by Jeff Wheeler
Although the sun had set, it was still light enough to see. The gong sounded, announcing the call to come back to the villa. Cettie would have preferred to lie on the cobblestones and sleep there for the night. Her arms and legs were still trembling from her effort. At least she’d climbed high enough to trigger the water. That was good.
One of the girls said something, and Cettie felt them grab her elbow to help her stand. The pain made her cry out and jerk her arm away. Some of them exchanged words, and then the Leoneyis girl draped Cettie’s good arm around her neck and helped her hobble back to the villa. She brought her directly to the Everoot room.
Fatigued, sodden, and hungry, Cettie waited on the same bench she’d sat on earlier. One of the healers approached with a clump of Everoot and put it in her hands. The reinvigorating magic immediately took hold, repairing the cracked bones in her arm and filling her with strength and comfort. Even pleasure. Her fatigue was forgotten. She could have gone back to the wall and ascended it easily. Cettie straightened her arm, gazing at it wonderingly, then rubbed her hand against the area. There was no pain at all.
The Leoneyis girl smiled at her, motioning with her hands as if she were eating from a bowl with a spoon, and then gestured for Cettie to follow her.
Cettie was ravenous. But she didn’t have a change of clothes, and it would take time for her gown to dry. The Leoneyis girl motioned again for her to follow, and so she did. Instead of bringing Cettie back to the common room where the meals had been served, she led her upstairs to the dormitory area. She then guided Cettie to a door and opened it. It was another room, full of dresses of every style, fabric, and fit imaginable. Some were hanging on racks. Others were spread out on flat surfaces. There was easily two hundred different patterns, fabrics, and styles. The other young woman took her to a section that had designs from the empire of Comoros, dresses that would have suited a serving maid or an elegant lady. In fact, Cettie recognized the livery of the servants of Pavenham Sky.
“These . . . these are all for us?” Cettie asked, staring in amazement.
The girl didn’t understand her question, but there was no mistaking the tone of her voice. The girl nodded and pulled a dress out from the rack—one that reminded her of her favorite keeper’s gown. The girl gestured for her to undo the buttons on her dress and then walked over to a wicker hamper near the door. She bent down and opened it, showing Cettie that it already contained dresses that had been worn by the other girls earlier in the day. She’d noticed the others had changed clothes throughout the day but hadn’t thought anything of it. The room was communal, then, and all the girls could wear anything they wanted from whatever style or fashion they preferred.
It was like being an empress.
Cettie gazed around at the selection, feeling overwhelmed by the choices. She finally took the dress the Leoneyis girl had selected, feeling it suited her best. Cettie wasn’t ready to try adopting a new style yet. She was afraid if she did, she would begin to lose all sense of herself and her past life. Perhaps that was what she dreaded most.
After unfastening the buttons with her fingers, Cettie began to strip away the damp gown. The Leoneyis girl’s eyes widened with shock and alarm. She was staring at Cettie’s chest, staring at the maston symbol dangling from her neck. The girl backed away from her, just a step, staring at her with unconcealed fear. She quickly mastered herself again, but Cettie felt utterly self-conscious. Why had the Leoneyis girl been taught to fear the chain?
Cettie quickly changed dresses and hurriedly buttoned up the new one, once again hiding the medallion she wore. Why did she feel ashamed to be wearing it now? The thought of losing the other girls’ friendship over it made her sorry.
The Leoneyis girl led Cettie over to a dressing table where there was an assortment of brushes and embellishments. Cettie liked to wear her hair up in the proper and staid fashion of a typical keeper of a manor. It was dignified and respectable. But this new girl styled it a little differently, letting certain tresses hang longer. Some embellishment followed, just a little to accentuate her eyes and to subtly alter the color of her lips. The Leoneyis girl looked at her and nodded in approval. Looking at herself in the mirror, Cettie evaluated the reflection. It wasn’t much, but the results were striking, and that made her feel guilty. Had Adam ever seen her like this? What would he think of her now?
