions promptly and without hesitation or glancing at the door.”
A little private chapel was tucked into the bend at the end of the corridor, complete with a water fountain splashing inside. A guard stood just inside it, wearing the tunic and badge of the royal family. Why was a guard stationed at a fountain?
Sera paused to gaze at it, and Adam stopped alongside her.
“So you can tell if a patient is trying to mislead you?”
“I usually can. It happens frequently,” Adam said with a sigh.
Sera looked at him, confused. “How so?”
“A woman arrives with bruises, a swollen cheek, and split lip. Her husband says that she is clumsy and injured herself. It doesn’t require a gifting to realize the truth of the matter. People say much even when they don’t speak at all.”
Sera pursed her lips and nodded. “Wiser words were never spoken. So you think her lapse in memory may be a result of hitting her head on the floor?”
“Or she may have been struck from behind,” Adam said. “Either method of injury would produce the same result. Then she could have been carried into the dark corridor and abandoned on the floor. It would take an unscrupulous man to do such a thing.”
“Indeed,” Sera said, frowning. “Thank you, Adam.”
She gazed back at the bubbling fountain. The guard had noticed them, but he did nothing to acknowledge them. The pattering sound of the fountain was soothing. The fountains were another thing she enjoyed about the realm that was to be her new home. She still hoped Trevon was right, and they could persuade both of their worlds to unite, but it would be foolish to count on such an implausible outcome.
“I will check on her tomorrow and make sure nothing has changed. In the meantime, there are other patients who need my help in the city.”
Sera felt a throb of warning in her heart. It was sudden, immediate, and pressing.
As Adam offered a little bow to her, she caught his arm, which startled him.
“What is it?” he asked in concern.
She felt the gooseflesh rush up her arms. “I don’t think you should go back,” she said. “Could you stay? I’m worried about Becka. And I . . . I just have a feeling that you shouldn’t go.”
Adam looked at her, studying her face. “I have a lot of work still to do.”
Sera felt the throb of warning again. “Please, Adam. I’d like you to stay.”
From the way he pursed his lips, she could tell he was struggling with his feelings, but he merely said, “If you say so, Miss Fitzempress.”
I have a great deal of apprehension concerning General Montpensier. Some say he is Fountain-blessed, that he is another incarnation of the legendary Owen Kiskaddon of centuries ago. It is difficult, so many years later, to parse the man from the myth. But the chief difference, from what I have learned, is that Owen eschewed power, although power was thrust on him. Montpensier seems to crave it, and his ambition is, from my observation, without limit.
One of the Aldermastons of the past said there is no evil that does not promise inducements. Vices tempt you by the rewards they offer. Avarice promises money; luxury, an assortment of pleasures; ambition, a purple robe and applause.
What reward is Montpensier seeking? He does not seem content with what he was freely given.
—Brant Fitzroy, Prime Minister
CETTIE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MIRROR GATE
As Cettie walked toward the tempest moored in the landing yard, she paused to glance backward at the home she had lived in for almost half of her life. The sunlight was dazzling against the silver roof tiles and glass. Though she had not yet left, a pang in her heart whispered of homesickness. In one of the upper windows, the one belonging to Fitzroy’s study, she imagined him as she’d seen him as a child, working to solve the Mysteries of Wind, using the elements as instruments to unveil secrets. She could almost smell the metallic tang that always filled that room.
Then she turned back and kept walking.
Cettie and Lady Maren had talked for hours the previous day. There was a heaviness in the young woman’s heart that would not be dispelled no matter how bright the sunshine. Joses was dead. Father would almost certainly be shot. Cettie had almost revealed her vision, but she’d decided that perhaps her interpretation of it might be incorrect. At first she had believed Fitzroy would certainly die. And yet, he had stopped to bend down and fix his boot just before it happened. Did that mean the Mysteries would protect him? The Aldermaston had survived his wound. And wasn’t Adam at the court of Kingfountain? The years he’d spent as a doctor in the Ministry of War must have given him the knowledge he’d need to save her father’s life.
Another cloud passed over her heart. Not her true father.
And now he never would be. There could be no adoption now.
Of all the things she’d learned last night, Cettie was perhaps most troubled by the news about her true father’s identity. Of course her opinions about Willard Richard Fitzempress were tainted by Sera’s experiences with him. She also had no desire to disrupt Sera’s wedding. No desire to be dragged through the muck of a dynastic power struggle, especially one fated to harm her closest friend. It was impossible to discern the right thing to do. If only she could see Fitzroy in person. She trusted her father’s judgment and wisdom. And she also wanted to forewarn him about her vision. Yes, he’d likely received Rand’s message already, but what if something had prevented him from receiving the message. She didn’t trust it completely. If she could take his hands in hers, she could convey the depths of her troubles, the sorrows of her heart.
