Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(30)

That thought lingered in her mind just a moment longer. And then Cettie slept.



She awoke to the sound of a child’s voice. “Who is she, Papa?”

“Her name is Cettie. Isn’t that a pretty name?”

Her eyes blinked awake. The room was suffused with morning light. She’d slept soundly, not stirring once. At least, not that she could remember. Back at the poisoner school, she’d become accustomed to waking up in a different place from where she’d lain down to sleep, especially before she accepted the kystrel, but every moment of the previous night was burned into her brain. Being freed from the Myriad Ones. Fighting with Will. Hearing his threats—the promise he’d made to murder Adam if she revolted. Fleeing the room. Accepting the old stranger’s invitation.

“Hello!” the boy said to her sweetly, raising a little paw and waving at her. His hair was long and slightly mussed from sleep. His smile was infectious.

Cettie lifted herself from the bed on her arms. “Good morning, Curtis,” she greeted.

He walked over and gave her a hug, the gesture full of an easy, generous affection she hadn’t experienced in a long, long while. She stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head.

“Papa said you’re coming with us!” he said eagerly, stepping back.

“If she chooses, Curtis. Only if she chooses.”

Cettie swung her legs over the side of the bed. The night of pure rest had transformed her. She felt more like herself—her old self. How strange that the transformation should come about so quickly. It was like awakening from a nightmare.

The old man, Owen, stood from the chair, which he’d moved closer to the door to keep watch. “Where do you need to go, Cettie? We can take you there.”

“I appreciate your kindness. I truly do. But I don’t think you can take me to where I need to go.” Worry for Adam welled in her gut, sickening her.

“And where would that be?” he asked.

“I am . . . I’m not from your world,” she answered. “I need to get to the empire of Comoros. But there is a war between our worlds.”

The boy gave his grandfather a smile and a knowing look.

“We can help you,” Owen said. “There are . . . other ways to cross worlds. I happen to know of one. It’s in Brythonica, which is not a long journey from Pree. My wife’s family is from Ploemeur. I know the way.”

The boy gave Cettie an entreating look. “Please come with us, Cettie.”

The Fountain had guided them to be at the hotel when she would be there. It had provided her with a way to escape her prison. Gratitude swelled inside her as she nodded. Getting away from Pree would help, but the thought of anything bad happening to these two souls made her cringe. She would not recklessly endanger them.

“Those seeking me will be watching the hotel closely,” Cettie said. “I would need to disguise myself.”

Owen looked around the room. “I did bring a rather large trunk. You just might fit inside of it?”

She saw it against the wall beside Curtis’s bed. “But your clothes, your things.”

“All can be replaced,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Your kindness is overwhelming,” Cettie said.

“It is a very small thing. Your life seems to have its fill of troubles. I’ve survived plenty of my own, and I’ve learned to trust the whispers from the Fountain. They’ve led me right thus far. Just as they will for you.”

Cettie’s heart panged again. “I hope that’s still true,” she said, feeling a horrible surge of guilt.

“Isn’t it a miracle that we are even here? That there is enough air to breathe? That a burning sun keeps this world perfectly warm . . . just as it does on your planet? On both worlds there is water to drink and food to eat. And good people that we can call friends and family.” He reached out and mussed up Curtis’s hair. “Do you think there is anything this child could do that would stop me from loving him?” He gave Cettie a piercing look, one that cut her straight down to her soul. “He might get into a little mischief. He might even do wrong. But he’s mine. And I will always love him.” He beamed down at the little boy, hooking his arm around the lad’s neck. The boy smiled up at his grandfather with pride and love and hugged him around the waist.

Owen reminded her a little of Fitzroy. Older, more experienced, but they shared a deep wisdom, something she’d always admired in Fitzroy.

That thought made a shiver run down Cettie’s spine. The way Owen loved Curtis was the way her father, her true father, had loved her. In the beautiful morning sunshine, she felt close to him in a way that transcended reason. As if he were in the very room with them.

Can you see me, Father? she thought into the stillness.

She felt a rush of warmth inside her that felt like an answer. Cettie hung her head and began to cry softly.

“Well, let’s get this chest emptied, shall we, Curtis?” Owen suggested. She could tell he’d made the suggestion to give her a moment to gather herself. Together, the man and the boy heaved the chest up onto the bed. It was long, long enough to fit Cettie if she curled up inside it. When they opened it, she saw a pile of folded clothes, an extra set of boots, a sword and scabbard. Owen unfastened his belt and slid it through the scabbard. It was an older sword, different from sabers the dragoons used. But it was the scabbard that made her stare. It bore the symbol of a raven, and she felt chords of magic emanating from it as Owen buckled it on. It was a melodious sound, pure and powerful.