Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(24)

What could she do about it?

Nothing. If she attempted to flee, they’d catch her. She had no resources, no friends. No way of communicating with others without revealing herself to her captors. She was utterly helpless to free herself.

And even if she did?

The authorities would kill her because of the hetaera brand.



Rand had their luggage brought up from the tempest, just two small chests they’d taken from the tempest’s previous occupants to support the ruse that they were normal guests. There was nothing to do but wait for further instructions, and so they walked the grounds together, listened to the small chamber orchestra play fanciful sonatas from Pree, and enjoyed the lavish meals provided. Cettie ate sparingly, as she’d been trained to do at the poisoner school.

Their conversations were ordinary, but she could sense his rekindled attraction for her. Behind his cheerful small talk, she sensed that he truly cared about her. That he desired her even. His struggle to conceal those feelings from her convinced her there was something behind them.

And yet part of her didn’t trust it. That invisible ring she’d discovered on his hand had surfaced in her thoughts again and again. Was it to conceal his clothing? Or his face? He felt like the man she’d known from Gimmerton Sough, but was he really who he claimed to be? It was difficult keeping her distrust at bay. It festered like a tiny splinter.

They parted after dinner. He’d promised to play cards with the soldiers he’d met earlier, and she retreated to their rooms. A fire had been built in the small fireplace in the den, rendering the room pleasantly warm, and lit candles dotted the surfaces. Discarding the illusion of being Joanna Patchett, she sat on a small settee and stared into the flames, dreading and looking forward to when Rand would arrive.

She could hear him speak with the other officers, feel his building impatience to be alone with her. The knowledge of how he felt made her insides squirm.

Finally, only an hour or so after they’d parted, she felt him coming up the stairs. She felt him walking down the hall. She even felt him pause at the door, preparing himself to face her.

When he entered the den, she didn’t look at him, her eyes still fixed on the flames. She could make him feel anything she wanted. It was a powerful realization. She could wring his heart until he wept. She could make him desperate. Whispers urged her to use the power that way. To make him loyal to only her. Devoted even. Obsessed. The thoughts droned like bees in her mind.

He waited by the door. “Why are you toying with me?” he asked huskily. A wave of vulnerability washed over her. His vulnerability.

She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

After shutting the door, he walked closer. “I think you know what I mean. Why are we fighting our feelings? It’s madness.”

She looked away again. “I want you to take off your ring.”

“What?” He sounded surprised.

“I know you’re wearing one.”

“What does it matter?” he said, and she felt his sudden wariness. He did not want to remove his ring. She felt his resistance forcefully.

“It matters to me,” Cettie said. “I want to see who you really are.”

“What do you mean, who I really am? You know who I am, Cettie.” He came around to stand before her. She had to admit that she was attracted to him. He looked desperate, his cheek twitching with emotion. “You know my very soul.”

“Do I?” she answered softly. “Take off the ring, then.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You can’t . . . or you won’t?”

He gritted his teeth. “It’s not that simple, Cettie. I cannot take it off. I . . .” His voice choked off on those last words. She sensed a strange magic weaving in the air. Her ghosts were warring inside her now, trying to make her forget what she’d asked.

“Give me your hand,” she said, offering her palm.

The flames in the fire flared higher, startling her. The emotions battling inside him grew more panicked. He didn’t want to obey her, but she was compelling him to through the kystrel he wore. She saw the sheen of sweat appear on his brow.

Then he dropped on his knees before her. “Stop torturing me!” he gasped, putting a hand on her knee. “Can’t you see that we are one? I feel everything that you feel. Stop using the kystrel against me!”

“I’m not,” Cettie said, shaking her head. Part of her longed to cup his face. To kiss him. And yet, she also longed to push him away. Her thoughts began to flutter, darkness encroaching on them. It was her ghosts, the ones who lived inside her. “Just take it off,” she said, shaking her head, trying to hear past the buzzing in her ears.

“I can’t,” he groaned. She felt he was telling the truth. He wanted to obey her, but there was an even stronger force that kept him from doing it.

She put her hand atop his. She could feel the ring on his finger. Invisible. Quivering with power.

Blackness began to shroud her vision. She blinked quickly. She was losing herself again. It hadn’t happened often since she’d worn the kystrel. Only when she tried to assert herself strongly against the Myriad Ones’ impulses. Was there any point in fighting them if it caused her to lose what little control she had?

She felt Rand’s other hand move higher up her leg. He was breathing so fast, so passionately. His mouth was just inches from hers.