by Jeff Wheeler
“Abemfrashe,” said the other Aldermaston, and the stone door swung open.
As they approached, Sera felt a growing sense of dread in her heart. The fear was anchored not to the Aldermastons but to the Leering tucked into the darkness that lay ahead. The Leering that hosted Ereshkigal.
“What is this place?” Sera whispered.
“Before we go in, I need to tell you some history that you do not know.” The Aldermaston pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. His look was serious, as if he worried what he was about to tell her would cause harm to someone. “Before Empress Maia ruled, she was the daughter of the King of Comoros. A daughter that her father chose to disinherit after he was seduced by a hetaera. What you do not know, Sera, what no one in our generation knows, is that Maia was tricked into becoming a hetaera herself.”
Sera gaped at him in astonishment. “What are you saying?”
He held up his hand calmingly. “She was deceived. She did not realize it, but she was already under the thrall of the Myriad Ones. At the time, the ruins of an abbey in Dahomey held a Leering called the Hetaera Leering. It had been cursed, generations ago, so that any woman who accepted its brand on her shoulder would receive a curse. Her kiss became poison. Maia unwittingly sought out this Leering. Someone she’d trusted had taught her to use the Mysteries through a kystrel, even though it was forbidden for women—at that time—to learn. Maia went to the Hetaera Leering seeking answers to a problem facing her kingdom. Her intentions were good, but as I said, she was not herself part of the time. She unwittingly branded herself, and the curse was unleashed again.”
He held up a finger. “Maia came to Cruix Abbey and burned it to ash. She killed its Aldermaston. Well, not her exactly, but the being . . . the malevolent spirit inhabiting her. She was racked with guilt for what she had been made to do. After she became the first empress, she rebuilt Cruix Abbey as you now see it. This, you see, is why she made it her life’s work to purge the hetaera and the kishion from this world. She had seen firsthand what they were capable of . . . and what their goal was. It’s the same thing that you learned taking the Test. The Myriad Ones would raze everything with fire. They would destroy the world.”
Sera looked over at the other Aldermaston, who was listening to the conversation and nodded eagerly. Although he didn’t speak the language well, he clearly understood what was being spoken.
The Aldermaston said, “Because of Maia’s hunt, the hetaera order fled to the world of Kingfountain. There are, I’ve come to understand, other ways to travel between the worlds besides the mirror gates. The Queen of the Unborn, Ereshkigal, is confined to a Leering inside that chamber.” He pointed to the door in front of them. “She was bound by Empress Maia herself after a great struggle. She knew that the Leering could not be bound forever, that there would come a day when people would actively seek to free Ereshkigal. As our world has become more depraved, so has the Leering weakened. Its influence is already apparent. Ereshkigal wants to be freed. She wants to punish the line of the one who bound her.” The Aldermaston looked at her sternly. “You are the one that she seeks, for you are the one who can unbind her. She will use everything you care most deeply about to cajole you into liberating her. To trick you as she did Maia.”
The Aldermaston sighed. Sera’s heart churned with the awful dilemma. “There is no doubt that Ereshkigal’s servants have infiltrated the court of Kingfountain. And now they have recruited General Montpensier to do their bidding. That is the reason they have sought to conquer us. This next war will be unlike any that has been fought before. It is a war that will baptize both of our worlds in blood.”
Sera already knew this. The prospect sickened her. “What must we do, Aldermaston?”
His face was grim. “We must win it.”
Sera closed her eyes and nodded. Courage, she told herself. We must stand strong.
“There is one more thing,” the Aldermaston said. “Some time ago, you told me that there is a legend in Kingfountain about the Duchess of Brythonica coming here. Do you remember?”
“Of course I do,” Sera said. “You said there was nothing. No account of it.”
