by Jeff Wheeler
“Thank you,” Sera answered, gazing at her maid in the mirror. The girl tried to conceal a yawn. “Get some sleep. I’ll be meeting with the privy council for a while. I’ll come back here when I’m done.”
“We won’t be going back to your house on Kelper Street, will we?”
Just thinking about her little house made her heart ache. There were so many memories of Trevon’s visits there, their walks and conversations and the impertinent comments that Mr. Durrant had made to him—all given and received in good humor while Becka watched from a nearby divan, trying not to smile and often failing. Good memories. Painful reminders.
Sera shook her head no, feeling a weariness that went down to her bones. “I don’t imagine we will. Get some rest.”
Becka nodded. Then she flung her arms around Sera’s neck and hugged her. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t going to leave without you,” she answered, squeezing her back. “And I’ll need you now more than ever, Becka. Everything has turned upside down. I need a friend.”
Becka pulled away, nodding vigorously. “You’ll always have one.”
Sera smiled at her and then walked out the door. Mr. Durrant was pacing outside, and his mouth quirked into a smile when he caught sight of her.
“Ah, now you look like an empress-to-be. Not a Kingfountian siren.”
“Is that even a word, Mr. Durrant? Kingfountian?”
“I just invented it.” He gave her an appraising look. “You look tired, which is understandable. How are you holding up?”
“As well as can be expected under the circumstances, Mr. Durrant.”
“Decisive. Good. You’ll need to be. Lord Welles was just here trying to push three of the admirals as possible contenders for the role of prime minister.”
“Three? I’m surprised he didn’t suggest himself.” Sera said these words with a tone of disdain.
“He’d be the puppet master regardless. The privy council is anxious to see you again. Shall we go?”
“I’d like to see my father first.”
Mr. Durrant’s brows knit together. “He’s going to be embalmed, Sera. Why not wait until afterward, when he looks more . . . presentable?”
She gave him an arch look and said nothing more.
“I see I’ve trained you too well,” said Durrant, heaving a sigh. “Follow me, Your Majesty.”
Sera was not very familiar with the intricacies of the palace. She knew Trevon’s home better than her own. Her father had changed the place, and in a way she couldn’t abide. The flaunting displays of wealth—in the gilded mirrors, the polished marble, and the paintings exquisitely done by master artists—all conspired to make her feel she had inherited an empire diseased by its own riches.
She had wanted to become the empress. But she’d never imagined all that she would have to sacrifice to achieve it. The victory was bittersweet.
Durrant led her to the doorway of the state room where her father had died. Two footmen guarded it, but upon seeing her, they opened the doors immediately.
A sour smell abruptly filled her nose as she entered. Bouquets of flowers had been brought into the room in an attempt to overpower it, though they’d only done half the job. This wasn’t the rotting smell of death she’d experienced when she’d discovered Mr. Skrelling on the beach beneath Pavenham Sky. Sera felt her courage begin to wilt, but she pressed on, determined to face her father’s corpse before she ascended his throne.
Mr. Durrant made a coughing-choking sound in the back of his throat as he followed her in. She could see he was struggling to prevent his disgust from showing. He gave her a nauseated smile and gestured to the bed. Despite his lack of composure, Sera was grateful he had entered with her. She didn’t want to be left alone with her father’s ghost.
Sera strode to the bed. A sheet covered her father’s face. Judging from the size of the body beneath the sheet, he’d shrunk since she’d last seen him. In life, he’d been a corpulent man. Her courage nearly fled from the room. Mr. Durrant remained behind a pace, letting her have a private moment with her father’s remains. In all her imaginings, she’d not thought he would die so young. He could have had the throne another twenty years. Maybe more. Clenching her jaw, she reached down and gently drew the sheet back to expose his face.
Yes, it was her father. Willard Richard Fitzempress. His lips were black, his cheeks sunken. But it was just a shell. She had not been to many funerals in her life, but it had always struck her how claylike a body seemed with nothing animating it. The essence of her father, his soul, had fled.
