Iron Garland

Book 3: The Harbinger

by Jeff Wheeler

Genres: Historical Fantasy; Fantasy; Epic Fantasy; Gaslamp; Romantic Fantasy; Young adult; Coming of Age; YA Coming of Age; YA Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

Wall Street Journal bestselling author Jeff Wheeler continues his majestic Harbinger series in a world where motivations are as mysterious as magic.

For three years, Sera Fitzempress has been a pawn in a gilded prison-the floating manor of Pavenham Sky. Disgraced and exiled from society, she has been isolated from the downtrodden she's determined to liberate. But although Sera may seem subservient on the outside, the stubborn princess has only become emboldened.

Now in charge of her family's estate, Cettie Pratt has grown into an independent young woman, although she continues to be tested by the high society of the clouds. Advancing in the magic of the Mysteries, Cettie is also a useful tool of defense during turbulent times. However, as more of Cettie's mysterious past comes to light, her greatest challenge may be a reckless stranger with a dark secret.

The fog of war is drawing in, and with it comes a startling new enemy who may unravel secrets that both women would prefer stay hidden. But their secrets may be the only way to stop the coming darkness…

Release date: November 13, 2018

Publisher: 47North

Print pages: 334

Sample

PROLOGUE

Pavenham Sky

Mr. Clarence Skrelling worked as an advocate for the firm of Sloan and Teitelbaum in the disease-ridden slums of the Fells. He was an ambitious young man from humble origins and, not content with letting others be his master, had worked evenings to bolster his own private interests. Though the Fells became dangerous after dark, he knew the ways of the street gangs and had learned which neighborhoods to avoid. Clarence had taken upon himself a mission, a solemn duty, to unmask the identity of his true love’s mother. His true love, Miss Cettie, had been educated with him at Muirwood Abbey, and she was now the keeper of the manor Fog Willows. Her guardians, the Fitzroys, hoped to adopt her, but no one at Sloan and Teitelbaum had managed to locate her mother, and her father refused to relinquish his claims to her without a sizable bribe. Clarence had visited Fog Willows at Whitsunday to apprise his ladylove of his progress. Or lack thereof. His heart churned with emotion when he thought of her, when he imagined how grateful she’d be upon learning he had at last discovered the truth of her illustrious parentage.

The zephyr he’d hired bobbed on an air current, causing him to grip the wooden bench more tightly. The weather was poor, and rain lashed at his cloak and dripped down his face. Unpleasant indeed, but he would not let a little storm prevent him from reaching his destination. His hat was tucked under his arm, or else it would have blown off the zephyr to be found by a peasant somewhere in the gloom below.

“Are we almost there?” he shouted to the zephyr’s pilot. With the war going on, it had cost a small fortune to pay the fare. Of course, he’d haggled on the price, but every sky ship was a rare commodity now. Three years of war had changed the world. Well, worlds was a more accurate way of putting it. Their enemy, after all, lived on another world, accessible only through the mirror gates. Three years since passing the Test at Muirwood. Three years that had flown by faster than a zephyr.

“Eh?” the pilot shouted back.

“Are we almost there?”

“Are we not going fast enough for you, Mr. Skrelling? You did notice the storm, did you not?”

“My clothes are soaked through. No need to get cheeky.” His impatience flared up, and he vowed to dock the man’s pay a little for his impertinence.

“This is a fool’s errand, if you don’t mind me saying so,” the pilot shouted.

“I’m not paying you for your wisdom,” Clarence shot back. “How far are we from Pavenham Sky?”

“If that’s what you wanted to know, you should have asked that from the start!”

“I did—oh, just answer me!” He realized the pilot was toying with him. Cheeky sod.

“We would have been there an hour ago were it not for this storm. I wish I could afford the storm warnings out of Fog Willows. Wouldn’t have come if I’d known. Or I would have charged you more!”

I’m sure you would have tried, Skrelling thought darkly. “Well? How far off are we?”

“Eh?”

“How far off are we?” he shouted back more firmly. The wind was truly a monster. “I didn’t ask what time we would have arrived. I want to know when we will.”

