by Jeff Wheeler
Durrant offered the young doctor a chair, but he shook his head, declining it. “As you wish. Members of the privy council, I introduce to you Doctor Adam Creigh, who has graciously agreed to relate his personal account of the events that occurred the day of the empress’s wedding. We are grateful he has recovered sufficiently to attend with us. May I remind the council that he served with distinction in the Ministry of War as a ship’s surgeon and was instrumental in saving the lives of many of our brave young men. I will also remind you that our empire called on him again to attend to cholera morbus victims in Kingfountain, and I believe he has made some progress in treating its victims and prolonging their lives. While we still do not know the cause, we owe this young man a debt of gratitude.”
There followed a sustained applause from the council, and Adam flinched and then flushed. His mouth pressed into a frown, and he shook his head, breathing in and out slowly. He wasn’t pleased by the adulation. That much was clear by his expression.
When the noise subsided, Durrant continued, “Doctor Creigh, you may begin.”
All became quiet again, and Sera leaned forward in her chair. Adam set his cane against the edge of the council table and pressed his hands there, leaning forward to keep himself steady.
“I am no more deserving of your praise than countless other doctors and surgeons who shared similar responsibilities.” He sighed deeply and then turned and faced Sera. “I would also be remiss if I did not thank you, Your Majesty. You saved my life, and each additional day I draw breath is an undeserved gift. Thank you.”
Sera nodded to him, wishing he wouldn’t be so formal. But then, he always had been.
“I’ve been asked to relate the events of the night of Lord Fitzroy’s assassination. I was not with the wedding party when he was shot. Miss Fitzempress had asked me to remain behind at the castle. Her sensitivity to the Mysteries is impressive. When he was brought to me, I saw that the ball had shattered his elbow, dug a trench down his forearm, and ripped off several of his fingers. It was a painful injury. I believe the shot was intended to kill him, only it did not. Lord Fitzroy may have lost his arm ultimately, due to infection, but that injury alone would not have killed him.” He paused, casting his eyes around the room. “There had been some trouble between the guard and the Espion, the king’s spy service. Most of the guards had been stationed outside to protect the wedding, leaving the castle vulnerable, but our room was protected by the king’s guard. General Montpensier personally attended to the sickroom. I believe he was anxious to know firsthand whether Lord Fitzroy would live or not.”
“And why do you suppose that?” Durrant asked.
Adam looked at him. “Because I believe he was disappointed that Lord Fitzroy wasn’t already dead. How would one normally react in a situation like that? An innocent man would have been concerned about starting another war. He would have given orders to apprehend the villain. I was in the sickroom, and there was no such talk, no such communication. Montpensier was riveted to Lord Fitzroy’s sickbed, and he offered sedatives to help ease his pain. They were all refused, which only agitated the general further. Eventually he was summoned by the king, which relieved me. I had the suspicion that he would have plunged a dagger into Lord Fitzroy’s chest if I hadn’t been standing in the way.”
That remark earned some angry murmurs from the council.
“Lord Fitzroy suffered through the ordeal of the surgery without any pain suppressants of any kind. I don’t know how he endured it, but he was very weak and had lost a great deal of blood by the end. He asked to see Miss Fitzempress, and after she was summoned, he charged her with his personal journal and then requested a Gift of Healing.” His tone became more somber. “I tried to give him one, but the Mysteries constrained me. I couldn’t speak. Miss Fitzempress was chosen to do the Gifting instead, and so she did. It was a sacred experience. One I won’t forget.”
Adam rubbed his mouth, shifting a bit as if to ease a wave of pain. Then he planted his hands again. “I stayed at Lord Fitzroy’s bedside, along with his servant, the Bhikhu Raj Sarin, and four members of the king’s guard. It was just before midnight. The city was still rioting in the streets, and the noise floated in from the open balcony window. We heard commotion out in the hall and one of the knights went to investigate. He was shot through the chest. The other guards hurriedly barred the door.”