And yet . . . she sensed a connection to him. Perhaps his body was like a Leering, and it connected her to where his soul had gone. She hoped he would be able to hear her.
His hands had been crossed over his stomach, and she carefully laid her hand on them. It felt as if they were made of stone.
“What can I say?” Sera asked in a hushed whisper. Her voice caught in her throat. Swallowing, she pressed on. Inside, she was rattled. But she would do this. She would make herself do it. “I don’t know what to say, Father. That I’m sorry you are gone? That I will miss you? We’ve been estranged for so many years. Our meetings have been . . . painful. For both of us, I think. I used to look up to you. You were my father, and even though you were strict, I believed you cared about me.” The words were starting to gush out, and she let them, even as the tears thickened on her lashes. “You saved my life when I fell out of that tree. Do you remember that day? I was falling so fast. Yet you caught me. You saved me.” She bit her lip. “Sometimes I’ve wondered if you regretted that. You thought I was a threat to you. Competition. You were ambitious. You were always ambitious, although you pretended otherwise. You wanted so badly to rule.”
She swallowed again, feeling some confidence replace the misery and sadness. “You broke my heart when you persecuted me, Father. When you believed the lies told to you by others, especially her, when you allowed yourself to be deceived by your own self-righteousness and wisdom. She was subtle, wasn’t she?” Sera shook her head, remembering the time she’d spent as Lady Corinne’s ward. “She twisted you. But you let her. You . . . gave in to your darker impulses. In your mind, I’m sure you did the best you could. I don’t know what kind of life you led before I was born. I wasn’t there to see it. Your brothers . . . the bad example they set. It must have affected you.” She sighed again. “But when you lay dying, when you discovered that your time in this second life would soon be over, you chose me to replace you. The girl you wouldn’t even accept was your daughter. I think you knew something, there at the end. I think you realized that I wasn’t your enemy after all. We’re a little too much alike, you and I, although we never spoke of it. We’re both stubborn to our core, aren’t we? And maybe I needed a father like you to bring out in me my better virtues. If I’d been spoiled or if you’d indulged me, I would not be ready for this moment. I . . . I don’t see the throne as a reward or a deserved right. It is breaking my heart again to accept it, to lose what I went to Kingfountain to gain. I wanted so badly to help establish peace between our worlds, but I’m not sure such a thing was ever truly possible. Maybe it was just a fancy. A dream.” She let out a ragged breath.
“We’ve never spoken like this before, have we? So candidly. I never sought to injure you, Father. I hope, one day, you will see that. That you will have mercy. I have always tried to act on my conscience—to do what I thought was best. To be better than you were. Not because I hate you. Not because you never forgave me. But because I can see a better way. So I will try to be a better empress than you were an emperor. And I won’t be held hostage to the past any longer.”
Sera felt she had said her piece. There was a balm in honesty. She pursed her lips, gazing down the length of the sheet, then wiped her tears on the back of her wrist. Yes, the privy council was anxious that she return and begin her rule. But she’d needed to speak her mind to him.
“Farewell, my lord father,” she said at last. “Until we meet again after this
life. I hope you will be proud of me then.”
Had he heard her little speech? Was he aware of her sentiments? She’d parted a curtain in her soul, and in doing so, it felt as if she’d created a connection between them, however distant. And she felt a throb of approval, love, and peace settle into her. Maybe it was her imagination. Maybe it was just the reassuring presence of the Mysteries. Whatever it was, she accepted it as a treasure.
Sera carefully pulled the sheet back up and covered his face. A stray tear fell and blotted the linen. Mr. Durrant had ventured closer. He now stood at the foot of the bed, gazing at her with a look of sympathy and deep respect.
“To the privy council?” she suggested.
“Yes, of course,” he said. Then he tilted his head. “That was very . . . magnanimous of you, Your Highness. And quite touching.”
“I would appreciate, Mr. Durrant,” Sera answered, “if you would keep the memory of this to yourself.”