The pilot was silent. Had he even heard the question? Wiping the rain from his face, Clarence shivered and waited for a response. Confound it, would he have to repeat himself again?

“See those lights up yonder?” the pilot called back to him.

Squinting, Clarence looked and shook his head. “I see nothing.”

“Of course you don’t, cuz you’re sitting down there. If you were to stand, you’d see it. That’s Pavenham Sky up ahead.”

Clarence rose unsteadily to his feet, gripping the side railing to balance himself. He trembled with cold and the misery of sodden clothes, but he saw a glimpse of the floating manor. Another jolt from the zephyr, and his heart jumped as he lurched against the side of the sky ship. The pilot practically cackled with mirth as Clarence slunk back down onto the seat, an angry scowl on his face.

Within a quarter hour, they rose to the grand estate. Clarence had never been there before. No, someone of his station would never have merited an invitation from Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky. She hosted only the most glamorous guests.

The stinging rain in his face made it difficult to see the details of the main building itself, but he squinted and tried to make it out. Yes, the manor was more opulent than any he had seen. It was an impressive display of wealth and power. Lady Corinne’s husband, he knew, was off fighting in the war. The lady herself had another manor in Lockhaven, of course, but his sources had all indicated he’d find her here in Pavenham.

The pilot came to the landing yard, where at least two tempests were moored below. There was enough space to land a dozen more. The squall had veiled the sun and brought an early dusk, but a few Leerings glowed on the grounds, the eyes of the stone faces casting enough light for him to make out the well-sculpted greenery.

“Here we are, an hour or more late, but we made it in one piece.” The pilot sniffed and gazed longingly at the tempests, which were much larger and had more shelter from the elements for passenger and pilot.

“I will see if we can stay for the night,” Clarence said, rising from his seat. He removed his hat from beneath his arm and brushed the droplets from it, but it was a hopeless task. His things were soaked.

The pilot gave him a mocking look. “You think you’re even going to make it past the front door, man?” He snorted.

“I do indeed. I have news that Her Ladyship will want to know.” Oh yes, he would get a room and a warm fire and perhaps even a change of clothes. Especially after risking his life to fly here on a zephyr.

The pilot didn’t look convinced by Clarence’s assurance. “Would you care to wager on that, sir? Three crowns says that they won’t let you in.”

Clarence bridled at the affront. He was not in the habit of taking idle bets like most of the young men in his station, who thought their chances were better in winning a fortune by luck. Not him. He meticulously saved as much of his income as he could. Some even called him a miser. He gave the pilot a nasty look and then went to the rope ladder and started to climb down. In a trice, he had walked the long landing platform and entered a courtyard leading to a set of double stairs that zigzagged up to the huge main doors. He hastily mounted the steps, aware of his shoes splashing in puddles along the way. The air had that delicious smell of fresh rain.

He arrived at the doorway, feeling it loom over him. The doors were massive. Rather than knock, he triggered the Leering set into the wall beside the doors. He delicately adjusted the hat on his head and waited. And waited.

Eventually the door opened, and a handsome man stood in the gap, peering at him in the gloom. He wore the livery of a servant, but it likely cost more than Clarence’s expensive suit.

“Who the devil are you?” the man asked as if Clarence were the strangest sight he’d ever seen.

“I’m-I’m Mr. Skrelling of Sloan and Teitelbaum,” he stammered, trying to steel himself. He gave the man a practiced air of disdain, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, trying to look formal and impressive despite his disheveled appearance.

The man, probably a butler, looked behind him. “Was your zephyr blown off course? Are you seeking shelter?”

“No, I am here deliberately. I seek an interview with Lady Corinne.”

The man arched his eyebrows. He looked surprised by the audacity of the request. “She doesn’t give interviews, sir. Are you with the gazette?”

“No, I said I was part of Sloan and Teitelbaum.”

“I know you said it. But that doesn’t make it true.”

“My news is important enough to brave a storm on a zephyr,” Clarence said. “Her Ladyship will want to hear what I have to say.” He pursed his lips, then nodded at him. “Am I to stand here all night? I’m prepared to.”

