Prism Cloud Read online

  ALSO BY JEFF WHEELER

  The Harbinger Series

  Storm Glass

  Mirror Gate

  Iron Garland

  Prism Cloud

  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 © 2019 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

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542044134 (paperback)

  ISBN-10: 1542044138 (paperback)

  Cover design by Mike Heath | Magnus Creative

  To Travis

  CONTENTS

  Lady Corinne of...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  The emperor wishes...

  SERA

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  There is a...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  The privy council...

  SERA

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I have a...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The wedding will...

  SERA

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When sleep decided...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY−ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY−TWO

  Officers from the...

  SERA

  CHAPTER TWENTY−THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY−FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY−FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY−SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY−SEVEN

  I toured the...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY−EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY−NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  General Montpensier is...

  SERA

  CHAPTER THIRTY−ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY−TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY−THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY−FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY−FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky is possibly the most dangerous woman in the empire and likely a spy for the court of Kingfountain. While there is but one record of her having visited that foreign power, when she was a young child, I cannot resist the suspicion that she is part of Montpensier’s Espion. I believe she has managed, through subtlety and caution, to infiltrate our society and rise to one of the highest levels of power.

  My investigation into her dealings has been thwarted at every turn. But I have come to discover that the Lawton family has controlling stakes in nearly every industry in the empire, forming a massive interest of which our empire, at large, is completely ignorant. This extensive enterprise has been forged in secret, but she is at its apex. My officers report that zephyrs go routinely to Pavenham Sky. I have done all that I can to block Lady Corinne’s marriage to the emperor, which I cannot in good conscience condone until the investigation is complete. The emperor grows more fractious and impatient by the day.

  I must even conceal this record. My chambers are repeatedly rifled through and examined. How, I do not know. But I cannot leave any evidence of my suspicions in plain sight. When I finally bring her to justice, there will be many who fall with her.

  —Brant Fitzroy, Prime Minister

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER ONE

  FOG WILLOWS

  The young officer of Law with reddish-brown hair described grisly murders with the dispassion of one talking about the weather. Cettie couldn’t imagine what unspoken details he was concealing from her. What she was hearing was enough to give her nightmares.

  “That makes, by my reckoning,” he said in his neutral tone, “another fifteen tenements at risk. The latest deaths were here and here,” he said, pointing to a detailed map of the Fells, where circles of red ink had been dabbed within a larger circle. “As you can see, all occurred within this radius.”

  Cettie felt her gorge rising in her throat. “H-how many were killed?”

  “A little girl . . . here,” he said pointing to one of the blots. “A young lad . . . here. No one saw them taken. All disappeared after dusk.”

  Cettie swallowed and tried to calm her nerves. She was the keeper of Fog Willows, the personal estate of the prime minister of the empire. But staring at the map brought back memories of the dark childhood she’d spent in that very slum—days filled with hunger and fear and hopelessness. She steepled her forefingers, intertwining the others, and stared again at the murders marked on the map.

  “And so you think the Fear Liath,” she said, looking him in the eye and pointing to the center of the ink blots, “is lurking somewhere in these tenements?” Just thinking about the creature made her muscles clench. Memories from the dark grotto, its former lair, began to intrude on her thoughts. She’d had nightmares of the beast’s jaws, its feral smell, and the aura of terror it seemed to exude.

  “I do, ma’am,” said the young lieutenant crisply. “When the murders first began in the Fells, they were haphazard. There was no pattern. But over the last six months, they seem to have clustered in this area. It is the recommendation of the Ministry of Law that we begin a house-to-house investigation for the beast’s new lair, and the Ministry of Thought has suggested that Leerings be set up in these locations”—he pointed to street corners in a circumference around the circled area—“to contain the creature and prevent it from escaping us.”

  A shudder went down Cettie’s back. “Is it your goal to merely contain the monster, Lieutenant? Or to kill it?”

  “We’d like to destroy it. I came, per the prime minister’s request, to ask if you would help us track and trap the beast.”

  “Me?” Cettie asked in shock. She’d wondered why her father had sent this man to deliver such news, but it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d be asked to do such a thing.

  “Yes, ma’am. As you know, the prime minister is currently at the court of Kingfountain with Miss Fitzempress. He gave these instructions
before he left. He indicated that you are especially . . . attuned to this creature. That you could possibly help us locate its lair. I also understand that Mr. Patchett of Gimmerton Sough helped you and your brother chase the Fear Liath from Dolcoath. His experience with the Fear Liath and his past service in the Ministry of War would make him a great help to us, but he has refused our overtures thus far. We were hoping, ma’am, that you might persuade him to come. I don’t mean to pry, but I’ve heard that the two of you used to be . . . close.”