Sera felt the tension in the room grow. She, too, hung on Adam’s every word, her imagination filling in the details of the scene. Gripping the armrests of her seat, she stared at him, adding his story to her own memory of the events. When the commotion first started, she was asleep on the sofa, exhausted by the ordeal, and Trevon was writing at his desk.
“The Espion came in through a secret opening in the wall. It swung open and men with pistols and swords started to rush in. We’d all have died right then were it not for Raj Sarin. He flung himself into the midst of them, bringing them down swiftly with nothing but his arms and legs. He pushed them back for a while, but then someone jammed a pistol into his ribs and fired. I saw the bullet come out his back. Still, he fought on, breaking the neck of the man who’d shot him. I was with the knights, trying to hold the door closed. One of our fellows was shot in the face, and each shove pushed us farther back.”
The trauma of the event was evident on his face. He clenched his hand into a fist and pressed it against his mouth. Sera could see evidence of the nightmare replaying in his mind.
“There was so much confusion. The door was forced open enough that several arquebus staves were able to be shoved into the room. I was hit by a ball on my arm, and it spun me around. The knights fought back. Raj Sarin managed to bring down all the Espion who came in through that door, although he was shot three more times at close range. I saw him sag to his knees, his face the color of ash. Another man came in through the opening and aimed a pistol at his head. Even though I was injured, I was able to club the man in the head with a water pitcher, rendering him unconscious. I knew Raj Sarin’s wounds were fatal. He was bleeding out of his mouth.” Adam shook his head, shuddering. “I then went to Lord Fitzroy’s bedside and determined to carry him out of harm’s way.”
The silence in the room was absolute. Sera felt her throat thicken, and she tried to swallow. Tears stung her eyes.
“I knew moving him would cause him more pain, so I apologized. He looked as tranquil as a spring morning. He gripped my hand in his and told me to escape from the balcony. He said there was a lip of stone, only a few inches wide, that I could use to cross from one balcony to the next. He ordered me to get out at once.” Adam’s voice quavered. He coughed, trying to master his emotions. “I refused. But he hooked his good hand behind my neck and pulled me close so that our foreheads touched. And he ordered me, in the name of the Mysteries, to get to Miss Fitzempress’s rooms. He said the Mysteries had already told him that he was going to die. I’d heard the same news myself through the Gifting. I could do nothing but kill myself to try and prevent it. He implored me once more to obey him, for the Mysteries still had work for me to do.” He swallowed once more. “Then he kissed my forehead and lay back against the pillows, utterly exhausted.”
Adam hung his head low. “His words compelled me. I’d obeyed him in all things before. He . . . he was a father to me. My mentor. My friend. I would have gladly given my life to save his. But I fear he had already made a bargain with the Mysteries to save mine instead. I’ll forever bear the guilt of fleeing that awful scene. I slid out onto the balcony just as the door burst open. The final knights were slaughtered. I pressed against the wall, afraid at any moment one of our attackers would look out. But I suppose, in the confusion, they had forgotten about me. They had their quarry trapped on the bed. He was helpless against them.”
Sera wiped her eyes, her heart aching.
“I kept as quiet as I could, trying to calm my frantic breath. Then the commotion calmed. I heard a woman’s voice, one that I recognized as Lady Corinne’s. I didn’t hear what she said to Fitz
roy, for she spoke too low, and the commotion from the city drowned out her words. But I knew it was her. He said something in reply, although I didn’t hear him either. I knew I would die if I stayed there, so I climbed over the balcony, using my boot to feel for the ledge. Although I couldn’t see it, I felt it and used it to move away from the balcony.” He took a moment to compose himself, and when he spoke again, his voice was steadier. “I had not gone far when I saw them throw Fitzroy’s body over the balcony onto the yard below. I believe he was already dead when it happened. There was no struggle. I felt no life radiating from him. There were some guards patrolling the grounds, and they shot the corpse a few times. They laughed as they did so.” He breathed in slowly again, his tone revealing that he strained against his growing anger. “They rejoiced in the death of that man. I heard someone say that they would throw him into the river along with the rest of us from Comoros, and they hoisted the body above their heads. By this time, I was halfway across to Miss Fitzempress’s rooms. One of the guards down in the garden saw me, and they all began firing at me. That is how I sustained most of my wounds. I would have fallen to my death if not for her.”
