Iron Garland (Harbinger Book 3)
ALSO BY JEFF WHEELER
The Harbinger Series
Storm Glass
Mirror Gate
The Kingfountain Series
The Poisoner’s Enemy (prequel)
The Maid’s War (prequel)
The Queen’s Poisoner
The Thief’s Daughter
The King’s Traitor
The Hollow Crown
The Silent Shield
The Forsaken Throne
The Legends of Muirwood Trilogy
The Wretched of Muirwood
The Blight of Muirwood
The Scourge of Muirwood
The Covenant of Muirwood Trilogy
The Banished of Muirwood
The Ciphers of Muirwood
The Void of Muirwood
The Lost Abbey (novella)
Whispers from Mirrowen Trilogy
Fireblood
Dryad-Born
Poisonwell
Landmoor Series
Landmoor
Silverkin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Jeff Wheeler
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
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Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503903975
ISBN-10: 1503903974
Cover design by Mike Heath | Magnus Creative
To the real Raj Sarin
CONTENTS
START READING
PROLOGUE PAVENHAM SKY
CETTIE
CHAPTER ONE CETTIE OF THE CLOUDS
CHAPTER TWO GIMMERTON SOUGH
CHAPTER THREE CAPTAIN FRANCIS
Some say the . . .
SERA
CHAPTER FOUR A DEAD TREE
CHAPTER FIVE MISS PATCHETT
CHAPTER SIX LADY CORINNE
Our spies tell . . .
CETTIE
CHAPTER SEVEN HARBINGER
CHAPTER EIGHT THE STEWARD OF GIMMERTON SOUGH
CHAPTER NINE BROKEN LEERINGS
CHAPTER TEN DECEPTION ABOUNDS
CHAPTER ELEVEN DOLCOATH MINES
The assault is . . .
SERA
CHAPTER TWELVE BECKA
CHAPTER THIRTEEN SECRETS
CHAPTER FOURTEEN ANATHEMA
Again they were . . .
CETTIE
CHAPTER FIFTEEN INTO THE GROTTO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN MYSTERY
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN BLACK FOREST
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN HETAERA
Peace is such . . .
SERA
CHAPTER NINETEEN MIRROR GATE
CHAPTER TWENTY THE COURT OF KINGFOUNTAIN
CHAPTER TWENTY−ONE OVERTURES
CHAPTER TWENTY−TWO FALSE HARBINGER
I begin to . . .
CETTIE
CHAPTER TWENTY−THREE SECRETS
CHAPTER TWENTY−FOUR DIVULGING
CHAPTER TWENTY−FIVE RISKS
CHAPTER TWENTY−SIX THE RANSOM BALL
CHAPTER TWENTY−SEVEN SISTERS
I am so . . .
SERA
CHAPTER TWENTY−EIGHT OUR LADY
CHAPTER TWENTY−NINE WARNING
CHAPTER THIRTY A CHARGE OF MURDER
I sent a . . .
CETTIE
CHAPTER THIRTY−ONE PARLIAMENT SQUARE
CHAPTER THIRTY−TWO FOG OF PEACE
CHAPTER THIRTY−THREE CHOLERA MORBUS
EPILOGUE PAVENHAM SKY
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I was born in Averanche, a border town between Occitania, Ceredigion, and Leoneyis. Although my brother Jorganon was older, he lacked the imagination and ambition to lead the family. When Father died, that role fell on me. I knew I was Fountain-blessed by the time I was twelve. Always a voracious reader, I studied all the battles and strategies of the heroes of old: Owen Kiskaddon, the Maid of Donremy, and Tryneowy Llewellyn. But it was the rise of Gahalatine that stirred my soul the most. I volunteered to join every war I could find, for that is where honor and glory can be made.
When I was twenty-five, I was chosen to lead the army of the duchy of Occitania. I won back the duchy from the grip of Kingfountain and helped restore it to its former glory. It became a kingdom once again. As a reward, my king made me Duke of La Marche, the ancient title tied to Averanche. My further ambitions were thwarted by the hollow crown. I lacked the strength to topple their throne as well. But as the adage goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. There are more worlds to conquer than this one. So I staged a war between the worlds.
Glory may be fleeting. But obscurity . . . it lasts forever. I am determined that will not be my fate.
—Leon Montpensier, Duke of La Marche
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 w
e 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.