The thought made her ashamed, and she pushed it away. The other girl tugged at her arm, smiling at her, and they went down to join the others for the meal. This one was not held in silence as the previous two had been. The girls were talking and laughing, and they waved in greeting when Cettie and the girl from Leoneyis arrived.
Cettie joined the others, and although she did not understand their language, she still felt included. The meal was communal, and the others offered her food from trays of broiled fish, bread covered in cheese, and cut and arranged vegetables—some of which she didn’t even recognize from her world, like the ones shaped like green arrows. A sweet-tasting cider that danced on Cettie’s tongue was served as the drink. It was so delicious she poured herself a second gobletful.
The meal was excellent, but the fatigue she’d felt earlier was beginning to return. She had no doubt she’d sleep well that night—if she allowed herself to do so. Was there a way to escape this place? She wondered if she should try to find a way out while everyone slept.
Cettie noticed the door open, and Jevin walked in with Lady Corinne, whom she hadn’t seen since the day they’d arrived. The two were in conversation, but Jevin made a short gesture and pointed to where Cettie was sitting. She swallowed the food in her mouth, her appetite suddenly vanishing.
Lady Corinne thanked Jevin and then approached the table. The other girls, taking notice, fell silent, their looks revealing deep respect tempered by a touch of wariness.
“Come with me, Daughter,” Lady Corinne said to Cettie.
Cettie obeyed and rose from the table. Her stomach felt as if it leaped to her throat in nervous agitation. Corinne led her back into the hallway, where they could be alone. It was dark now, the corridor lit by flickering torches.
They stopped just past the doorway, and Corinne turned to face her with a look that was cold and calculating.
“What is it?” Cettie asked in dread.
“I thought I should be the one to tell you. Brant Fitzroy is dead. I thought you might prefer to know in private. So you may grieve alone.”
A jolt, a shudder, a shock—all struck Cettie at the same instant. Disbelief collided with the raw certainty that Lady Corinne would not lie about something so dreadful. This was the woman who’d had Mr. Skrelling thrown from her manor. “D-dead?”
“I assure you. Quite dead. And then his body was thrown into the river for good measure along with those of hundreds of other residents of Comoros. The war has begun, Cettie. There is no stopping it this time. I will return to Lockhaven soon to finish my business before the mirror gates begin crashing down. When you grow weary of feeling grief and despair and want to feel more useful emotions, let your true father know. He will give you another kystrel. Yes, he will be continuing your training now. As he tried when he came to fetch you from Muirwood. Be ready when I come for you. If you don’t, remember that Anna’s life dangles by a thread. One more dose could kill her. Or cure her.”
As Cettie wept in her room—huddled on the floor, choking on her sobs—she felt as if she would die from her grief. First Joses. Now Father. Anna had poison flowing through her veins. The cure depended on Cettie, and the rest of her family could also fall victim to Lady Corinne’s wicked schemes. No one was safe. No one was protected. Not even Adam. Had he been killed along with the rest? Was Sera dead? There was nothing she could do to save any of them. She felt lost, abandoned, betrayed.
Was there no justice in the universe? No compassion? Was it all a game of power, a struggle between equals, each side using trickery and deceit to achieve their ends?
In her misery and rage, she tugged the chain loose from her co
llar and stared at it, her eyes swollen with tears. The pale metal glinted in the moonlight coming from the window.
She threw it violently away and then buried her face on her forearms and sobbed.
Officers from the Ministry of War arrived at my home in the early afternoon. I was quite shaken by their abrupt visit and then shocked to be taken immediately into custody. I demanded to know for what crime, but they refused to answer. Threats of legal repercussions did nothing as I was hoisted onto a zephyr. We shot like a cannon ball up to Lockhaven, a place I had been banned from by the emperor.