The reminder of how close they’d come to being killed, to being caught by Lady Corinne, made her cringe. If Trevon had not left the Tay al-Ard behind, she and Adam and Becka would all be dead. At least Corinne’s plan had not totally been a success. It was clear now that she had intended to create a cataclysmic disaster in both realms simultaneously. Sera realized that the Mysteries had saved them. A small cylindrical device had been the means of thwarting the woman’s plan.
By small and simple means . . . hadn’t she read that in one of the tomes?
Adam straightened, his composure restored. “This is my report. I understand you know the rest from Her Majesty’s account. Thank you for the opportunity to speak. I hope you do not judge me too harshly.”
“Indeed not,” said Durrant. “The ordeal you survived would have broken any man. You did yourself credit. Now, best if you continue to recover and fully regain your health.”
Adam nodded sagely, but he turned to Sera as the council members began to discuss his story amongst themselves. Sera wanted to ask about Anna, but before she could, Adam leaned forward, his eyes ardent.
“I would beg one thing from you, Your Majesty,” he said.
“What is it?” she asked, feeling inclined to grant him anything he desired.
“When I am healed, I request a commission to the Ministry of War that I may continue to help save lives. Grant me an assignment, any you choose, back in Kingfountain. I understand that Cettie is still there.” He swallowed. “I wish to find her.”
Her respect for him grew. His experience in Kingfountain had wounded him, inside and out, but he would plunge back into the fire to find her friend. She saw the desperate look in his eyes, the pain that gnawed at his soul.
“No, Adam,” Sera said, shaking her head. But before Sera could explain her denial, the door to the privy council chamber burst open. It was an officer of Law, his face frantic, his eyes wide with terror.
“What is it, Captain Krupp?” said Lord Halifax in astonishment.
The officer was trembling. “I’ve come f-from the west. From P-Pavenham Sky.”
“Speak man!” said Halifax angrily. The whole mood shifted to concern.
“It’s fallen, sir. The m-manor . . . it f-fell.”
I toured the devastated area by tempest sky ship. Pavenham Sky did indeed fall, along with all its illustrious gardens, save one. The impact of its crash has convulsed the land in ways unimaginable. Such a loss hasn’t happened in decades, and none of the other manors that have fallen were nearly so large as Pavenham Sky. Because it was along the coast, it triggered a quake and a flood that impacted the entire western shore of Comoros. The Ministry of War is not only sending troops to Kingfountain, they are also rescuing thousands who have lost homes and family members. All because a single sky manor dropped like a rock in a pond. When word of this calamity reaches the far expanse of our empire, there will be mass hysteria and fear. It is unavoidable.
If Lady Corinne, who I have no doubt caused this wreckage of human souls, thinks she can cow our new empress, then she is utterly mistaken. The ancients had it correct. Courage consists not of hazarding without fear, but in being resolutely minded in pursuit of a just cause.
—Asriel Durrant, Prime Minister
CETTIE
CHAPTER TWENTY−EIGHT
THE POWER OF MEMORY
“Jump!”
The command was given by the kishion, by her father. They stood on the edge of a wall, and he was asking Cettie to leap across to a nearby roof. The fall, a significant one, would shatter her bones. And although she knew the Everoot would heal her, a visceral, primal voice inside her screamed how foolish it would be to make such a leap.
The squirming dread in her stomach was overpowering. The wind tousled her hair and rustled her skirts. The kishion stood there scowling, arms folded, eyes digging into her.
