Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(43)

She was chosen. A precious vessel of the Mysteries, of the Knowing. She’d had her first vision there. It had shown her Fitzroy’s death in Kingfountain, her own betrayal of the Mysteries, and her decision to stop fighting Lady Corinne and the kishion and stay at the poisoner school. She’d sobbed at the thought of losing her father, of losing herself, and yet she’d accepted the role. It was part of the Knowing’s plan, part of its reconciliation of the infinite choices mortals made. Father had undoubtedly faced his own death with courage. Could she do no less?

The Dryad had stolen her memories of the vision, of what she had chosen to do, for the poisoner school would surely have killed her if they’d known she intended to destroy it.

Memories. More memories. The ground felt like it was spinning, and her shoulders sagged as she struggled to stay conscious. Memories came of her childhood. She saw the deed Mr. Pratt had signed, giving her up, saw someone hand an infant to the tall, handsome man in a dragoon jacket. But still the memories went back further, before it was even possible for her to remember.

She remembered her birth in this very grove.

The labor had started in Brythonica. Her father was there—the kishion. A woman who wasn’t Lady Corinne—yet was—lay beneath the oak tree, groaning. The woman screamed in agony as the labor continued. Cettie saw it all, saw the blood and the taut nerves, the clenched hands, the sweat. And as Cettie came into the world, a silver bowl full of water was poured on the plinth. There was thunder, hail, and a vortex opened between the worlds.

The Dryads had seen it happen. They were both silent witnesses to Cettie’s birth.

A child born between two worlds. It had never happened before.

A child who was heir to both.

Cettie watched her father lift the babe, a wild, triumphant look in his eyes. He pressed his lips against her bloodied scalp.

A vessel. A vessel to give Ereshkigal for her rebirth. One who could cross from one world to the other without permission, without covenants.

A destroyer of worlds.

And yet . . . and yet . . .

One crucial meeting had changed her life’s trajectory. Lord Fitzroy had put a stop to the chain of events that would have ruined her life and her soul. He had guided her away from an awful destiny prepared in advance by her parents. Had she been brought to the poisoner school as a young girl, raised to know nothing but cruelty and want, they would have won her loyalty.

Cettie hunched down, doubled over, pressing her cheek against the carpet of decayed leaves, and wept in gratitude for what Lord Fitzroy—her true father—had done. He hadn’t known. But he’d listened to the tiny prick of conscience that night in the Fells, when she’d asked him to adopt her. He had unwittingly chosen a different fate for her.



Cettie walked up the hill toward the abbey, her arms folded, her eyes finally dry. She remembered how foggy her mind had felt the last time she made this journey, years before. The visions had started soon afterward, catching her completely by surprise. She hadn’t remembered accepting the Gift of Seering. She hadn’t remembered she’d willingly become a harbinger.

Today, when she’d awoken with her memories, Maderos and Owen had been gone. Without any instructions, she was left to follow her heart, and her heart told her to seek out the Aldermaston of Muirwood. She had no idea what would happen next, but she followed the impression and had started on her way.

As she neared the outer borders of the abbey, the Leerings warned her not to approach. The brand on her shoulder felt as if it had been burned into her skin anew. Cettie unwove the Leerings’ protections with her mind, not dispelling them, just making a little path for her to cross, as her father the kishion had done years before with his kystrel. After crossing, she slid the protections back into place.

She felt a smile rise on her mouth as she took in her familiar surroundings. As she advanced, she saw the cider orchard, the pond. Soon she could hear the laughter of the students enjoying a pleasant afternoon. Then there were the archery butts, one of the places she’d liked to go to think. The abbey could be seen above the trees, beyond it all, and Cettie felt a strong pull from it. As if the stones welcomed her home.

When she reached the common lawn, some of the students looked at her in confusion. She was an adult now, no longer as young as she’d been. No longer one of them. To Cettie’s eyes, the students were like unmolded clay. And so had she been.

She reached the Aldermaston’s manor and went inside. No one spoke to her or questioned her. The poisoner’s bag thumped against her back. What was she to do with it now?

After turning the corner, she approached the Aldermaston’s study. That was usually where he was at this time of day. She paused at the threshold, her hand resting on the cool metal handle. Whatever was going to happen would happen. If the Aldermaston rejected her, if he turned her in to the Ministry of Law, so be it. She twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

Thomas Abraham sat at his desk, poring over an ancient tome, his glasses pinched at the end of his nose, his wrinkled brow showing his intense focus.

She quietly shut the door behind her.

He looked up from the tome and squinted, his eyes not strong enough to identify her without the glasses. He pushed them back up to the bridge of his nose, and she saw his cheeks go pale and slack, his eyes widen suddenly with fear.

“Have you come to kill me, Cettie?” he whispered.