The Aldermaston nodded. “I did say that. I believed it to be true. But I have come to learn, from this Aldermaston,” he added, putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder, “that there is a record of it here at Cruix Abbey. Lady Sinia came here, Sera. It was never to be spoken of. And the information is considered so secret it may only be revealed to the emperor or empress. Not even the prime minister knows, for that role changes too frequently. I was not permitted to know this secret until now.”
“What is it?” Sera begged, clutching her hands together.
“Lady Sinia did come here. She came to Cruix Abbey. The record says she cast a mighty spell on this abbey, a spell of protection. But before she departed, she left a warning. She said that in the future, an empress would unbind the Leering. The name of the empress, she said, was the Angelic One. She left the abbey and was never seen again. By anyone.”
Sera gazed at him in growing horror. The Angelic One.
Seraphin.
EPILOGUE
FITZROY’S DEATH
All was in chaos, yet Brant Fitzroy felt a surge of calm in his heart. He had known this moment would come. He watched Raj Sarin fight three men at once, all of them Espion. The knife edge of his hand darted forward, a quick kick snapped toward this one’s knee or that one’s stomach. He broke the arm of one of the men, who’d raised a pistol to shoot the Bhikhu in the face. The shot went wide and gouged the bedpost that Fitzroy was using to prop himself up. The pain from his surgery had not yet subsided, and he breathed in deep gasps.
“We can’t hold them!” shouted one of the king’s guardsmen, who had been left to protect Fitzroy. A bullet ended his life just moments later.
Another Espion jammed a pistol into Raj Sarin’s ribs, and Fitzroy watched the bullet exit the man’s back with a spray of blood. Even wounded, Raj Sarin continued to fight, twisting the shooter’s neck until it broke. Adam Creigh was at the door, shoving it back as the enemies outside cursed and screamed at them in raw hatred. The barrels of arquebuses snaked in, and more shots were fired. He watched one strike Adam in the arm, spinning him around and dropping him.
This was it. This was the last moment he could act. The defenses were breached, but a final guardsman strained against the door to try to keep it closed. It was an impossible task. Adam managed to make it back to his feet and clubbed one of the Espion with a water pitcher.
With the wooden bedpost still vibrating from the shot that had damaged it, Fitzroy sat down on the bed. His shirt was damp with sweat and speckled with blood. In that swirling moment of violence, he thought of his wife, Maren, of each of his children, including the daughter he had never been able to adopt, Cettie. Their images in his mind were a comfort. He prayed they’d be safe at Fog Willows, knowing that another storm of war was coming. This one would be far worse than the last. It would touch the lives of every man, woman, and child.
Then Adam was at his side, a desperate look on his face. He ducked beneath Fitzroy’s good arm and tried to hoist him up.
“To the balcony,” Adam panted. “I must get you away. I’m sorry, but this will hurt.”
How like the young man . . . still hoping the worst would not happen. “I cannot make it. My death cannot be stopped now.” With his good hand, he gripped Adam’s and squeezed it hard, palm to palm, skin to skin. “Get yourself out. There’s a little ridge of stone, it’s not very wide. Use it to cross to another balcony. Get to Sera’s rooms.”
Adam’s eyes widened with anguish. He shook his head no, so Fitzroy squeezed his hand even harder, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“You cannot ask me to forsake you,” Adam pleaded. “They will have to kill me before I let them injure you again.”
Fitzroy saw the determination in his eyes. Only seconds remained. Fitzroy released his grip and then hooked his hand around Adam’s neck, pulling him so close th
at their foreheads touched. Mind to mind. Heart to heart.
“If you love me, then heed me, Adam. I order you, in the name of the Mysteries, to get out. Go to Miss Sera’s rooms. I have known that I will die, but you . . . you have the capacity to save countless others.” Fitzroy’s throat thickened. “The Knowing has a work for you to do, young man. Mine is finished. I accept it.”
Tears streamed down Adam’s face. “How can the Mysteries ask this of me? I . . . I would rather die too.”
“I know. But you need to live. You need to live so that countless others can live too. Please, my son. My faithful son. Can’t I trust you in this?”