“Why do you hesitate?” he asked angrily.
“Because I’m not certain I can do it,” Cettie answered, her mouth dry. Each new day in the poisoner school had brought her to the brink of her abilities. Had it been four days already? She had failed multiple times to do the tasks demanded of her. The teachers continually forced her to face her fears. Grabbing the end of a serpent was probably the hardest thing she’d done, but today’s torment—goading her fear of heights—came close. There was no pond beneath her to break her fall this time, only hard, uncaring stones. Much like the kishion’s heart. She had asked him how he’d survived his death at the grotto. But he wouldn’t tell her his secrets. Had it something to do with Everoot?
“But I am certain that you can. I would not require you to make a jump that was impossible. You’re stronger than this.”
His words only added to her mental strain. The shelf of roof seemed to shrink farther away the longer she looked at it. Her legs were trembling, and she felt the wind shoving her a bit too hard, making her want to wobble.
“Jump, or I will push you.”
She turned to stare at him with a flash of anger. There was no doubt in her mind that he would do it. He was a kishion, a trained killer. And he was her father. This was the man she had seen in her vision, the one who had shot her real father, Lord Fitzroy. In the few days they had trained together, he had been merciless in his approach to grind the weakness out of her. Sometimes she earned a curt nod, and it always made her a little angry to know she’d pleased him.
She obeyed him to save Anna’s life and the lives of others she loved. If Anna died, she knew someone else she cared for would be targeted next. He’d not mentioned Anna’s health to her, but it lingered like a threat over everything she did. But why did she care to please such a man? Why did that even matter? His presence in her life had only caused the bitterest of pain.
“Are you trying to break my neck?” she demanded.
He smirked. “No. I’m trying to strangle your fears. One by one. Fear limits you. It keeps you from becoming who you were meant to be. If you knew, Daughter, that you could not fail, if you were absolutely convinced that you would succeed, what would you dare to do?” He reached out a hand and then closed his fingers into a fist. “The world is an orchard with fruit ripe for the taking. The only thing that holds us back is our fear. Fear of what people will think. Fear of what they will say. Fear that it is wrong, only . . . we come to realize that nothing is wrong. People have merely convinced one another to follow certain rules that bind their behavior. Here at this school we must unteach the foolish tenets that have locked and bound your mind. I tell you that you can jump and reach that ledge. I know you can. You don’t try because you’re afraid of falling. Conquer that fear, Daughter, and you will discover that nothing can truly limit you.”
His words did have an effect on her. There was something in his tone that bolstered her confidence. He wasn’t trying to harm her. He was training her.
&nbs
p; “But I might fall,” she said.
He shrugged. “So? What does that matter? You probably won’t. Now jump.” He took a menacing step toward her.
Cettie’s whole body trembled. She stopped looking down at the pavers below. She focused on her goal, on the edge of the roof. No, no, this was madness. Why take such a risk?
Then again, a little voice in her head whispered, what did it matter? If the jump did kill her, her torment would be at an end.
He took another step toward her, and she committed to the act. Cettie sprang from the edge of the wall. She instantly realized she had not shoved off strongly enough. The fear turned her insides into liquid—she was going to plummet—but she caught the edge of the roof on her stomach, hitting it hard enough to make her grunt with pain. Her fingers quickly scrabbled at the rounded clay shingles, the edge of the roof scraping against her chest. Her legs dangled below, her feet trying to find something steady she could use to prop herself. There was nothing.
Her elbows pressed down against the tiles, some of which rattled as if they were about to break free. Her stomach was up in her throat, and she gasped and shuddered, trying to keep herself from falling. The instinct of survival was strong, and she instinctively swung her hips to bring a leg up onto the edge. A jolt of energy struck her when her knee made it up, and she felt herself becoming steadier. She grasped one of the tile edges with her fingers and used the leverage to help pull herself up. Then her other knee made it, and she was kneeling, head hanging low, panting for breath.
