Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(49)

Mrs. Pullman’s thoughts crashed against Cettie’s. It’s mine! Mine!

The Leerings faltered again, plunging them into blackness. She felt someone brush past her, and suddenly Mrs. Pullman’s thoughts grew confused.

Get off! Get off! the old woman shrieked in her mind.

The cord snapped, freeing the key. Cettie heard it thunk against the wood floor and begin to slide away.

Light! Cettie pleaded, invoking the Leerings again.

The pale illumination that resulted was enough for her to see Stephen grappling with the old woman, holding her away from Cettie. Mrs. Pullman’s nails were tipped in blood, and her long fingers groped to scratch at Cettie again.

On the floor, sliding away from them, was the keeper’s key. Cettie lunged after it, sliding a pace before she grabbed it up.

Squeezing the metal in her hand, Cettie bowed her head and beckoned the Control Leering to obey her. To halt the descent of the mansion. She invoked her memories of the Hardings—Sir Jordan’s booming laughter, Lady Shanron’s joyful parties. The dancing and gaiety that had been enjoyed by so many. She felt the Leerings throb to life in response. Her memories of the time before, when Gimmerton Sough had been a true home, seemed to feed the Leering. The lights became blindingly bright. Cettie focused on her order, willing it to hold firm. Then she felt Stephen’s will join hers, adding his thoughts to invoke the Control Leering to obey them. The fall began to slow, but Cettie knew they might be too late to stop it from happening.

Slow, slow, slow, Cettie pleaded, invoking the Leerings, commanding them in the name of the Mysteries.

“What’s happening?” someone shouted.

“It’s slowing!”

Cettie felt the power of the Leering fade again, displaced by the power of Mrs. Pullman’s kystrel. The discordant tune was harsh in her mind. The lights began to fade. The key was in her hand, yet it struck her that a key was little more than a symbol, a delegation of authority. The key had made it easier for Mrs. Pullman to control the estate, certainly, but the real power came from her kystrel.

“Stephen!” Cettie cried out. “The kystrel! Around her neck! Hurry!” A cluster of Myriad Ones gathered around her. A prickle of gooseflesh crept up her arms as their dark energy closed in on her, the flashing lights illuminating them.

Fear started to press in on her, but she remembered what Maderos had said to her. She was a tool of the Mysteries, and the Myriad Ones would control her no more.

Banirexpiare! she thought at them, invoking the maston word of power.

The Myriad Ones screeched in painful obedience. Their shrieks were like storm winds inside her mind.

“No!” Mrs. Pullman groaned.

Cettie turned and saw Stephen yanking on the old woman’s medallion. Magic pulsed out of the kystrel. Mrs. Pullman was using her force against him, trying to compel him to obey. Cettie knew how kystrels worked. The old woman was flooding him with the feelings of his childhood, reminding him of the little favors she’d done for him, the preference she’d always shown him. She had been a mother-like figure to him while Lady Maren had so frequently been ill. His eyes were wild with conflict.

“Take it!” Cettie begged him. “Remember, Stephen. Remember. She poisoned Mother.”

He locked eyes with her, frowned, and then broke the chain. As the links snapped, Mrs. Pullman slumped to the floor, exhausted, weeping.

There was no more resistance from the Control Leering. Cettie used the Leerings beneath the estate to see the ground rushing toward them. So close. Too close. She blinked with terror, using all her will to slow their descent. Power rippled inside her. Every Leering in the manor joined together in a unity of purpose.

Cettie felt the slowing sensation, but in her heart she knew it was too late. Stephen drew away from the old woman and crawled to her amidst the tumbled furniture. His hand closed on hers, and he bowed his head, lending her every ounce of his will.

It wasn’t enough.

Cettie felt the collision as the base of Gimmerton Sough impacted the grassy plain beneath it. The jolt sent everyone sprawling. Dust and debris began to rain down on those who hadn’t made it out of the chamber. Cettie and the others began to cough. Groaning timbers sounded like thunder. At any moment, the ceiling would collapse on them.

Only it didn’t.

The estate had stopped falling.

Cettie willed the Leerings to shine, and they did. A fog seemed to linger in the air, but the dust began to settle. No one had kept on their feet. Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw Stephen was grievously injured. He lay still, a giant piece of plaster or stone next to his head. She saw the blood pooling around his head, saw the ragged fall of his chest, heard the wheezing of his breath. The dust made her want to sneeze.

Her mind flashed to another day, another injured young man. Joses. He had died in front of her. Her memory of that day was dagger-sharp from the Dryad’s magic. She could remember every smell, the feeling of the cool mist on her face, the terror as the beast hovered over her, the anguish at her failure to save her friend.

Was she to lose Stephen in the same way?

Fumbling with her dress, she reached into the secret pocket in her vest. There, inside a watertight pouch, she withdrew the little stub of Everoot she’d been given at the poisoner school. She pressed it against Stephen’s bleeding scalp. It might not be enough. It wouldn’t be if he were already gone. She didn’t beg for Stephen’s life, although she wanted to.