Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(39)

Cettie felt her stomach clench with dread. She had her poisoner bag on the seat beside her, plus the pistol she’d stolen from Will and the dagger she always carried. She would not let anyone harm the old man and his grandson.

“What are we going to do?” she asked him, her voice becoming firm.

“We’re going to reach our destination,” he answered. “Just a minor delay. I wouldn’t worry.”

“I am worried,” Cettie said. She leaned toward the window and tried to look ahead. It was a military blockade. Pickets had been erected to block the road. Horses were tethered to them, and there were twelve, maybe thirteen, men assembled, dressed as soldiers and armed with muskets and sabers. She glanced at the other two passengers.

“It’s all right,” Owen insisted. Then he reached for the Raven scabbard. “But just in case.”

The carriage slowed to a halt. Cettie heard the soldiers talk to the driver, but their voices were garbled. Owen looked at Curtis and smiled. “Stay in here with Cettie. I’ll talk with them. Don’t come out of the carriage, all right?”

“What will you do, Papa?”

“I’m just going to talk to the soldiers. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

“I know you’re not. Take care of Cettie for me?” He looked at her as he said it.

“I will, Papa!”

“Good. Stay in here.” Gripping the scabbard in one hand, he opened the carriage door and stepped outside without hesitation. One of the soldiers shouted at him to return to the carriage, but he did not heed the man.

Cettie put her arm around Curtis and pulled him closer to her. She watched as Owen disappeared, and then she slid along the bench to get a better view. Though she couldn’t hear what was being said, he was addressing the soldiers in low tones. They had all gathered around the carriage now, and some had their weapons aimed at it.

The captain of the soldiers had an unfriendly look on his weather-beaten face. “So you claim this is your daughter and her child?” he said, loud enough to be heard through the open window. He craned his neck, looking around Owen at her and Curtis. “I think you are traitors and spies!”

“Please let us pass,” Owen said calmly, speaking louder in response to the captain’s bluster. “We are doing the Fountain’s will. Stand aside.”

“You are not in charge here, old man!” the captain snapped. “Seize the carriage. Arrest them.”

“I don’t think that is a wise choice, Captain,” said Owen, drawing the sword from the Raven scabbard.

“You think I’m afraid of an old man?” the captain sneered. “I said seize the carriage. Driver, come down at once, or you’ll be shot.”

Owen’s shoulders sagged. “I’m afraid, Captain, that I can’t let you do this.”

“You’re daft! Bind him in irons, I say.”

Two of the soldiers approached Owen, one of them carrying irons. Cettie stared, wanting to use the power of the kystrel to save him. Even though Owen had broken it, she wondered if she could still invoke its power—although doing so would likely bring Will down upon her.

Just then, Owen swung the scabbard around and struck one of the two men in the temple, dropping him to the ground. The other froze, staring at him in shock, and Owen kneed him in the stomach. A gunshot rang out, the explosion jolting the cabin and startling the horses, who neighed in terror and bucked. The air was instantly hazy with smoke. Cettie was about to charge out and join the commotion, but she felt Curtis tug on her arm.

“Papa said to stay inside.”

“He may be hurt,” Cettie said.

The boy only smiled. “He isn’t.”

Some of the smoke cleared, at least enough to see. She watched in awe as Owen whipped his sword around, cutting the arm of a man armed with a musket. The soldier promptly dropped his weapon, backing away as he winced in pain. Another gunshot sounded, and Cettie gasped, afraid the old man’s streak of luck had finally ended, but the shot missed. The captain raised his own pistol, aiming directly at Owen’s face, and pulled the trigger.

Cettie nearly screamed out. At that close range, he couldn’t have missed. But the pistol jammed, and the captain, snarling, shook it and tried again. Nothing happened, so he threw down the pistol, which fired and hit one of his own men. Bellowing with anger, he drew his saber and charged at Owen. The two exchanged quick blows before the captain was pierced in the breast by Owen’s longer sword. He groaned and dropped to his knees, trying to stanch the blood.

Another shot sounded, then another. But none of them hit Owen, who dispatched each soldier, one by one, until the last wisps of smoke abandoned the scene.

Cettie stared in disbelief, watching Owen stand there with a bloodied sword in one hand, the scabbard in the other as he watched his attackers scatter. The captain, shivering with fear and still on his knees, looked up at the old man in dread.

Owen wiped the blood on the captain’s coat before sheathing the blade. He walked back to the carriage, opened the door, and whistled for the driver to go on.

The carriage lumbered past the pickets.



Sera had told Cettie about the beauties of Brythonica. The beach made of sea glass, the berry fields she’d visited with Trevon. It was a lush and green land, full of hills and groves and open farmland. She watched the scenery pass until sunset, when the shadows grew thick enough to obscure the way forward. The air held a sweet fragrance—was it eucalyptus? The driver slowed, but he knew the way, and there was only the one road to follow.