“Of course,” he answered, nodding in agreement. “This was not political theater, nor will it be treated as such. But if you’ll permit me to say it, your father could be a bit proud. Not in the best sense. You are quite different than he is. And more self-aware than I’d expect from a woman of your young age.”
“Thank you, Mr. Durrant. Shall we?”
Sera addressed the privy council from her father’s seat, recounting the events that had led to her marriage and Lord Fitzroy’s assassination. It was no small undertaking to relate the intricacies of such a complicated situation, including the role of Lady Corinne and how the prime minister had prepared a warrant for her arrest, but she made it clear that General Montpensier was their enemy and not the people of Kingfountain. Yes, they had rioted, but she believed it was because a master manipulator had riled them. Montpensier had inflamed the baser instincts of the people, their distrust and differences, and had caused the disruption for his own ends—to become the new emperor of his people.
As she told her tale, it became clear from the outraged expressions around the room that her own people’s wrath had been inflamed as well. Some of the members of the privy council could hardly remain civil. She was asked pointed questions about her willingness to use the military to retaliate against the enemies of the empire. She was willing, she declared without hesitation, but she would not do so impulsively.
“And how, may I ask?” demanded Lord Tensby, one of the council members, “can we be wise and prudent under such circumstances? Our harbinger, your childhood friend, has absconded the realm with a traitor. Lady Lawton has been under investigation these many months without the privy council being told. And she was a member of this council, a not-so-secret advisor to the emperor, who is now dead! You bear no blame in this, Your Highness, but certainly Lord Fitzroy should have spoken his mind ere this disaster! She may likely be the cause of his demise.”
“Hear, hear!” agreed a few more voices.
“Which brings us to the most pressing matter of state,” said Lord Welles authoritatively. “The selection of a new prime minister. Clearly someone from the Ministry of War is needed. We are vulnerable and can depend on General Montpensier pressing the chaos to his advantage. He will strike again through a mirror gate, and without our harbinger, we have no way of knowing which one. I believe that we have three strong candidates for the post, three up-and-coming officers who fought bravely before the armistice. Admiral Ballinger, Admiral Grant, or Admiral Fenwick. You can interview each man, Your Majesty, and choose the one you think best suited for the task. If you would heed counsel, then I shall give mine. Let us take the fight to their world. It will be costly. It will be difficult. But we will have the advantage. Any of the admirals, I believe, would be an excellent choice.”
“Well said, Lord Welles!” shouted another man.
“I agree wholeheartedly,” another added.
There was a self-satisfied air about Lord Welles as he sat back in his seat.
“Would Your Highness like to have them summoned so she may choose?” asked the Minister of Thought.
Sera could see the tide of opinion was turning in favor of Lord Welles’s recommendation. Their blood was up. They wanted war, they wanted retribution. Lord Fitzroy had adopted a defensive posture, responding to Kingfountain’s attacks as they came. An offensive strategy would require a completely different approach. How many natives of Comoros understood the geography of Kingfountain? She probably knew more than most of them. Hadn’t she actually traveled to the various regions?
Sera had to lead the privy council rather than be led by them. “Yes, I would like all three admirals to be brought to Lockhaven immediately,” she said, nodding to Lord Welles. A smug smile flashed on his face, and he leaned back, folding his arms.
“Choosing a new lord high admiral is of utmost importance to me,” Sera continued. “I will consider each man as a possible candidate.”
Lord Welles’s look darkened. “You said lord high admiral?”
“Yes. I’ve already chosen the new prime minister. Someone whom I have worked with for many years. Someone who has earned my loyalty and my trust. Someone who will help organize all our assets, not just our tempests and hurricanes but also our food, our metals, our riches, and even our faith. Someone who can judge and influence the mood of the common people, whom we desperately need and who will bear the brunt of this upcoming conflict.” Sera looked around those assembled, seeing the mingled curiosity and fear in their faces. “I name Asriel Durrant as my prime minister.”