“No doubt you deserve to,” replied the man. Then he opened the door wider and motioned for him to enter. A welcome invitation. Clarence stepped into the warmth of the inside corridor and closed the door behind him.

“Stay here,” said the butler firmly. He then slipped through another door, leaving Clarence alone in the front entrance, gazing up at the high ceiling and the impressive decor. Clarence rocked on his heels a bit and then saw a woman in a gown appear at the balustrade. He recognized her instantly, and judging from the way she immediately started down the staircase, she recognized him too. It was the emperor’s daughter, Sera Fitzempress.

“Mr. Skrelling?” she asked while still at a distance.

He had gone to school with her at Muirwood, and, indeed, she had been Miss Cettie’s particular friend, but she’d left abruptly before the final Test. Soon afterward, she’d gotten caught up in a scandal that had tarnished her reputation. He hadn’t made many inquiries, but he knew it had something to do with a young officer in the Ministry of War who had perished during one of the first skirmishes in the war with Kingfountain. Something about letters. She’d been sent here to Pavenham Sky to rehabilitate herself under Lady Corinne’s tutelage.

As she approached, he noted that she had not grown any taller since the last time he’d seen her. Her face was rounder now, and she’d bloomed into a great beauty—albeit a short one.

“Greetings, Miss Fitzempress,” he said with a bow.

She approached him and bowed her head, and he nodded back stiffly.

“What brings you, of all people, to Pavenham Sky?” she asked with genuine interest.

“A private matter,” he replied enigmatically. In the past, he had volunteered much of what he learned through his sources. He’d since become more circumspect—information was power, after all. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I’m starving for news,” Miss Fitzempress said eagerly. She glanced around. “Have you seen Cettie recently?”

“A few months ago, ma’am, but I hope to see her again shortly.” Indeed, he hoped very much. How grateful would she be when she learned that Clarence, and Clarence alone, had discovered her true parentage? The giddiness inside of him wrenched his emotions like rope. Say nothing. Reveal nothing.

“Well, please tell her that I miss her very much. If there were any way that I could come to Fog Willows to see her, I would. I’d—”

The side door opened, and the butler reappeared. A wary look crossed his face when he saw Sera talking to Clarence.

“Hello, Master Sewell. This is just an old friend from Muirwood. You needn’t be nervous. We’ve only spoken for a moment.”

“Alone?” he said with a tone of remonstrance in his voice.

Miss Fitzempress took a step backward. “I see your point.” Her eyes flashed with anger, but her tone was submissive. Clarence could tell she didn’t like her prison very much, no matter how gilded.

“She will see you now,” said Master Sewell, gesturing for Clarence to follow him. He obeyed and gave a curt nod to Sera.

“I’ll pass along your regards,” he said to her, and Miss Fitzempress flashed him a pretty smile.

He followed Master Sewell through a twisting series of corridors, probably reserved for the servant set, before arriving at a door. The butler knocked on it. Clarence heard no response, but Master Sewell turned the handle and pushed it open. It was the library. Bookshelves full of volumes lined the walls, and ladders were scattered around so visitors could reach the upper shelves. It was an impressive collection. Clarence followed the butler in and glanced at the stuffed chairs and the hearth shining with flames. A glass door at the far side of the room led to a veranda. Rain dripped down the transparent surface, reminding him of his own sorry condition. Clarence had been so deluged with rain he was still dripping on the carpets.

Master Sewell shut the door behind him, leaving him alone in the room. He took off his hat and held it in the crook of his arm. He tried to smooth the dripping hair from his forehead. Then a side door opened, and Lady Corinne entered.

Of course he recognized her instantly. He’d never met her before, but her face was famous throughout the empire. He’d seen its depiction in the gazettes. She was dressed in a beautiful teal gown with a fancy vest and a ruff of lace at her throat. The outfit wasn’t adorned with any jewelry, but he shouldn’t have expected to see any; this wasn’t a ball or a party. She wore gloves that matched her gown, and her dark hair was done up elegantly. A stately woman in her early thirties in appearance, she had little expression or animation in her face, implying that her emotions were carefully guarded. He could still discern from her body language as she approached him that she felt a bit of wariness but no true concern. That would soon change.