One cannot exaggerate, at least I cannot exaggerate, the depths of my trepidation as I was brought to the court for an interview with Willard Richard Fitzempress, the emperor himself. One cannot express the horror I felt to find him at death’s door. His doctor said he had been poisoned, and they were struggling to find a cure. His face was ashen. His lips were black. But he gestured to me furiously to attend his bedside and croaked in a strangled, wheezy voice, to review the alteration he had made to his final will and testament. He could barely breathe, let alone speak, but his eyes were fierce, as if he were forestalling death by his will alone. I read the change. He had named Seraphin his heir. Sera, who is by now a married woman in the court of Kingfountain. Were the emperor’s wits addled? No, more likely his change of heart was the result of his imminent death. I watched him strangle, watched his eyes roll back in his head as he perished in an agonizing manner. I’m jotting these notes now, while my memory is fresh, as I wait for the privy council to gather and discuss how we might possibly get our new empress home.
—Asriel Durrant, Private Secretary of Sera Fitzempress
SERA
CHAPTER TWENTY−THREE
DYING BREATH
The Espion had taken her husband away hours ago. They had spotted Sera on the couch, still in her rumpled wedding dress, but had left her behind and locked her inside the room. Soon afterward, noises of violence had filtered in from the corridor beyond, the sounds filling her with fear and concern. Afraid for her own safety, she had pushed the couch and some chests to barricade the door. She’d paced the room for a while, her nerves fraught with fear, and then eventually she returned to the desk where her husband Trevon had been working. Perhaps she could find a weapon or something she could use to defend herself.
The papers were written in a language she didn’t understand and could not read, and she quickly moved the stacks aside. As she nudged one pile over, a glint of brass caught her eye, and she quickly lifted it. Trevon’s Tay al-Ard lay beneath it. She blinked, both in surprise and in relief.
With it, she could escape. And hopefully rescue others as well.
The sound of arquebus shots beyond the window abruptly claimed her attention, followed by someone crying out her name. It sounded like Adam. She slipped the device into her pocket, hastened to the curtain, and parted it to reveal the darkness beyond. When she opened the door, the acrid smell of smoke assailed her, but she cautiously stepped out onto the balcony.
Soldiers wearing the uniform of the king’s guard had assembled below. The torches they held revealed each of them wore a white armband bearing the fleur-de-lis symbol. A crowd had gathered beneath one of the balcony windows. They were hoisting something—a body, she discovered—up and carrying it toward the gates. The body wasn’t moving.
“Sera,” she heard a man croak.
Another gunshot sounded, adding to the smoke, and the bullet struck the wall near her balcony. She cried out in fear as a spray of stone rubble spattered against her. At first, she thought the men were shooting at her, then she saw the man edging along the thin ledge connecting her balcony to the others. It was Adam Creigh, and his arm and the back of his jacket were stained with blood. She saw the fear in his eyes, the pain twisting his mouth into a scowl.
“Shoot him again!” she heard a man say from far below. If Adam fell, he was a dead man.
Sera sprang into action. She rushed to the edge of the balcony and leaned over, reaching her fingers for him. He was out of reach.
Another shot sounded, and she saw it hit the stone just to the left of his head. He winced, the fragments of rock slicing into his ear and scalp. Every moment might be his last as he inched his way closer, hugging the face of the castle, hands splayed to find a grip.
“Did you get him? Did you get him?”
“I can’t see him through all the blasted smoke!” someone complained.
“He isn’t falling,” another said. “Curse his luck!”
Adam’s eyes fixed on hers as he shuffled along. The soldiers below started to reload their weapons.
“Hurry, Adam,” she urged. “You have to hurry.”
His lips pressed into a firm line. Sera reached as far as she could, unafraid that the bullets might aim for her next. If she could only touch him, she could use the Tay al-Ard to take them both away. But she wouldn’t leave without Becka. Not without Becka. Or Trevon. If they’d taken him to the same dungeon, she could rescue them both.
“I see him,” one of the soldiers called. “He’s almost to the next balcony. Fire, you fool!”
“Adam!” Sera pleaded, straining.
Another shot sounded, and this time it struck him. She didn’t see where, but she saw him rock with the impact. His body began to tilt as he lost his grip.
“Jump!” she pleaded.
