Prism Cloud

by Jeff Wheeler

  After they emerged from the sea vessel, they mounted the steps from the docks and entered the castle through the royal dock gate. The servants inside were in various stages of worry. There weren’t any guardsmen, but there seemed to be Espion rings everywhere.

  Sera frowned again, her suspicions deepening. Had Montpensier staged the riot to stay in power? To show that Captain Remmer wasn’t capable of restoring order or protecting the family? It was like Wizr again. Trevon had taught her how to play the ancient game, and she felt as if the general was about to murmur the word “threat.”

  “I’d like to see Lord Fitzroy,” she told Trevon.

  “Captain Remmer,” said the king, “I want you there when I find Montpensier. Bring some of your guards.”

  “I will bring as many as I can find,” said the captain uneasily. “This way.”

  “Go to the sitting room,” the queen said to the rest of her children. “Wait for us there.”

  “But mother—” complained Lucas.

  She cut him off with a glare. All the Argentine children obeyed the missive, save for Trevon. He took Sera down a side corridor. With all the chaos unfolding around her, she was so turned around, she had no idea where he was taking her. But it ended up being the physician’s wing of the castle, where the injured and sick were cared for. This corridor was crowded with guards and Espion, as well as servants trying to get in and out of the crush.

  Trevon gripped Sera’s hand to keep her close. He clamped his other hand on the shoulder of a guardsman and told him that Captain Remmer needed some men to attend to the king at once. The soldier, who didn’t have any orders, obeyed without question, taking several of the others with him.

  “Get back! Back, all of you!” Trevon barked.

  The crowd began to shove against them. Sera felt as if she’d drown in the crush of bodies, but Trevon cleared a path for them. They eventually reached the closed door, which was guarded by four men wearing the colors of the king’s guard. The officer standing closest to the door looked rattled and worried. Bloodstains marred the yellow stripes of his tunic, but he did not look injured.

  “Where’s Remmer?” asked the officer worriedly.

  “With the king,” Trevon said. “We made it back safely.”

  The officer nodded in relief. “Good. It’s pandemonium out there, Prince.”

  “We want to go in. My wife would like to see the prime minister.”

  The officer glanced at Sera in surprise. “The ceremony is over?”

  Trevon held up her hand to display the ring.

  The officer chuckled and then nodded for the door to be opened. Groans, terrible groans, filtered out to them. Sera had never heard a person make sounds like that. Montpensier stood just inside the door, staring feverishly at the table against the far wall. He glanced back at them and scowled.

  The smell in the room was awful, but Sera braved it. Trevon followed her inside and shut the door behind them.

  The room brimmed with people. There were soldiers there, two guardsmen, and several court doctors, but Adam was the one giving orders. Blood was on his shirt, his sleeves. He worked quickly, but the worried look on his face showed his desperation. Another groan of agony revealed the bitter truth.

  Fitzroy might die.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  REVOLUTION

  Sera could do little to assist Adam in saving Fitzroy’s life. With all the blood and sounds of agony, she was surprised she hadn’t fainted. But she had an inner steel that served her in moments of crisis. She did the only thing she could—she supplicated the Knowing that he would recover.

  Eventually Captain Remmer arrived, seeking Prince Trevon and General Montpensier. An assemblage of nobles had been gathered in the council room, and the king wished them to come immediately. Sera accompanied them, but when they reached the door of the sickchamber, Captain Remmer caught her arm and shook his head. She was not invited to the gathering.

  Sera bristled with anger at the exclusion. “Am I part of this realm now or not, Captain?” she said.

  “It’s not my decision, Your Highness,” he answered. “The king forbade it.”

  Trevon scowled. “Let me talk to my father,” he said. “Sera . . . perhaps you could wait in my room for a moment?”

  Well, at least he wasn’t sending her back to her chamber. She still didn’t like being left out, but under the circumstances, it would be a poor idea to openly defy the king. Captain Remmer offered to escort her to the prince’s chamber, and she acquiesced. Grudgingly.