“It must be important news to bring you here on a day like this, Mr. Skrelling,” she said simply.

“Indeed, ma’am,” he replied and then coughed into his fist.

She went to a small sofa and sat down, her hands folded primly on her lap. Her slightly inquisitive look conveyed a clear message. She would not have a conversation with him. She expected him to say his piece and depart.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, ma’am. I’ll dispense with idle chatter. I do not wish to waste your time.” There was a flash of lightning from the storm outside, followed by a boom of thunder. The cloud cover swallowed any light, making it look like the middle of the night.

She didn’t respond to his statement. Instead, she tilted her head patiently and waited.

“I’m here, ma’am, on behalf of a young woman I regard highly.” He assumed the posture of his profession and began to pace slowly in the room, as if she were a judge he was arguing his case for. “My masters have for many years labored to discover the identity of Lord Fitzroy’s ward so that he might adopt her legally. Her father’s identity is one Mr. Pratt of the Fells. The mother’s identity has been hidden for many years. Until now.”

She revealed no expression of alarm or concern. He had carefully prepared his little speech in the hopes that she might betray something. She did not.

“You must discern, madame, that I would not be here if there was not incontrovertible proof that this child’s mother is, in fact, Your Ladyship.”

He inhaled deeply, searching her face. She had yet to reveal any emotion, but there was something in her eyes. Just a slight narrowing, an interest sparked. She was a master of self-control. Not even the stage performers in the City could have been so poised.

“And by what evidence do you make such a claim, Mr. Skrelling?”

Ah, she wished for him to play his cards first. She was keeping her secrets close, then. “I have made this search the focus of the last several years of my life, Lady Corinne. You know, as well as I do, how the Mysteries of Thought work. I have been relentless in my pursuit. I have eschewed failure and spurned setbacks. There are no birth records because she was never born in a hospital. She was born in secret. In shame. And so only the mother would know where or when. You were never a suspect because you appear to be so young. You would have needed to be at least twelve or thirteen years old nineteen years ago—unlikely but not impossible—and since you have no heir with Lord Lawton, it would be logical to deduce that you are barren. But I did not solve this riddle through conjecture, Your Ladyship. Proof, as I said.”

He paused, trying to see what effect his words had on her. She gazed at him with earnestness, hands still placid on her lap.

“In order to free my lady of her state of uncertainty, I needed proof,” he continued. “Three years ago, while I was at school, there was an intruder at the abbey who attempted to kidnap Miss Cettie. Lord Fitzroy’s youngest daughter was then abducted by the same man. One Caulton Forshee was sent for, from Billerbeck Abbey. He possesses a priceless device called the Cruciger orb, which has the power to find anything. Mr. Forshee used it to find both the girl and the attacker. All of this started the war we have now been fighting for three years. I visited Billerbeck Abbey, ma’am. I . . . used the Cruciger orb myself to answer the question that has tormented me for these many years. I know it’s forbidden to use without the permission of the privy council, but Mr. Forshee was unaware that I used it.” He swallowed. “It revealed your name to me, Lady Corinne. The rest I have pieced together myself. Young, but not impossibly so. A scandal of such proportion would undoubtedly rock the world. I’ve come to offer terms so that Miss Cettie can be legally adopted and your reputation preserved. As you no doubt know, even though she is legally an adult, the adoption can still be made official, provided an agreement is reached with one of the parents, the mother’s side being the stronger. I will submit to a binding sigil that will forever prevent me from speaking of what I know. Not even Miss Cettie needs to learn the truth. Just you. And I.” He gave her a slight nod. “She will be wealthy enough as one of Fitzroy’s heiresses. I do not seek a claim to any of your property.” He gestured to the grand library and, indirectly, to Pavenham Sky itself.

“What say you, my lady? Can we reach an agreement?”