The pain of his request hung in the air between them.
“I will do as you ask,” Adam answered, lowering his eyes. “I don’t understand why. But I will do it.”
“Bless you, boy. Bless you.” Fitzroy lifted his chin and kissed Adam’s forehead. The exhaustion of the moment sapped the rest of his strength, and he swooned.
He felt Adam retreat to the balcony, and moments later the door burst open and a shot ended the last man’s life. Fitzroy’s dizziness made it difficult to focus. He lifted himself up on his elbow, wanting to face his final moment with courage. There was Raj Sarin on the floor, eyes open, lifeless, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. Faithful to the last. The guardsmen were sprawled around him. One of them was only wounded and groaning. A soldier came in and shot him dead in a stroke of cruel malice.
Fitzroy strained to rise again, using his good arm to prop himself. His other was bandaged crooked, still flaming in pain.
The soldier standing in the doorway with the smoking pistol gazed across the destruction with grim satisfaction on his face. He eyed Fitzroy lying on the bed.
“They’re all dead, save him,” said the man, stepping aside.
“Leave us,” said the woman. Fitzroy recognized her voice. Lady Corinne.
“As you command,” said the man before stepping away. Fitzroy felt the tremor of the Mysteries in the air, but it was tainted and throbbing with a fiery rage. The whole palace seemed thick with it. He’d felt it in the crowd earlier, like a savage fury that had been unleashed.
He expected to see Corinne’s eyes glow silver. Wasn’t that the side effect of using a kystrel? But no, her eyes were normal. She still looked like a lady, dressed in her fashions even though her skirts would drag in the blood on the floor. There was an almost wistful look on her face.
He gazed at her silently. She had won in the end. He’d underestimated her ruthlessness.
“Here we are at last,” she said, her voice showing her sense of superiority.
“If you think this ends here, you are gravely mistaken,” Fitzroy replied.
She approached him, stepping around the bodies littering the floor as if they were nothing but driftwood. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, Brant.”
“I imagine you have.”
“You still don’t understand. You still don’t recognize me. But I shouldn’t be surprised. People are so easy to deceive.”
“What do you mean?” Fitzroy asked. Each second was a gift now. Each painful breath. “What have you done to Cettie?”
“You took her away from me, Brant. She was never yours. I brought her to the place where Mrs. Pullman sent me. She’s one of us now.”
He closed his eyes, the anguish for his child flaring inside him, but then her words registered and caught him up short. “Mrs. Pullman?” He opened his eyes again.
She was near him now. And then he watched as she aged before his eyes. Watched as the cheekbones altered, the eyes changed color, the forehead narrowed. She still wore the same gown—that wasn’t an illusion—but everything else had changed. He knew her now, and it slammed into his chest as a battering ram.
“Christina,” he said.
“So you recognize me at last,” she said, her tone playful. “All these years, Brant. All these years I’d hoped you would recognize me, despite my disguise.”
“You haven’t always been Corinne,” Fitzroy said, shaking his head. “She’s younger.”
“Which made her a more suitable victim,” the woman said. “I was her governess first. I went by Kathryn then. I helped mold her. Helped her woo Admiral Lawton. All the while I watched you from Pavenham Sky. To see if you’d be faithful to me, as . . . you . . . had promised.” She shook her head subtly. “And you weren’t. You fell in love with another, just as Jevin said you would. It wasn’t cruelty that prompted Maren’s shame. It was vengeance.”
“Why, Christina?” Fitzroy asked, his heart panging sharply. “Why reveal yourself now? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, and how would that have looked?” she said scornfully. “Would your father have cared any more about me then?”
“Father was dead.”
“I know. I killed him.”
Fitzroy’s eyes flared.