  As they walked down the corridor together, she asked him, “Did you catch the man who shot the prime minister?”

  “We did not, unfortunately. I’m sorry I have no further news to share.”

  “I’m assuming you’ve already reported your findings to the king?”

  “I have, and he is discussing the situation with his council. I think there is some concern as to how the emperor will react to the news.”

  “All the more reason for me to be there,” Sera said in an undertone.

  “I don’t disagree with you, Your Highness,” Remmer said, giving her a sidelong look. “It begs the question of where the Espion were during all of this tumult. The general has much to answer for.”

  “Indeed, Captain,” Sera said. They reached Trevon’s chamber, which had several guardsmen posted outside. As they approached, the men opened the door and let her in.

  “The council may take several hours,” Remmer said, his expression brooding. “I’m sure your husband will come as soon as he can.” With that, he bowed to her and then whispered something to one of the guards and left. She burned to know what he had said.

  Breathing in through her nose, she savored the cedar smell that reminded her of him. The room was immaculate, but too dark for her taste. The thick curtains blocked out the sun, so she pulled them aside to let in the brightness. They had covered glass doors leading to a balcony. She twisted the handle and stepped out onto it. It provided a panoramic view of the city below, a city that roiled with smoke and the press of people. A shiver went down her spine at the sight of the sanctuary grounds, completely overrun by the crowd. The family had left not a moment too soon. She wondered what had happened to Kasdan and if the guards had found him before the mob arrived. The streets were crowded with people, and she could hear the distant ping of firearms. All was in chaos.

  Sera frowned as she leaned forward and gripped the railing. There was a garden below, and she saw guardsmen wearing Remmer’s uniform walking along the path. Then her gaze shifted to the river and the gushing waterfall. The thunder caused by the tumbling cascade was plenty loud from the castle on the hill. She felt a certain aloofness from the river. The waters would come and come, regardless of what happened to the city. How many such scenes of discord had the falls witnessed? Had they gone on since time immemorial?

  After sating herself with the view of the city, she went back to the room and wandered around, unable to sit still or read. She fondled the Wizr board, examined the closets and trunks, and even drew Trevon’s ceremonial sword from its scabbard. Servants came with food and worried faces but no news. After asking them a few questions, she realized she knew more than they did. The time dragged on and on. She was still wearing her wedding dress, fidgeting with the unfamiliar ring that felt so strange on her finger.

  How much time had passed, she didn’t know, but a knock finally sounded on the door. She rushed forward even as a guardsman opened it and beckoned for her to come.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Lord Fitzroy has just been carried up to his chamber, down the hall. He and the doctor have asked to see you.”

  She sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Knowing. Fitzroy still lived. Hastening to follow the guard, she walked down the corridor. Guards stood outside Fitzroy’s chamber, but they allowed her to enter. Inside, she saw an exhausted Adam Creigh and Fitzroy’s bodyguard, Raj Sarin. The look of suppressed anger and regret on the Bhikhu’s face was formidable.

&
nbsp; Fitzroy lay on his bed, as pale as a sheet of paper. Half of his jacket had been cut away, and his collar was open at his throat. Perspiration glistened on his brow. He looked to be in a great deal of pain still, but he was conscious. There were no other servants or people in the room.

  “Shut the door behind you,” Adam said to Sera, who nodded and closed it, leaving the guardsmen outside. She then approached the bedstead, her heart twisting in pain.

  “Hello, Sera,” said Fitzroy in a weak, strained voice. One of his arms was covered in bandages and wraps. He reached for her with his other hand, but it felt limp and practically lifeless under hers.

  She pressed a kiss to it, then looked at Adam worriedly.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood,” Adam said with a sigh. She could see the evidence of his statement splattered on his shirt, which he still had not changed.

  “How bad is it?” Sera asked.

  “Tell her,” Fitzroy croaked.

  “The ball shattered his elbow, went down his arm, and tore off several fingers. I did my best to heal him, but if the wound gets infected, he will lose his arm. With all the blood he’s lost, his system is very weak and susceptible. He may recover from the injury, but there is no guarantee. I can’t promise anything.”