Lady Corinne rose from the sofa. Her expression was still guarded, still calm. There was not a flush to her cheeks, no pout of regret. “Well, young man. Thank you for visiting me. You were very helpful indeed. My servant will escort you away.”

Clarence flexed his brows. “M-ma’am?” he stuttered.

Then he felt an awareness, a plunging feeling of darkness and doubt. He saw Lady Corinne nod to someone else, and he whirled, expecting to see Master Sewell. He’d not heard the door open.

Another man approached him from behind, walking so quietly his steps couldn’t be heard. He looked more like a merchant than a servant, though the scar on his face gave him a rough appearance. Clarence recognized him instantly as the man he’d seen in Vicar’s Close. The one who had then kidnapped Miss Cettie and Anna Fitzroy. Panic and dread slithered down his spine. Clarence tried to bolt for the door, but the man seized him, twisting his arm behind his back, ignoring his flailing. His attacker then marched him to the veranda door.

Lady Corinne stared impassively at him as he gaped back at her. In a moment of clarity, he realized just how badly he had blundered. The man opened the veranda door wider and dragged Clarence out into the rear gardens. Rain lashed at them violently, and more thunder rippled in the sky. There were no groundskeepers out on a day like this. No witnesses.

“P-please, man!” Clarence wailed, trying to master his terror. “Let me go! I w-won’t . . . tell a soul!”

The man grunted and hauled him through the garden. Clarence’s shoes slipped on the grass, but the grip on his arm was merciless.

They reached the end of the gardens. There was a small wall, and Clarence could see the open sky beyond it.

“W-what are you d-doing?” he stammered.

They reached the edge of the wall. Clarence’s heart quailed. He couldn’t think. It was all happening too fast. He shouldn’t have come. He should have revealed the information to someone else to protect himself. In a misguided attempted to protect Lady Corinne’s honor, he’d duped himself into . . .

The scar-faced man hoisted him over the wall and shoved him off the side of the manor.

He couldn’t even scream as he fell.

Cettie

CHAPTER ONE

Cettie of the Clouds

Of her many duties as keeper of Fog Willows, Cettie’s least favorite was arguing with the admiralty. It meant a voyage to Lockhaven, where she was always put down in ways both subtle and direct for her ill breeding. They all knew her story, how her mentor and father had rescued her from a hand-to-mouth existence in the Fells, and she could see they despised her for it. It didn’t matter that she was the coinventor of the storm glass, the invention that allowed them to track storms capable of waylaying their sky ships. She was roundly disparaged each time a new payment was transferred from the Ministry of War to the accounts of Dolcoath Mines and Sigils. Surely part of her mistreatment came because she was a woman, because she came from the Fells, and because she was immune to the attempts at bribery and extortion that were typical in the business dealings of the day. Fitzroy led the soldiers, but the Ministry of Law’s edicts guaranteed he had as much right to perform business as anyone else. The government itself ran on contracts, on money exchanged for goods and services and speculation. Everyone knew there was money to be made in war. Or lost.

“Confound it, young lady!” said the aggravated Admiral Peckton, his cheeks puffing out. “Think of the rations that your scheme is depriving our brave men of on the front! Surely you would consider a discount, this month only, so that we may supply enough bread to our starving dragoons!”

Every month it was a different ploy. They’d attacked her patriotism, they’d tried to intimidate her, they’d even questioned her intelligence until she’d proven that Mrs. Romrell’s teaching in mathematics quite eclipsed their own. Now they appealed to her compassion, to the waif she’d been in the Fells. Well, let them. The common people would be better off if she was paid. She and her guardian had agreed that a large portion of the profits from their endeavor would be donated to charities helping the families of the fallen—a cause that received little support from the government.

“Admiral Peckton,” she responded in a firm, steady voice, “you should have considered the stores of bread when the Ministry of War bid for this report. Though perhaps it is best that you did not. There is a storm coming, I assure you.” She tapped the rolled map on the heel of her hand. There was a seal closing it, affixed with Fitzroy’s coat of arms. His key hung from her belt, the key to Fog Willows, granting her the authority to use the Mysteries on his behalf. Her own abilities, however, were more than sufficient. And the admiralty had learned that when they had tried to intimidate her with a Fear Leering.

