by Jeff Wheeler
She was lying on the bench seat, her hip cramping due to the awkward angle of her legs. She tried to sit up. The effort was difficult, but she forced herself to do it. Memories from the previous day were slow in coming, but she did recall journeying through the mirror gate and ending up in the pitch-black night of a different world. She blinked, her eyes having difficulty focusing. She saw Lady Corinne at the helm, her head bent low in conversation with the pilot who had incapacitated several officers the previous day in an impressive display of martial ability.
Cettie gripped the railing of the zephyr and looked overboard. Their speed had much decreased, and they were gliding over a vast city made of interconnected wharves teeming with ships. She blinked in surprise at the vast congregation, the towering cranes lifting cargo from holds, the sailors and workers thronging the decks below. A massive wall, at least fifty feet thick and arranged in a star-shaped pattern, surrounded the city. The barricades were impressive, and the towers were equipped with a variety of cannons. She had seen Kingfountain in her visions, and this looked nothing like it. Where was the enormous waterfall and the river that split around the ancient sanctuary of Our Lady? Where was the castle on the nearby hills that had stood for generations?
Where was she?
Lady Corinne touched the pilot on the shoulder, nodding to him, and then came back down the short ladder.
“We’ll be arriving soon,” Lady Corinne said as she approached her. “Are you hungry?”
Cettie was famished, but a wary feeling had unfolded in her stomach, one that made her not want to eat.
“Is this Kingfountain?”
Lady Corinne tilted her head slightly, looking at Cettie in confusion. “Isn’t that where I told you we were going?”
“You did,” Cettie answered, feeling the worry grow deeper. “It doesn’t look . . .”
Lady Corinne raised her eyebrows.
Cettie didn’t want to tell this woman about her visions. Not yet, not when there was no connection between them. “It’s not like the stories I’ve heard.”
Lady Corinne smiled at the statement. “The real world is never like the stories,” she said. “We will be landing very soon.”
As Cettie looked down at the building tops, the crooked shingles, and the ancient streets below, her feelings of unease began to flare into a seething panic. This was not Kingfountain. She was certain of that. Where had Lady Corinne taken her? Why was the woman deceiving her? Deep inside, she had the budding knowledge that all was not as it seemed. They were not on their way to see Father. She had been tricked or duped into a scheme of some sort.
Lady Corinne watched her closely, her own expression neutral. Cettie felt like crying, like begging to be brought back to Fog Willows, but she did her best to look as untroubled as the woman opposite her.
The buildings gave way to sculpted parks and hills, all within the walled boundary of the city. They weren’t parks, she quickly realized, but secluded estates. Each was beautifully constructed, and each looked centuries old. But these estates had not been left to molder—they had all been maintained and improved upon. The zephyr continued to lower until it arrived at one particular estate, nestled in a small valley surrounded by vineyards and short green trees. Several stone buildings with clay-shingled roofs surrounded a central courtyard. Small covered walkways connected the buildings, and there were exterior stairs, also made of stone, connecting the different levels. The courtyard hosted a lush herb garden with rows of bushes of varying sizes. A few stone urns decorated it, along with skinny trunked trees with perfectly rounded tops. Everything was meticulously maintained. There were small clusters of tables and chairs arranged around the garden. Some of the doors leading inside were glass, some were of a heavier wood, and the windows all had iron shutters. On some of the walls, ivy crept up.
This was as regal an estate as Pavenham Sky, but it was a mansion, not a palace.
It was not Kingfountain.
The zephyr landed within the courtyard, just above a gravel path on the far side of the herb garden. The pilot came down from the helm and fixed the plank on its hooks so they could walk down. He stood at the top of it and gestured for them to go.
Lady Corinne walked down first, looking completely at ease. She even gave a hint of a smile as she gazed at the garden. Her shoes crunched in the small-pebbled gravel, each crunch inflaming Cettie’s instinct to flee. She couldn’t, of course—she’d only be running into her enemy’s stronghold. Her only hope was to overpower the pilot. If she struck him by surprise, perhaps she could knock him off the edge of the zephyr. She could find a way to get to Kingfountain on her own.