  If Cettie hadn’t already felt unsettled and wary, this latest request would have shoved her over the line. In the eighteen months since she had rebuffed Rand Patchett, they had hardly spoken, and she could see that his resentment was still festering. They had come into contact more than she would have liked because Cettie’s sister Anna had become close friends with Rand’s sister, Joanna. Sometimes it felt like Anna spent more time at Gimmerton Sough than at Fog Willows. The thought brought on a familiar twinge of guilt. Her friendship with Anna had become strained. Anna had wished to marry Adam Creigh, only he had asked Cettie to marry him instead. That she and the Fitzroy family were the center of such gossip made her head ache.

  Cettie rubbed her temples. “Things between Mr. Patchett and I have been . . . difficult . . . of late, Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t know anything about that, ma’am,” he said in his all-business manner. “Yet I feel bound by duty to request you put aside your personal feelings, in the interests of the poor chaps living in the heart of the Fells. If the people knew what we know, there would be a mass panic. They believe a murderer is living among them. They have no idea that a monster is haunting their streets each night. They would leave, but they are too poor to go anywhere else.”

  “I know,” Cettie answered. “Of course I will help. And I will go to Gimmerton Sough and ask Mr. Patchett to join us.” She sighed. “Still,” she could not help but add, “with all the dragoons in retirement after the war in Kingfountain, I’m surprised we cannot find an able substitute.”

  The lieutenant did not respond. He was only an officer of Law doing his duty. The relationship between the Ministry of Law and the Ministry of War was always strained. Perhaps they simply did not wish to ask for any favors. Besides which, it occurred to her that this young man had been to many of the places where the victims had been found. He’d seen death in its most gruesome manifestations. If he could bear such a burden, then she could face the discomfort of a conversation with Rand.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked him.

  “No, ma’am. Send word once you’ve spoken to Mr. Patchett, if you please.”

  “I will. Thank you, Lieutenant Fields.” Seeing him reminded her of another young lieutenant, from her childhood. That man had dragged her back to the Fells in anticipation of earning a promotion. It had been so many years she could hardly remember his name, but the memory still made her wary at times around officers of Law.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied with a stiff bow. He planted his officer’s hat, which had been cradled under his arm, squarely atop his auburn hair and left the sitting room. The aging butler, Mr. Kinross, was awaiting the visitor in the corridor, and he escorted the man back to his zephyr in the landing yard.

  Cettie directed the nearest Leerings to reveal her mother’s location within the house, and the magic of the Control Leering showed her Lady Maren writing a letter in her room. Probably to Father.

  Cettie walked down a series of corridors and then knocked on the door. Lady Maren invited her inside, and when she opened the door, her mother lowered her pen.

  “Was there a visitor?” Lady Maren asked.

  “It was Lieutenant Fields.”

  Lady Maren’s countenance fell. “More deaths below?” she asked sadly.

  Cettie nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. He came to ask my help in hunting down the Fear Liath. They have narrowed the search to a particular area. They also asked for Rand’s help.”

  Lady Maren’s look darkened even more. “Did they? And I assume by your expression they asked you to approach him?”

  Cettie nodded, trying not to reveal her conflicted feelings.

  “Well, it’s brave of you to do this.” Lady Maren paused, then added, “Anna spent the night at Gimmerton Sough.”

  Cettie’s eyebrows arched in surprise. That had never happened before.

  “She wasn’t feeling well. She became sick during her visit yesterday. Joanna sent a note saying she’d sent for a doctor. I was thinking of going there myself to retrieve her, but perhaps you can see if she’s well enough to come back with you. I’d rather have her seen by a doctor here.”

  “Of course,” Cettie said, feeling her worry grow. “I’ll go at once. I didn’t know she was sick.”

  “I should have told you last night,” Lady Maren said, “but I was distracted. You two used to be so close. It pains me to see such conflict between my children.”

  Cettie couldn’t help but purse her lips. The Fitzroys had tried for years to legally adopt her, but until the identity of her birth mother could be discovered, the request would forever be stalled in court. As the family’s fortunes had risen, so had the expectations of reward.

  “I wish I were your child in truth,” Cettie whispered, looking down.