The admiral had thick bronze whiskers and a seething countenance. He sat in his chair and muttered under his breath about her lack of feeling.

She stood at the head of the council table, facing four admirals at once. The prime minister, Lord Welles, was seated in an ornate chair at the other end, watching her shrewdly.

“Just pay her, Peckton,” he snorted. “Be done with it.”

Cettie nodded to him, still surprised that someone of her station was addressing the prime minister of the empire. She was only nineteen, and this was the third time she’d attended him in his office.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, “for honoring the terms of the deal.”

He gestured at her, a small wave of annoyance. “Open the scroll, my dear.”

She stood still, watching as Admiral Peckton consulted with his ministry’s advocate before signing the order that would transfer the funds. After he signed it, the advocate signed it as well and then presented it to her. She quickly glanced the form over to ensure all was in order. One time they had left out the date of the transaction, which had delayed the transfer of funds. The next month, she’d spiked the price higher in return.

“All is in order, then,” she said, taking the paper from them and handing over the huge rolled map. Vociferous, she thought. It was the command word to release the binding sigil on the seal. The map would burn to ash if someone tried to open it without knowing the password.

Admiral Peckton took it from her and broke the wax seal. The paper made a stiff crackling sound as it was unrolled. Weights were used to hold down the corners as the other admirals gathered around to view it. Lord Welles remained in his chair, watching her.

“As you can see, my lord admirals,” Cettie said, “there is a new storm wall forming over Hautland. The storm glass predicts that it will move southwest to strike the shores of our lands by week’s end.”

“Are you certain it will follow the marked path, young lady?”

“Don’t be daft, Peckton,” said Admiral Clifton, pushing back his thick silver hair. “She draws the maps herself.”

She did. And the Ministry of War learned the news days in advance of the other ministries. It was one of Fitzroy’s strategies to force the four ministries to bid against one another for the knowledge. Since the war with Kingfountain had started three years ago, the Ministry of War refused to be outbid, even though the Ministry of Law often attempted it. In truth, Cettie would never withhold the information from her own father, who was, after all, at the front lines of the battle. No doubt they knew it, but they were not the trusting sort. If Fitzroy was to have the information, they wanted it too. Knowledge was power.

“This is valuable information,” said Clifton, appraising her. “We were going to send transports that way to bolster Fitzroy’s forces.”

“He already knew about the storm,” said Lord Welles shrewdly, bringing his fingers together. “Once again, you’ve proven the usefulness of your invention. Well done.” He dipped his head to her, though some of the other admirals looked at her with undisguised scorn.

It was tempting to be flattered by his praise. But she knew Lord Welles was a politician above all. His kindnesses, when given, were given for a reason. She’d seen his temper before and felt it too. Just being in the room with him made her uneasy, especially knowing how he had contributed to her friend Sera’s downfall. She gathered the contract and the leather tube case she’d brought to transport the map and turned toward the door. Welles stopped her again.

“Here is a bit of news for you, Miss Cettie. One that will not cost you. Lord High Admiral Fitzroy has gathered our forces to Hautland to prepare for a major engagement with General Montpensier. There will likely be a huge battle by week’s end, regardless of the weather. If you would bear that news to Lady Maren, I would be indebted to you. But keep it secret otherwise. How he knows where our enemies will attack next . . . well, it’s nothing short of a miracle.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he said the words.

“He’s a bloody harbinger,” said Admiral Peckton angrily.

“It’s a good thing he’s on our side,” Clifton countered.

Cettie knew Welles was watching her, gazing keenly at her face to judge her reaction. She knew Fitzroy was in Hautland. She was the one who’d told him to go there after her vision two days before.

“Do you think it will end the war?” she asked Lord Welles.

He entwined his fingers and shrugged. “Only the Knowing can say, my dear. We would have been defeated long ago if not for your guardian’s efforts. But nothing is certain in war. Three years of fighting.” He sighed. “So many dead. There will be a dearth of young men when this conflict is over. Mothers grieving for sons. Sisters for their brothers. Ghastly business. You do your guardian credit. He’s trained you well.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” she said, her cheeks flushing.