Part of her thought the plan was ludicrous, but she was so certain now that she’d been deceived. Her insides quivered as she stood from the bench and slowly shuffled along the aisle leading to the plank. She kept her eyes on Lady Corinne, but watched the pilot in her peripheral vision. As she arrived at the edge of the ship, she took a deep breath.
Instead of stepping onto the plank, she planted her foot near the pilot’s boots. She used the butterfly hands technique Raj Sarin had taught her and struck him in the chest, using all her weight to unbalance him and send him toppling over the edge.
It would have worked if he hadn’t been expecting it.
His hands gripped her wrists, and he countered her push by leaning forward. She was the one off balance now. She could see in his eyes that he had suspected she would do something rash. In fact, he seemed pleased by it.
Cettie had to fight. Perhaps she could use the sky ship to her advantage. In her mind, she tried to invoke its Leering and bring the zephyr hurtling into the air. But the Leering on board refused to obey. The pilot’s eyes started to glow silver, something she had not seen in years. Something she had not seen since . . .
His disguise melted away, and Cettie found herself grappling with the man who had claimed to be her father. He was the one who had shot Fitzroy in her vision.
And she was the one who had brought him there.
A groan of despair escaped her mouth, but she would fight him still. She brought her knee to his groin, but he outmaneuvered her again and shifted his body so that she struck his hip instead.
He spun her around in his powerful arm, folding his forearm over her throat. His other hand jerked one of her arms behind her back, and as she struggled against him, she found herself being marched off the plank. He then dumped her unceremoniously onto the gravel path at Lady Corinne’s feet.
“She has spirit. I’ve always liked that about her,” said the man, the kishion, to Lady Corinne.
“Where am I?” Cettie demanded, hot tears burning in her eyes.
Lady Corinne gazed down at her. “You are at one of the poisoner schools.”
“What?” Cettie said. “This is Pisan?” She’d learned of the island kingdom from one of her history classes and from conversations with Sera, who was fascinated with the history of Kingfountain.
Lady Corinne smirked. “No, my dear. There has not been a true poisoner school there in a long time. Welcome to Genevar.”
Cettie knew the rudimentary geography of the world of Kingfountain and had discussed it on occasion with Sera, who’d traveled to many of the different places with Prince Trevon. Genevar was a trading nation on the edge of the continent. It was very, very far from Kingfountain.
Her hopes began to wilt.
“What do you want from me?” Cettie whispered as she trembled.
“What we’ve wanted from the start,” Lady Corinne said. “We want you to come back home.”
Yes, it had all been a trap, and Cettie had blundered into it with blindness and naivete. They intended to murder her true father, the man who had loved her and taught her and befriended her.
A blinding rage filled Cettie’s heart. She would not join them. She would not be part of their society of killers. More than anything else she wanted to hurt Lady Corinne. To smack that smug smile right off her face.
The instinct made Cettie lunge for the woman
. She could not hold herself back.
But while Lady Corinne had long acted the part of a defenseless lady, she was not. A dagger appeared in Corinne’s hand as if from nowhere, and she whirled to the side, leaving Cettie nothing but air to grasp. She stumbled again into the gravel, the stones gouging her palms. Corinne grabbed Cettie’s hand, contorting her fingers into a position of utter agony, and then pressed the blade to her throat.
“Kill me, then,” Cettie said angrily, gasping. Her voice cut off as Corinne torqued her fingers more, shooting pain up her entire arm.
“Why would I do that when I’ve spent so long preparing you?” came the woman’s inscrutable answer.
“You don’t own me,” Cettie muttered, moaning in agony.
“There is so much you don’t understand, Daughter. But you will learn. You will be taught.” Corinne shoved Cettie face-first into the gravel. The torture in her shoulder and wrist came to an end, flooding her with relief. She scooted back a little, looking at the two people towering over her. Mother and father. Her insides quailed with horror.