And no one in the room looked more shocked than he did when she said it.
CHAPTER TWENTY−SIX
EMPRESS
The privy council wouldn’t be won over so easily. A convulsion of murmurs and heated resistance followed her announcement. She had anticipated that. Durrant had made enemies, to be sure, but he also had allies. Factions had already started to emerge in the council. She cut short the arguing.
“Enough of this!” Sera said in a forceful, commanding voice. She rose from her seat, knowing she didn’t make an intimidating spectacle, but she would compensate in her manner for what she lacked in height.
“But Your Majesty,” complained Lord Baxter, “we need the wisdom and expertise of the Ministry of War! You must respect the privy council’s judgment.”
“Of course you would say that Baxter,” said Lord Halifax, an aging man who had managed to maintain his position as Minister of Law for many years. “Surely Law is a more suitable ministry to lead such a conflict. I agree wholeheartedly with Her Majesty’s wisdom.”
“Please, my lords and ladies!” Sera said even more forcefully, glaring around the room until the council members went silent. Her heart beat fast, but she wasn’t nervous. The frenetic energy within the chamber impacted everyone there. “I do respect the wisdom and judgment of the privy council. You serve an important purpose, a check for abuses of power by the sovereign. You have the right to choose the emperor if one has not been named as a successor. That is not the case in this situation. My father clearly named me as his successor, as both his doctors and Mr. Durrant have already assured you. But it is my right to choose whom I deem fit to form a government. And I have chosen. You can hardly declare this an abuse of my power. Or reckless either. I know Mr. Durrant. He is wise, eloquent, and capable. I will hear no further arguments in this matter. If I discover someone more capable of fulfilling the role, I will make the change. Now please be seated. I do not intend to replace any members of this privy council at present, save one. Lady Corinne Lawton is hereby barred from this council. Prime Minister, I wish you to sign a warrant for her arrest. Send officers to Pavenham Sky immediately, and have her steward, Master Sewell, arrested and brought to Lockhaven at once. I wish to speak to him and see if he will cooperate willingly.”
A triumphant smile flashed on Durrant’s mouth. “As you command, Your Majesty. It will be done.”
“Lord Welles, I do not know how long the mirror gate closest to Kingfountain will remain open. Lord Fitzroy and hundreds of others wil
l not be returning, so the gate we passed through may yet collapse. I would like the Ministry of War to prepare for an assault on the usurpers. If we allow General Montpensier to consolidate his hold on Kingfountain, he will strike us at his earliest opportunity. I agree that we must act while chaos prevails. For too long we have allowed the general to attack us. The time has come for him to feel the full might and wrath of our empire. Our people have been massacred without mercy. I would hold those who were responsible accountable for their crimes. Prepare our legions for war.”
Sera did not like him. But there was no denying his aptitude. Now that Fitzroy was gone, he was the most capable man to direct an assault on the other world. She not only did it for the sake of those whose lives had been so brutally ripped from them, but also to prevent further atrocities, including anything that might happen to Trevon and his family. Part of her still hoped they could bring peace to both worlds and rule them together.
She could see in Welles’s eyes that he didn’t trust her or believe he’d been forgiven. After he had set her orders in motion, she would begin interviewing the men he had suggested. Hopefully one of them would be ambitious enough to do her will instead of his. She would not make the same mistake Trevon’s father had—putting too much trust and care in someone who did not deserve it.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Welles said, dipping his head to her.
Sera sat back down in her chair. “I would like a report on the health of Doctor Creigh. He was an eyewitness to the massacre. When he is capable, I should like him to address the privy council and offer his version of the events. I’m hoping that his injuries have been attended to as I requested?”
“They have been, Your Majesty,” said the Minister of Wind. “He was injured severely but not mortally. I will tell him at once of your request.”
“Please do,” Sera said. She pursed her lips, shifting her gaze to take in the rest of the council. “You are dismissed. Begin preparations for the attack immediately.”
