Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(5)

The symbol imparted by the new Leering was a fountain lily, branded into the shoulder as if by fire and left to scar. It was the size of a coin and easily overlooked unless one knew it was there. The empire was hunting those with the brand. It was treated as grounds for the bearer to be put to death immediately. Yet the mark itself might be Cettie’s only chance to escape her prison. Poisoners with the brand were allowed to travel outside the school; the rest were not.

She entered her room and shut the door, sitting on the ground with her back against it so she could hear any sounds of approach. While seated, she removed the small book from her pocket and began glancing through the pages. The little drawings of the various plants and birds had Adam’s notes about each scrawled in the margins. Seeing his handwriting made her tremble. How many times had she perused this book? She turned from page to page, her heart swelling with longing and regret, an ache that grew and grew. He would never want her back. They could never be together again. The decisions she’d made had ensured that. She’d become anathema to his beliefs. Tears pricked her eyes. If she only could undo what had happened to her. If only she had not trusted Lady Corinne. There was no easy way to even get back to her world. The mirror gates were all heavily guarded, many of them destroyed, and although Sera had opened an enormous rift in the sky, connecting the worlds, only Comoros’s air ships could make the journey. Was that her mother’s plan? Steal a tempest and use it to cross through the rift?

And what about the girl who was preparing to pose as Becka? Would Sera’s spies manage to catch her? Though she didn’t want any harm to come to poor Shantelle, she wished to protect Sera and Becka above all.

Cettie dabbed her tears on the back of her hand and then invoked the kystrel to banish her feelings again. Longing for Adam would do her no good. Neither would worrying. The feelings ebbed, but not as quickly as they once had. She found herself using the kystrel more and more often to douse her feelings, because the feelings just kept returning. The kystrel numbed her, but whenever she thought about her old life, the sadness and longing rushed back with a vengeance.

She stared at the little book in her hands, turning it over and over. How had it ended up in her father’s trunk? The last place she’d seen it was—

A little jolt shot through her, followed by an irrational throb of anger. What did it even matter? She should just toss the book into a fire and burn it. Adam must hate her now. There was nothing she could do to atone for her bad choices.

A frown creased her mouth, and she nearly hurled the book across the room.

She blinked, caught off guard by the strength of the emotion, and then rose from the floor in front of the door and slid the book beneath the mattress of her bed. She’d deal with it later. Again she felt the swelling feeling inside to destroy the book. But she walked away and left the room, her feelings muddled and dark. She would watch for the sky ship.

A sickening feeling inside her insisted everything was about to change.



The zephyr came at dusk. Cettie was in the middle of playing a hautboie when she noticed the sky ship descending over the wall. She missed flying, the thrill of acceleration and the force of the wind through her hair. Pulling the instrument from her lips, she gazed at the sky ship longingly, nervously, feeling agitation churn inside her.

“Ah, he’s arrived,” said Jevin, who had been seated by her, enjoying her music and giving her advice on her technique.

Cettie put the instrument down on the table and stood, trying not to wring her hands but to project an aura of calm, despite her nerves.

“Remember,” Jevin said, also rising. “It is a privilege to serve a hetaera. We all feel that way. He serves you. You are the one who will lead this mission.” Cettie’s throat was thickening with worry as she saw the pilot bound off the edge with a practiced air. There was something familiar . . .

“I know him,” Cettie said in baffled surprise. The kishion she’d imagined was a grimacing, rough man who wouldn’t hesitate to strangle a baby. Never in a lifetime had she expected to see Rand Patchett climb off that zephyr. Rand!

“I know you do,” Jevin said smugly. “He’s one of us now.”

“But . . . but how?” Cettie said, watching as her old acquaintance strode up to them.

“I’ll let him tell you,” Jevin replied. He retrieved the hautboie and nodded to Rand. “Welcome to Genevar.”

“Cettie,” Rand said, ignoring the other man. His eyes brightened. “You hardly look the same anymore. By the blazes, just look at you!” As he reached her, he shook his head in amazement and put his hands on his hips. He wore his dragoon’s jacket, the one she remembered, and had a pistol jammed into his belt. Seeing a familiar face, at long last, felt wonderful, even if it was the man she had rejected.

“What are you doing here, Rand?” she asked, half laughing, her voice trembling.

“I’ve been training to be a kishion,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “It’s much harder than dragoon training, if you can imagine. But if we’re ever going to end this accursed war, we’ll need more of us. When I was told I’d be working with you, I couldn’t believe my luck.” He gazed around the courtyard. “So this is the poisoner school?”

“One of them,” Cettie replied. She wanted to burst inside. The relief was overpowering. “Where have you been?”