“I’m a poisoner, Brant. And a hetaera. I’m more than the powerless wretch I was. Shuttled away to the Fells. Hidden and concealed. You have no idea what I endured. And I promised myself I would bring all of the sky manors crashing down. Starting with Pavenham Sky. I’m not alone in my quest. And now, with my daughter as an ally, I can accomplish what I set out to do when you interfered with my plans. I don’t know how you found her in the Fells. But she is my daughter, my flesh and blood. Her father isn’t that simpleton you found down below. He was a kishion who trained me in the poisoner school.”
“She is good,” Fitzroy said. “Her heart is good.”
Christina smirked. “So was mine. We can change, Brant. She already is. I just wanted to bid you farewell. Before a hetaera can assume her full power, there is one thing she must do. She must betray someone she loves.” A sigh escaped her lips. “That’s why I’ve been waiting to kill you. Until now.”
He saw the dagger. He felt it plunge into his breast, into his heart. The jolt, the pain, the blinding light. He couldn’t breathe.
There were tears in her eyes. Remorse? As his vision blurred, he pitied what she had become. What his own father had driven her to. So many choices spread over so many decades, each one culminating into this moment. How many years had he searched for her in vain? In the end, he’d been hunting her, unwittingly, still. It was over now. He no longer had the strength to fight. Had he taught his children, by his own example, to be better than himself? Each decision, each action, carried so much weight, rippled into the vast eternity of outcomes. Be kind. Be courageous. Be gentle. These were things he’d never learned from his own father. Was his own life enough to break the cycle?
“Farewell, my love,” she whispered, kissing his cheek.
And he died realizing that Sera had been truly inspired in her Gifting. Her words whispered in his mind, but it wasn’t Sera’s voice he heard this time. He felt a peacefulness enwrap him, felt the pain of the mortal coil subside as his heart stopped its struggle to beat.
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 unborn. Your time in the second life is over. Well done, faithful servant. Your offering has been acceptable.
You will see her face before the end.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Give me a moment while I dry my eyes. When I was in college at San Jose State, I wrote a novel about the Massacre of St. Bartholomew’s Day in Paris in 1572. It was a historical-fiction story about a Jesuit priest who had learned kung fu while on a mission in China, and how he was charged to escort the daughter of a Huguenot spy across France. Throw in some Spanish inquisitors chasing them, and you have the plot in a nutshell of Tho Death Bar the Way. While that book will never see the light of day, I’ve remained interested in that era of history, and some of the surprising details that have stuck with me over the years helped inspire the Harbinger Series.
One of those details had to do with the historical figure Admiral Gaspard de Coligny. He was part of the Huguenots who struggled for re
ligious freedom in France. A marriage took place between a Catholic princess and a Huguenot prince in an effort to end the nightmarish civil wars raging in France during the Reformation. Admiral Coligny was fired at by an assassin. Only, he’d stopped to fix his shoe just as the primitive rifle fired. That little pause spared his life—for a few days—as well as convinced those responsible to instigate the massacre. History swings on small hinges.
I also love the play Les Misérables and how Valjean offered to sacrifice his life for the life of Marius, a young revolutionary student who was in love with his adopted daughter, Cosette. History, literature, and music are all big inspirations in my life. Fitzroy is a character whom I have loved and connected with.
There are more secrets to be uncovered as we continue this tale of two worlds. Get ready for the final climax as two powerful civilizations collide. See you again in Book 5 of the Harbinger Series!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I hatched the idea for the Harbinger Series, I knew I needed five books in order to tell this story. Without the past references, the struggles in Sera’s and Cettie’s lives, the conflict coming in Book 5 would not be possible. So many people have helped bring this complicated vision to fruition.
To Jason, who believed in Cettie and Sera from the beginning and helped persuade the powers that be to take a risk on an extended saga like this one. His inputs all along the way have been helpful and encouraging. Each book has attempted to raise the stakes, which is his editing mantra and words that I live by.
To Angela, my incredible development editor, who came back from maternity leave just in time to edit this without skipping a beat. A wonderful adventure awaits you in parenthood. (If you knew how much influence she had in these books, you’d leave reviews for her on Amazon as well!)