Cettie had not gone to sleep that night, choosing instead to hold vigil and try to regain her connection with the Mysteries. The sacrifice of sleep brought her no peace, no revelations, which only increased her uneasiness. She had relinquished her key of authority to Lady Maren before leaving, and doing so had made her feel even more bereft. Lady Maren would keep the key herself for now, at least until she found a suitable replacement. She had also signed the papers that Mr. Sloan had left for her and given instructions to Kinross to see them delivered by zephyr post.
Her identity had been settled these last few years. She had been proud to be the keeper of Fog Willows. Now she was the illegitimate daughter of the wealthiest woman in the empire. While she’d always wanted to see Pavenham Sky for herself, she wasn’t looking forward to the visit.
After reaching the tempest, she climbed up the rope ladder. The weariness caused by her vigil was taking a toll on her. She did feel more at peace than she had the previous day, but the pain of losing Joses was always near, ready to stab her heart with agony. And no matter how hard she tried to force the sadness away, it was like pushing
a boulder. It just wouldn’t budge. She had already parted ways with Rand, who had promised to update the family on Anna regularly. He was hopeful she would be cured.
Cettie gazed back at the manor, hoping the tempest would respond to her. She was afraid it wouldn’t, and that fear would only hinder her power. Cettie climbed up to the helm and grasped it firmly.
She had piloted this sky ship so many times it was part of her now. Surely it would recognize her.
Bowing her head, Cettie invoked the Leerings that controlled it. Nothing happened, which made her heart wilt. Screwing up her face, she tried again, remembering how difficult it had been for Sera to control Leerings back when they were in school together. How confident Cettie had been back then. She regretted it now.
Please, Cettie thought, squeezing the helm tightly. I need to see Father. Without Lady Corinne, I won’t have any way to get to Kingfountain.
She tried again, using her will and her need to amplify her petition. There was a stirring belowdecks, a throb of connection. Her heart sped with hope.
Please, she repeated, knowing that she could not force the Mysteries to obey her. She had to submit to them. At that moment, she wasn’t sure that she could. She was still so hurt and angry.
The tempest thrummed to life, and she felt and heard the chords of power. Again she noticed that the sound was off, jarring. She had always been soothed by the magic. Now it grated on her. Why was that? But she knew the answer. A damaged violin could still play music, but it wasn’t as sweet. The problem lay in her brokenness, not the Mysteries.
The tempest lurched up, giving her that giddy feeling in her stomach that she so loved. She watched the manor fall away, and the grief of seeing it diminish brought a swell of sadness.
Was she seeing Fog Willows for the last time?
The thought had flashed through her mind unbidden. Was it a premonition? Or just her deepest fear? She’d kissed Lady Maren good-bye. Would that be the end of their connection as mother and daughter?
Tears spilled down her cheeks at that thought, and she wiped them away on the back of her wrist. Cettie had always wondered how she would feel if she discovered the identity of her real mother. She had given Brant and Maren Fitzroy that place of prominence in her heart, and they still held it. The Mysteries had confirmed Lady Corinne was her natural mother, but she had felt no warmth from the woman, no regret. Cettie had been unwanted from the start. She’d been abandoned because her birth had brought such shame.
As the tempest zoomed toward Pavenham Sky, Cettie’s thoughts turned to Adam. How would he take the news? No matter what happened, Cettie would not abandon her love of him. Adam’s father’s speculation had left him penniless, and though Fitzroy had ensured he received an education, his salary as a doctor would never make him rich. It didn’t matter to Cettie. She knew better than to think wealth brought joy.
The prospect of seeing him was another reason she’d decided to go to Lady Corinne. Her love was in the world of Kingfountain. She needed to see him, needed to hear his words of reassurance. Being with him would bring such sweet relief.
Pavenham Sky was situated on the coast. As her tempest approached the beautiful manor, Cettie stared at it in shock. It exceeded the size of Fog Willows. There were multiple gardens on other massive broken mountains that orbited the estate at different levels. The gardens were famous, and Sera had told Cettie all about them. A private beach stretched out on the ground beneath the main estate, inaccessible because of cliffs on either side. There were a few small islands off the coast as well, mostly just crags of rock that jutted out of the waters. Some had tall trees growing on them. It was a picturesque scene, one that few had the luxury of beholding. Cettie had longed to visit Sera here, but every single letter she’d sent had been returned, unopened. Perhaps Lady Corinne had forbidden her from visiting because she knew the truth and the truth caused her pain, even if she didn’t express it.
There were other tempests and zephyrs gathered in the landing yard, and Cettie steered hers down amidst the others. Although she was still weary from the journey and her vigil, she was determined to plod on and get to Kingfountain as quickly as possible. After settling the sky ship, she climbed down the ladder and quickly approached the massive manor. Though the weather was pleasant, the noonday sun high overhead and the lawn grass fluttering mildly in the breeze, she couldn’t help but think about poor Mr. Skrelling’s doomed visit. He had done it in attempt to help her, which made her feel even worse.