  “Captain Remmer said they couldn’t find the man who shot him,” Sera said, trying not to sob.

  “I went after him,” said Raj Sarin, stepping forward. His dark eyes flashed with fury. “The plume of smoke made it easy to spot where the gunman had hidden himself. As you know, we Bhikhu can leap great distances. I was there before any of the guards crossed the street. I saw a man crouching there. A man with a scar and a smoking arquebus. As soon as I arrived, he vanished.” Raj Sarin snapped his fingers. “Gone, like a puff of smoke. I know some people in this world can travel long distances in an instant, but this man had made himself invisible. I went to where he’d been crouching and heard something crash on the next roof over. Although I couldn’t see him, I tried to catch him. He evaded me, and we exchanged blows.” The Bhikhu scowled. “We fought on the rooftop until he threw some dust into my face. It made my eyes burn, but I still fought him until the commotion from the riot made it impossible to hear him. He escaped.” A look of terrible vengeance crossed Raj Sarin’s face.

  “Sera,” Fitzroy whispered.

  She gazed back down at him, struggling to keep calm. The look on the prime minister’s face was oddly tranquil.

  “Give her the book,” Fitzroy said, grunting with pain.

  Adam nodded and reached behind his jacket, retrieving a small, leather-bound book. It was a hand-sized thing, made of hide instead of a formal binding, with the pages sewn into it. The light brown leather was splotched with red stains. He cradled it in his hands and held it out to her. “He wanted to be sure I gave this to you to safeguard. It’s his private journal. He keeps it on his person at all times.”

  “Why give it to me?” Sera asked.

  “He’s in so much pain, it’s better if he doesn’t speak. He’s concerned he won’t survive,” Adam answered. “There is information there he says you must have.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek, and she scrubbed it away furiously. “You cannot die, my lord,” she choked.

  A little smile came through the mask of pain on Fitzroy’s mouth.

  Adam’s eyes darted toward the door. “He wanted you to come for another reason as well. He asked for a Gift of Healing. I didn’t dare perform one in front of the Kingfountain people for fear they’d drag me to the river. We’ve been given some privacy. I’d like you to help me.”

  Sera sniffed and nodded. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I will help you. Raj Sarin, if you’d guard the door, please?”

  “Of course,” answered the Bhikhu, stationing himself there.

  Adam joined Sera at the prime minister’s bedside. “I’ve never performed one myself, but I’ve seen them done. They’re normally the purview of the Ministry of Thought. I’ll put my hand on his head and make the maston sign. Put your hand on top of mine, then repeat what you hear me say. Join your conviction with mine.”

  Sera nodded. She did as he had asked and placed her free hand over her heart, over the maston chain she wore. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and summoned her inner strength.

  “Brant Fitzroy,” said Adam solemnly. There was a quivering pulse in the air, the whisper of an unspoken sigh. Sera felt the presence of the Mysteries thicken the air. Her fingertips were tingling. Adam’s voice became softer, more intimate. “We are wearers of the maston chain, and we invoke upon you a Gift of H—” he stopped, his voice suddenly broken. He cleared his throat. “We grant you a Gift of H—” Again, he was unable to speak. Silence fell over the room. The tingling sensation grew warmer, shooting up the hand that lay atop Adam’s and then down into her heart. She felt Adam trembling next to her. Then she heard him crying.

  The words came to Sera’s mind unbidden. Not precise words, more like sentiments. And she felt herself begin to say them as the power of the Mysteries coursed through her. “You have been a faithful steward of the Medium’s will, Brant Fitzroy. The Gift of Meekness you received in your youth has been a blessing to you and to your family.” She tried to speak through her tears. “I Gift you with courage to face the dangers that lie ahead. I Gift you with confidence to know that your deeds will be remembered for generations to come. That your strength and your compassion will inspire the hearts of many yet to be born. Your time in the second life is nearly over.” She swallowed. “Well done, faithful servant. Trust that your offerings have been acceptable. You will see her face before the end. We invoke this Gifting upon you, Brant Fitzroy. Be at peace.”