Adam flung himself toward her, bringing one arm up over the balcony wall. His legs dangled below, struggling and failing to find traction. He would have plummeted if Sera hadn’t been there to grab his arm. She dug her fingers into his jacket, his shirt, anything she could grip, and helped pull him onto the balcony. He flopped onto the ground just as another shot rang out and pulverized the stone where he had been.
An angry voice shouted from below, “Get into the castle and take him! He’s going into the river with Fitzroy. Now!”
Clutching Adam’s arms, she dragged him into Trevon’s rooms, smearing blood on the floor.
“Adam, what happened?” she gasped, winded by the effort to move him.
“The prime minister has been murdered,” Adam said with grief. “Raj Sarin too. They’re going to kill all of us. All of us from the empire. They plan to massacre us and then throw our bodies into the river.”
“No,” Sera breathed out in despair.
“Lady Corinne is behind it. She came right after Fitzroy and Raj Sarin were killed. I had already made it out to the balcony when I heard her voice from the room. They’re going to come for us next.”
Sera’s mind whirled with panic.
Adam groaned in pain from his wounds, gritting his teeth as he looked down at the blood soaking his shirt. “I may be dead . . . before they get here.”
“You will not die,” Sera promised. She heard noises from just outside the room. The whole castle was in an uproar. “Where is Captain Remmer?”
“I d-don’t know,” Adam said, wincing. “I’m sorry, Sera. I’m sorry.”
“Shhh,” she soothed, smoothing his damp hair.
“I can’t . . . protect you,” he said, lying prone on the ground.
“No, you can’t. So I must protect you.”
The door handle jiggled, and she heard something shove against it. She was grateful she’d blocked it earlier. More men joined the effort, and the furniture blockade began to screech against the floor. Sera knelt by Adam’s side and fished the Tay al-Ard from her pocket.
“What is that?” Adam asked, staring at it in confusion.
She gripped his arm with her free hand and pictured the dank cell in her mind.
The magic yanked them both out of the room just as the doors crashed open. The familiar nauseating feeling wrenched at her gut, and then they appeared in the small room that held her maid. Becka was standing on a stool, her back to them, looking through the bars. She fidgeted from foot to foot.
“Becka,” Sera whispered, and the girl shrieked with fright. She stumbled and fell off the stool and then recovered slightly when she saw S
era on the floor, Adam prostrate beside her.
Becka knew about the Tay al-Ard and had seen Sera suddenly disappear and appear before. “What’s happening, Sera?” she said, her eyes tear-stricken. “Some soldiers tried to come down here, and there was a fight.”
“Have you seen Prince Trevon?” Sera asked, beckoning for her maid to come near.
“No. The bodies are still in the hall. Some are moaning. What’s happening?”
“General Montpensier is seizing power,” Sera said, convinced it was true. “I think he started abducting the royal family yesterday.” She remembered how Prince Kasdan had never reached the boat yesterday. And then the rest of the family had fled back to the palace where the Espion was the strongest. The Espion had no doubt caused the rioting, forcing Captain Remmer to use the majority of his force to try to quell it. And, of course, the army was coming to Kingfountain. An army, she no longer doubted, whose loyalty was to the general, not the king.
It was a disaster of catastrophic proportions.
Becka huddled next to them. She looked worriedly at Adam, who was writhing in pain and trying to stifle his moans. Sera knew he needed a healer immediately. And they all needed to get away from Kingfountain.
Trevon had been taken away. She’d hoped she would find him in the dungeon. Where was he? Could she afford to look for him?
“What do we do?” Becka whispered.
The need to decide—and quickly—was paramount. She had to focus. She realized, with growing anger, that she couldn’t save Trevon’s life. For all she knew, he may have already been killed and thrown into the river, making her a widow after only a few hours of marriage. She could only save her own life—and Becka’s and Adam’s. All of Comoros’s people in Kingfountain would be murdered. The thought made her sick to her stomach and angrier than she’d ever been in her life, and yet she was but one person. She could not stop an army.