Could she be anything but a monster with such parents?
“Take the zephyr to court,” Lady Corinne said to the man. “I will join you this evening through the ley lines to make sure all is in place.”
Cettie had no idea what those words meant.
“Tonight,” confirmed the kishion. Then he bent and kissed Corinne on her neck. Before he left, he gazed down at Cettie without compassion. “You should have come when I came for you the first time. It would have hurt less than it will now. But every pain can be taken away. Remember that.”
“He’s right,” said Corinne. There was a feeling in the air, a ripple of the Mysteries. For a moment, Cettie thought, hoped, it had come from within her, but then she sensed the true origin—Corinne. The fear and confusion, the feeling of betrayal slipped out of Cettie’s heart. Those words held meaning still, but only as an abstract concept. It happened quickly, like medicine relieving pain from a wound. Cettie felt her heart slowing. The sense of panic was gone too. There were no feelings of desperation, no pressing urge to save her true father. Her emotions were placid.
“What are you doing to me?” Cettie asked Corinne.
“Just giving you a taste of the power that is your birthright. But you’ve already tasted it, haven’t you?”
She found herself thinking of the man at the wharf, the one she’d forced to relinquish the documents. That sense of power that had felt wrong somehow.
The kishion smiled at the statement and then leaped up onto the zephyr in a fluid movement. He drew up the plank, and Cettie watched as his eyes turned silver again. The ship’s Leering thrummed with power, but while Cettie could sense it, she could not tap into it. It was shielded from her in a way she didn’t understand. The zephyr and its pilot lifted silently and streaked off into the sky eastward.
“Stand up, Cettie. There’s no need to lie on a stretch of rocks.”
Cettie rose, feeling throbs of pain in her arms and hands, but even those feelings were barely noticeable. Though she understood the concept of distrust, she no longer felt it. Lady Corinne was an enigma. If Cettie felt anything at all, she felt curious.
“Why don’t your eyes glow like his do?” Cettie asked.
“Because I choose not to let them,” came the reply. Corinne sized her up. “I am your true mother, Cettie. I am the woman who gave birth to you. Notice that you do not feel any tingling in your heart when I say it. For too long you’ve been blinded by what you think to be the Mysteries. Now you will begin to see the truth. I made you have those feelings earlier. Just as others have made you feel things in their own way. Your strongly held beliefs are things you have been manipulated to hold dear. And you have been manipulated, by both sides.”
Cettie gave her a hard look. “If you think I will join you willingly, you are mistaken. You may have given birth to me, but you are not my true mother. And I will do whatever I must to stop you. To save them.” Her voice trembled with anger. As emotion flared inside her, she felt the grip on her thoughts weaken slightly.
“Oh, I know,” Lady Corinne answered with a pleasing smile. “If you had joined us when you were younger, then you’d see things differently. I understand that. Believe me, I do. I also know the power of leverage. Wanting a zephyr won’t grant you one. It requires money. I can’t bribe you to obey me, but I can tilt you another way. In fact, you’ve taught me how to move you, Cettie. I read every one of those letters you wrote to Sera Fitzempress and resealed them before returning them to you. I can say that I know your heart, and I know your goodness, and I know how much your almost-family means to you. So let me be clear. Anna Fitzroy was poisoned, and she will die if you attempt to thwart me. Your cooperation will keep her alive . . . healthy even. But my leverage over you doesn’t end with her. If she dies, the estate of Fog Willows will then be left without an heir. Maren is not nearly strong enough to keep it afloat on her own.”
Cettie tried to feel anger, but none came. She stared at Corinne helplessly.
“I know you’ll likely lay your hopes on Stephen, but really . . . his debts are my doing in the first place. He’ll be safe in Dolcoath when the estate comes crashing down, killing everyone living in it. You must know I am capable of this, Cettie. If I let your childhood friend get killed by a beast I helped set loose . . . you know I am willing to do what I must, even to my own daughter, to see my plans accomplished. This school has Leerings that will bar you from leaving until you, too, wear the hetaera brand on your shoulder.” She stepped closer to Cettie. “I know about your visions. I know that you are the harbinger. If you wish for your family to stay alive, then you will do as I tell you.”