  The flow of words abruptly stopped, but the feeling of warmth lingered in her heart, even as she realized what this meant. Brant Fitzroy was going to die. Her hand dropped away from Adam’s. When she opened her eyes and looked at the doctor’s face, she saw tears coursing down his cheeks. Her gaze shifted to Fitzroy, who was, in contrast, in a peaceful repose. He blinked at her, barely able to nod.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Some time after the Gifting, Trevon knocked on the door and entered the room. Adam had changed his clothes, but Sera had refused to leave Fitzroy’s bedside. The prime minister was resting, each shallow breath reminding her of what was to come. The pain bore down on her, especially when she thought of Fitzroy’s family. Of Cettie. Where was she? Why had she come to Kingfountain with Lady Corinne? What would she do when she learned of this?

  Raj Sarin stood at the balcony, watching the sun go down. The breeze brought up sweet fragrances from the gardens below.

  “How is he?” asked her husband. He crossed the room to her and leaned down to brush a kiss in her hair.

  “Resting,” she said.

  He tenderly touched her shoulder. “Which is what you should be doing as well. Adam will watch over him for now. Come back to our room.” He sighed. “You need to know what was decided.”

  Sera rose to join him. She had already strapped Fitzroy’s little journal to her leg with her garter bands. Her gown covered it completely, but she felt its pressure against her skin as they walked. Before leaving the room, she touched Adam’s arm, giving him a look of sympathy. He pursed his lips and nodded at her. Already, he was mourning. And so was she.

  When they reached Trevon’s rooms—it felt strange thinking of it as their room—he unbuttoned his jacket and slumped into a chair facing the balcony. He looked exhausted . . . and troubled. She walked around behind him and massaged his shoulders. “You don’t like the decision your father made.”

  “I don’t . . . not at all,” he said huskily. “I have an awful premonition, but I lack the authority to do anything about it. He is my father, and he’s the king. The choice was his to make.”

  “What can you tell me?” Sera asked, her own worries growing.

  “The city is rioting,” Trevon said. “It must be quelled. Some of the nobles suggested that it will burn out in a
few days. That the people will return to their homes after growing weary of smashing windows and lighting things on fire. But Montpensier thinks the riot will only grow worse—and that it may even spread to other realms if my father does not act quickly and decisively. There are not enough members of the king’s guard to put down the trouble. His advice is for my father to summon the army to restore order. The closest garrison is Beestone Castle, and if word is sent soon, they can be here in one day.”

  “Montpensier is willing to fire on the king’s people?” Sera asked in alarm.

  “He is. And ultimately, he persuaded my father to pursue that course of action. If the populace doesn’t settle by tomorrow, they’ll impose order with cannon and sword. A writ is being sent to summon the garrison.”

  “Has Montpensier left the city?”

  Trevon shook his head no. “The king wants to keep an eye on him. He’ll send Captain Remmer to command the garrison.”

  She breathed out in relief. “That’s good news, at least. What caused the rioting? Was it the gunshot?”

  “It may have started before that,” he said blackly. “The Espion is saying it’s too dangerous to go out right now and investigate. They’ll interrogate prisoners after the garrison has subdued the riot.” He shook his head and looked down over the balcony. “With the sun going down, you can see some of the fires burning. I’ve never seen it this lawless before.”

  Sera stopped massaging him and walked around. “I don’t trust Montpensier.”

  “Neither do I,” he said. Then he rose and squeezed her shoulders. “Would you like something to eat, my love?” He bent down and kissed her forehead.

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “But you do look tired,” he said. “Why don’t you rest? I have some correspondence I can read at the desk. I’ll wake you in a little while. Maybe things will calm down tonight, and there will be no need for the garrison.”

  Sera hadn’t slept much the night before, in anticipation of the wedding, and she couldn’t deny that she was exhausted. “A little rest would be good. But don’t let me sleep for too long, Husband.” She leaned up and kissed his mouth.