“Go,” he said with a little wave of his hand. Again, his politeness unnerved her.

As she headed for the door, she heard another admiral say, “Are you sure it’s wise, my lord, to allow Fitzroy to draw all our forces there? In a storm, no less? The other garrisons have been stripped naked. If Montpensier attacks any of them, we’ll crumble to dust. Why would he attack Hautland?”

“Because it’s the biggest mirror gate,” Lord Welles said with a sigh. “It’s also on the coast and within easy striking distance of our shores. One would think he’d avoid it for being too obvious, especially since we’ve always kept it well guarded, but Montpensier always strikes where we’d least expect him to. He’s a genius on the waters.

“If Fitzroy is right—and he has been, time after time—then our enemies are going to flood our realm with this one final push. We’ll need every man jack ready to fight him. This storm may be the very thing that allows us to hinder his fleet. His greatest strength is the ships that pass unseen beneath the waters, but the storm will make it difficult for him. His usual strategy of sending the underwater ships first may not work.”

“It could also ruin our sky fleet,” said Peckton. “We’ll face the same difficulties.”

Cettie knew she was lingering too long at the door. The storm would strike when Montpensier’s fleet arrived through the mirror gate. She’d seen it. Part of her longed to share the details of her vision with the prime minister. The visions had started after she took the Test at Muirwood three years ago, but she and Fitzroy had agreed to keep them a secret. She never knew when the visions would come, and she and her guardian feared she’d be exploited for political purposes if the privy council discovered the truth. This way, she was kept safe, and her visions were used to help protect her world from being overrun by another civilization seemingly intent on destroying it.

***

Cettie climbed up the rope ladder to her tempest to return to Fog Willows. Joses met her on deck, grinning broadly.

“Is that a victory smile, Cettie?” he asked, flashing a grin. Her childhood friend had been spared military duty because he was a servant in a wealthy household, her wealthy household. Had he still been living in the Fells, he would have ended up in a different kind of uniform. He was a year younger than her, which they had found out after Fitzroy had successfully hunted down his deed. No longer starving, Joses had grown into a broad-shouldered young man with a quick wit and an adventurous air. They had drifted apart during her years at Muirwood Abbey, but now that she was the keeper of the house, she saw him daily.

“They paid the price they promised to,” she answered, handing him the empty map tube. “Let’s get back home.”

“Can we go shopping in the City first? The last time we came, we took a jaunt down there.”

Cettie shook her head no. “Not this time, Joses.”

“Please?” He gave her his most convincing forlorn look.

“I have a message for Lady Maren,” Cettie answered. “Maybe next time.”

“Very well,” he grumbled, then winked at her. “I’ll make ready to depart.”

“Thank you.”

As Cettie climbed the steps to the helm, she found herself thinking about the first time she had piloted a tempest. It had been with Aunt Juliana’s sky ship, and she had practiced her piloting skills over the fenlands surrounding Muirwood Abbey. With the command of a private sky ship, she could have tried to visit Sera at Pavenham Sky. Of course, she had little doubt she would be turned away. All Cettie’s letters to Sera had been returned unopened. Every single one.

Cettie invoked the Leerings, and soon the tempest made its way from Lockhaven. She never grew tired of looking down at the palatial manors glinting in the sunlight. A fog shrouded the City below, as it normally did, obscuring both the tenements and the larger homes that thronged beneath the massive floating mountain supporting Lockhaven. Cettie increased their speed and set the course.

They had not gone far when Joses cried out, “Cettie! I think we’re being followed!”

She looked down and saw him leaning over the rails. The ship could practically fly itself, with or without someone at the helm, so she rushed down the planks to the lower deck and joined him at the railing.

“See there!” he shouted over the roar of the wind, pointing. “Two tempests just rose from the fog after we passed by. They’re coming straight for us.”

They were, and quickly too. Cettie felt her pulse start to race. She opened her mind to the Leerings on board and ordered them to track the incoming sky ships.