Cettie felt as if walls were closing in around her, forming a prison that she could not escape. The hetaera. What little she knew about them she had learned from Caulton Forshee at Billerbeck Abbey. He’d claimed they were evil and manipulative. That they used kystrels to subvert others’ will, to subvert, even, the Mysteries themselves.
And now she was to become one of them.
Thoughts ran wild through her head, but she found herself saying, “So you lied about Mr. Skrelling as well. You killed him.”
“Of course,” said Lady Corinne dispassionately. “As I will do to anyone who stands in the way of my plans.” Then she smiled again. “So near is falsehood to truth that a wise person would do well not to trust themselves on the edge.”
The wedding will happen tomorrow, but something is wrong. There is some variety of cunning at work that I cannot see, like a cloud that blocks the light of a prism. Like that piece of cut glass, I feel we are dangling, waiting for the sun to burst through and reveal the patterns of red, orange, blue, and violet. Even though the cloud is there, I know the sun is beyond it. I do not doubt that whatever will happen will be for the ultimate good of us all.
It is what is not said that worries me the most. I have observed several covert glances shared by the King and Queen of Kingfountain. I see worry in their eyes, although they speak nothing about their concerns. More than ever I must rely on the instincts that the Mysteries have given me, for I cannot see what lies beyond my next step.
Into the darkness. Into the cloud.
—Brant Fitzroy, Prime Minister
SERA
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TRUST
The dark Espion tunnels filled Sera with a sense of dread and unease. The general had permitted this second visit with Becka only after much haranguing. There was no doubt in Sera’s mind that Montpensier delighted in goading her, testing her limits, and trying to crack her composure. But Sera was stronger than he thought, and she refused to be cowed or ignored. The dank smell in the corridor was unpleasant—all dust and dirt and pulverized stone—but she would not let him know it discomfited her.
By the time she and her Espion guide finally reached the double row of cells, Sera was impatient to be let through the door. The warden muttered under his breath, looking fatigued by his dismal days und
erground, and unlocked it. There was already a lamp burning inside, and she found Adam Creigh sitting on a small stool beside Becka’s bed.
When Sera entered, the girl’s smile was enough to brighten the room. She bounded up off the bed and rushed up and hugged her.
“Am I to be set free?” she implored.
Adam gave Sera a weary smile. How long had he been down here with Becka? He was such a kind man to keep her company, to share a dungeon cell for several hours was a sacrifice for anyone.
Sera kissed Becka’s hair and pulled back a bit. It hurt to speak the truth, but Becka could already see it for herself, and her countenance fell.
“Not today?”
“I’m afraid not,” Sera answered. “Would it were otherwise.”
Becka’s disappointment showed in the sag of her shoulders. “I don’t know what else they want from me,” she said in despair. “I’ve answered all of their questions. I don’t know how I came to be in the tunnel. I don’t remember.”
Sera took her hands and held them firmly. “I know, Becka. This isn’t fair.”
“I’ll be all right,” Becka said. “I was just hoping not to miss the wedding.”
“I’m disappointed as well,” Sera replied. “I need to ask you something. Can we sit for a moment?”
“Of course,” Becka said, though her voice sounded a little uncertain. She returned to the little cot.
“Should I go?” Adam asked, rising from the stool.
“No, please stay.” Sera beckoned for him to sit back down, then knelt in front of Becka, looking up into her face.
“What is it?” the younger girl asked.
Sera took a deep breath and steadied her emotions. If Becka was the innocent she thought her to be, she would do anything to save her. But to judge that, she had to call upon a wisdom beyond her own. A wisdom that only the Knowing possessed. Sera took up Becka’s hands from the girl’s lap, laying one of her hands atop them. She gazed up into her eyes.