Cettie mounted the steps to the front door, but she did not knock. From experience, she knew the keeper of the manor had already been alerted to her arrival. She waited, and her patience was rewarded when a man opened the door. He was a handsome fellow and matched the description Sera had given of Master Sewell. While Sera had not liked being held prisoner in Pavenham Sky, she did have positive feelings for the butler, who was constantly attentive to Lady Corinne’s moods and wishes.
“Ah, Miss Cettie,” he greeted her, flashing a broad smile. “Her Ladyship is expecting you. Please come in.”
“Thank you, Master Sewell,” Cettie said, nodding to him as she approached.
“You know my name?” he said with a surprised chuckle. “How is Miss Fitzempress?”
“I saw her a few days before she left for Kingfountain,” Cettie replied. The steward gestured in the direction they would go, and she fell in next to him. “She is doing quite well.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Sewell said, taking her down a corridor. “If truth be told, I still miss her. She always spoke fondly of you.”
Cettie was not in the mood for small talk, but his friendliness did help ease her discomfort somewhat, if only for the moment. They reached a door at the end of the corridor, and Master Sewell knocked and then introduced her.
Lady Corinne was waiting for her in a sitting room of sorts. The wood paneling was much darker than that in Fog Willows, and a set of glass doors opened to a veranda. The curtains were open, revealing a view of the gardens beyond. Lady Corinne had changed costumes from her visit the previous day. She now wore a dark red jacket and a skirt lined with pearls and small decorative flourishes.
“So you came,” Lady Corinne said, eyeing her.
Cettie nodded, not sure how to address her. “How long will it take for us to reach Lord Fitzroy?”
“There is a mirror gate southwest of here at Hawkington,” Corinne replied. “The contracts and covenants have already been arranged. You know about the arrangements that must be made for a person to travel in such a way?”
“I do,” Cettie said, “though I have never traveled there before.”
“I imagine not,” Corinne answered, a little smile on her mouth. Then she approached and stood before Cettie. They were the same height, although they looked nothing alike. Lady Corinne was wearing black silk gloves—Cettie was not—and she reached out and took the young woman’s hands. The silence between them grew painful. What could she say to her natural mother that didn’t sound like an accusation? Nothing. So Cettie said nothing, though it felt as if a stranger held her hands. There was no familiarity in the gesture.
Lady Corinne squeezed her hands and then let them go. “I have a zephyr waiting to take us. I suggest you leave your tempest here. When we return, you can take it back to Fog Willows . . . or Lockhaven, depending on what happens next. I’m sure the emperor will wish to meet you eventually. It will be quite a shock for him to finally see you.”
“I can imagine,” Cettie said blandly. It was not an interview she looked forward to. She knew he had always held her in disdain.
Lady Corinne then brought her to the glass doors leading to the garden. She opened one of them, gesturing for Cettie to exit first, and then shut the door behind them once they were both outside.
“We will not be gone long,” Corinne said. “I imagine only a day or two at the most. The privy council will want to see you, naturally. An investigation will undoubtedly be done to validate the claim. The evidence is there, however, and the
truth will come to light. Your life is about to alter rather dramatically. But then again, change is usually unexpected.”
There was something in her words and the look in her eye that made Cettie uncomfortable. A zephyr hovered at the end of the garden path. A pilot stood in it, ready to take them away. He wore a similar uniform to the one Master Sewell wore, showing him to be an employee of the estate. They walked up a short gangway to board the zephyr, and the two of them took a seat—Lady Corinne on one side of the aisle and Cettie opposite her.
The zephyr lifted and banked away from the estate, steadily increasing in velocity. When it was a small distance away, it dropped suddenly and swiftly, making Cettie grasp onto the bench beneath her as her heart raced. She cast a worried look at Lady Corinne, who seemed completely unperturbed by the speed of the zephyr.
The sky ship maneuvered around some of the floating gardens, providing a splendid but brief view of them. Cettie craned her neck, trying to catch sight of everything. They shot into the shadow beneath the floating manor. Little trickles of water rained down on them from the hulking edifice of rock above their heads. The zephyr shot free of the shadow, accelerating as the pilot guided it along the coast.
Two tempests come into view behind them bearing the sigils of the Ministry of War.
“We’re being followed?” Cettie asked, looking back at Corinne.
She glanced at the sky ships in unconcern. “No, my dear. Those are our escorts. They’ll make sure we get to the garrison safely.”
A throb struck Cettie’s heart at the words. It seemed odd that the ships had appeared after they exited the manor out of the back, so to speak. But the garden had been the nearest to Lady Corinne’s rooms, and she could come and go as she pleased. Obviously, she preferred her pilots to be daring.
Cettie watched the two tempests come into formation and tail the zephyr. They did not speed up or slow down, keeping a measured distance behind the craft. Something felt a little off, but the Mysteries had confirmed Corinne’s words.