“Another one just popped up ahead!” Joses shouted. “That’s three of them. Can you see the markings?”

Cettie couldn’t see that far with her natural eyes, but the Leerings on the hull were specifically designed to enhance the vision of the person piloting the ship. Their pursuers were not from the Ministry of War. They were merchant ships from the Ministry of Law. They had almost outbid War for the information from the storm glasses this time. Were they seeking revenge?

“What do we do?” Joses asked as he walked up to a bound chest and unlatched it. It was where the arquebuses were stored.

Cettie could sense the three ships rising from the fog. She needed to be sure they were truly being followed. As she climbed back up to the helmsman’s deck, she instantly changed course, increasing altitude promptly and veering away from the nearest tempest. All three sky ships responded to her maneuver and then increased their pace.

“They’re definitely following us,” Cettie cried out to Joses. She increased the speed and the rate of the ship’s ascent.

Joses clung to the railing to hold his position. Neither of them were tied on, which would limit their maneuverability.

“Think they’ll try to board us?” Joses asked.

“They’d better not,” Cettie replied angrily. She had always been powerful in the Mysteries. Once they got close enough, she could try to overwhelm their command of the Leerings on board their ships. How would they respond to that?

“Are you going to try to outrun them?” he asked.

In her mind’s eye, she remembered the storm map she’d drawn before leaving Fog Willows. There was a wall of clouds to the north, not enough to create a storm, but wide and deep enough to hide a sky ship.

“Get belowdecks,” she ordered, taking hold of the helm and pouring her thoughts into increasing the ship’s speed and height.

“What if they try to board us? I want to fight, Cettie. You can’t send me down below.”

“I’m the captain of this ship,” she insisted. “Get belowdecks.”

Joses scowled at her and went down below, slamming the door hard behind himself. Cettie felt the wind get colder as the ship rose higher. The other three tempests were coming hard in pursuit. The two from behind wouldn’t catch her, but the one ahead was in a better position. In her mind, she thought of the different geometries she had studied with Mrs. Romrell at school. No matter how high she went or how quickly, the lead ship would intercept her.

Three tempests? The Ministry of Law must be desperate for information. Well, the next time she would not let them purchase the reports at all. Let them be blind to the weather for a fortnight.

She saw the clouds in the distance, at least a league away. Her mind filled with determination as she gripped the helm. She would not be caught by these other pilots. The wind buffeted her craft, but she kept the angle sharp, watching as the lead tempest drew closer. As it closed in, she suddenly swerved the tempest around, angling it sharply the other way. She heard the noise of Joses smashing into something belowdecks. Well, better that than falling off.

The tempest below reacted to her sudden erratic move and tried to adjust, but she had already righted her ship and lunged another way, going around his ship on one side. Her maneuvers bewildered the other captain, whose thoughts she could distantly sense now that their ships were near. These ships were hostile. They might not be operating under the Ministry of Law’s official approval, but that didn’t matter to her at the moment.

Cettie’s affinity for Leerings made her piloting skills much more advanced, especially her ability to make them respond quickly and unpredictably to her demands. It gave her an edge that she had every intention to use. She wrestled with the other pilot’s mind for control of his craft and then sent it plummeting without thrust, dropping like the massive weight it was. She pulled her tempest up and vaulted again toward the clouds, still being pursued by the other two. After several moments of sheer panic, the third pilot regained control of his ship and stopped the death dive. He didn’t chase her after that.

Cettie kept her mind fixed on the clouds ahead as she raced the other two ships. They couldn’t beat her on speed, so it was just a matter of time. Her tempest entered the clouds, bucking and rocking with the windy gusts. Just as she’d hoped, the view was totally obscured. Cettie then slowed and lowered farther. The other two tempests would overshoot her and chase her blindly into the cloud bank while she dropped straight down.

A smug smile stretched over her face. In the feathery whiteness, she remembered the nickname Raj Sarin, her guardian’s bodyguard, had given her years before. Cettie Saeed.

“Cettie of the Clouds.”