Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)

Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)

Jeff Wheeler


CHAPTER ONE

KISHION BOND



The knife lunged toward Cettie’s ribs. She twisted her waist, her reflexes honed by practice. The weapons master would cut her if he could. And he had before. In such moments, there was instinct only. She grabbed his wrist with one hand, elbowed him in the face with the other arm, and then wrestled him for control of the dagger. He outweighed her. But that didn’t matter. She managed to get a grip on his littlest finger and quickly wrenched it so hard that the bone snapped. The dagger clattered to the floor, and the weapons master grunted in pain.

She had learned all the vulnerabilities in a human body. The ones at the throat, the eyes, the rib cage, the internal organs. And not all that knowledge had been taught to her at the poisoner school in Genevar. She had access to memories that were not her own, memories that sometimes sickened her but provided useful knowledge in times of need.

Cettie retrieved the dagger from the floor, holding it in an overhand grip, partially crouched and ready to repel another attack should the master attempt to fight on with a broken finger. Sometimes he did. Her heart beat fast in her chest, reminding her of the robin in the nest hidden in the eaves of the poisoner school.

“Well done,” said her father, the kishion, from the doorway.

She hadn’t heard him arrive or even noticed he was there. His announcement meant that the fight was over. The approval in his face did not move her, though she knew her abilities had improved. She’d seen all the seasons come and go, although Genevar was notoriously short on winter. Her old life seemed impossibly far away, as if it had happened to a different person.

Cettie straightened, watching the grim-faced weapons master rise, his brow contorted with pain. Now it was his turn to use the healing powers of Everoot. Everyone who trained at the poisoner school could use it, removing an injury almost instantaneously. The master didn’t speak but nodded to her before leaving, a sign of respect.

Cettie returned the dagger to the weapons wall, which held various implements of death. Fighting wasn’t her favorite part of the training she received, but she was good at it. She much preferred working with herbs and poisons. She was very sensitive to them and could detect even the smallest traces of winnow herb in a tea or crushed pondace seeds hidden in a crust of bread.

After relieving herself of the weapon, she turned and faced her father. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. When did you return?” Theirs was not a caring relationship. She no longer hated him, but the kishion were not known for their tenderness. Especially her father.

“Last night.”

“And where were you all this time?”

He gave her a small smile. “Killing Admiral Hatch. His loyalties became . . . conflicted.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard, still, by the carefree way he talked about murder. But then, he’d been doing it for a long time.

“Why are you here now?” she asked, dreading his answer. He never did anything without a purpose.

“There’s a new assignment for you,” he said. “One that will be best suited for your skills.”

Cettie frowned, her dread increasing. She didn’t want to seduce or murder anyone. So far, although she’d received training in both, neither task had been asked of her. But she feared it was only a matter of time. The people at the school didn’t care for her sensibilities. If she feared something or found it distasteful, she was usually expected to face it.

“Don’t you want to know?” he asked, noticing her silence.

“I suppose you will tell me anyway,” she answered, guarding her expression.

“You are going to hijack a tempest,” he replied.

Actually, that sounded intriguing. “Really? Where is this tempest?”

“It’s called the Rage, and it runs supplies from Brythonica to the battlefields over La Marche.”

Her heart beat faster. “What is its mission?” she asked, keeping her tone flat.

“Never you mind,” he said with a dark chuckle. “Seize it and bring it to Pree to prepare for its mission. A kishion has been assigned to work with you and dispose of the crew.”

Cettie suppressed an inner groan. “I can do this on my own.” If she did it alone, the imperial soldiers would survive.

Unless the Myriad Ones compelled her to do otherwise. Though the kystrel had improved her ability to control the dark spirits, it had not chased them out. They still lived inside her. They still whispered to her in voices that sounded like hers but weren’t.

“I’ve no doubt of that, Daughter. But it’s high time that you bonded with your own kishion. The connection will deepen your power. Your mother has been preparing this one to serve alongside you.”

Cettie wanted to resist, but she was wise enough not to. In her time at the poisoner school, she’d discovered that the Myriad Ones asserted themselves more powerfully when she resisted the will of her captors, sometimes to the point where she’d black out. If she was agreeable, she had more control of her personal thoughts and actions.

Bonding to a kishion would mean giving him her kystrel, but doing so would not strip her of its magic. If anything, it would make her more powerful. She would have control of him, and he would be able to use her magic. The bond forced an intimacy that would allow the man to catch glimpses of her thoughts. And vice versa. She didn’t want that, not at all.