  Lady Maren rose from her writing desk and swept Cettie into an embrace. “You are, despite everything that has been done to keep us apart.” She cupped Cettie’s cheek. “I may not have given birth to you, but I love you as much as my other children. You must know that your father and I will not let this rest. We’ll see to it that you’re adopted, no matter how long it takes. You’re entitled to the same rights as the others.” She caressed Cettie’s cheek. “When the time comes, the maston rites will bind our family together through the next existence. The powers of the irrevocare sigil are real, you know. And when you and Adam are married,” she said, unable to suppress a joyous smile and a squeeze of her hands, “you and he will also be bound together . . . inexorably.”

  “Is it inexorable?” Cettie asked. “Don’t we both need to live up to our promises?”

  “Of course. But can you imagine a man more faithful than Adam Creigh?” She smiled at her own question. “He was meant for you all along, Cettie. I tried to soften the blow for Anna. To her, you stole her dream away, but it was only a dream all along. She’ll fall in love again; I know she will. Then things will be better between you.”

  “I hope so,” Cettie said. “Thank you, Mother.” Adam had been sent to Kingfountain over a year ago to research the cholera morbus. The separation was painful, but they kept in regular contact. She savored his letters, which always seemed to carry his scent, and they exchanged parcels whenever they could. Once he’d sent her a small brooch he’d fancied made of sea glass, something she wore whenever she needed to feel close to him. Sera had just left for Kingfountain again, and her maid, Becka, had promised to deliver a parcel Cettie had spent weeks preparing for Adam. It was to commemorate the day he had proposed to her, but it had taken Cettie longer than she’d thought to gather everything.

  The pain she felt was something her mother understood all too well—the separations from Fitzroy were difficult for Lady Maren. Each letter he’d sent her sat in a stack on her bedside table, and she’d told Cettie in a quiet moment that she read them every night before retiring.

  Once Adam returned, Cettie would have to move away. Perhaps her mother would write her letters at this very desk.

  “I wish I never had to leave Fog Willows,” she said in a gush of words. “But I will someday. I . . . I fear returning to the Fells for good, and yet we both know Adam dreams of being a doctor there.”

  “All the more reason for you to help the Ministry of Law with their problem. Will you go to Gimmerton Sough this afternoon?”

  “I’ll leave right away,” Cettie said. “I can’t say I look forward to speaking with Rand, but I’ll get to see Joses while I’m there. It seems he prefers serving their household. Mr. Kinross hasn’t bee
n able to persuade him to come back.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” her mother said. “I think Rand Patchett would be an interesting man to valet for. He did some good with Stephen after all. He’s not a bad man.”

  “No, he’s not,” Cettie replied. The problem was the complicated—and conflicted—way Rand made her feel. Despite having rejected him, she was still attracted to him, and the very thought of him summoned up a good measure of guilt. Her sudden engagement to Adam had certainly upset him. Still, he was a good man. She believed he’d help her in the Fells because it was the right thing to do.

  After finishing her arrangements, Cettie had Mr. Kinross prepare the tempest for the journey to Gimmerton Sough. It was a beautiful late spring day, and the air was finally warm enough that she didn’t need a cloak for the journey. Cettie climbed aboard the tempest, and it responded to her thoughts and presence by thrumming to life. At her direction, the floating tempest arced away from the landing yard. She increased the craft’s speed, savoring the sensation of soaring through the sky, hands gripping the helm, hair blown back by the wind. The beauty of the enormous clouds on the horizon never failed to move her, and the freedom she felt skimming through them made her grin despite herself. Now and again, she glanced down, taking in the sight of the small villages on the ground beneath her—little more than clusters of cottages with sheep in pens.

  From the storm glass, the method she and her father had developed for predicting the weather, she knew the day would continue to be mild and calm. An occasional jolt of bad air rumbled the tempest, but the lurch it made in her stomach only added to the thrill. She was at one with the sky ship, so in tune with its abilities that it was almost an extension of her own thoughts. Time passed quickly in such a transfixed state. The craft would continue to its destination without her active attention, so Cettie allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being at one with the world around her—with the tempest, the air, and the ground far, far beneath her.

  And that was when the vision came.

  Instantly, she was transported far away, almost as if a part of her had left her body behind. She was in a crowd of people walking along a bridge. The thunder of a massive waterfall could be heard all around, adding to the majesty of the enormous sanctuary that rose on the island opposite the bridge. These visions allowed Cettie a kind of omniscient sight—she could observe a dirty brass penny trampled on in the street, or she could rise far enough to see the entire span of the bridge that straddled the waterfall. She recognized this place, the city of Kingfountain, from a previous vision. The sanctuary, Our Lady, was one of the holiest structures in that world. The gates of the sanctuary were bedecked in flowered garlands. There was a celebration underway, she realized. Was it a festival?