Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(92)

You are nothing! An urchin! You were born in filth and will die in filth!

She could hear the words in her mind. How he transmitted them to her, she didn’t know, but she recognized Jevin’s voice. His thoughts tried to overwhelm her like floodwater.

You mean nothing. You are utterly worthless. Pathetic! A traitor to anyone who ever mattered to you. No one will weep when I kill you. They’ll be grateful you’re dead. Just die. It would be better if you just died! Hurl yourself onto the rocks below the cliffs. Just die!

The thoughts held power, and Cettie felt them collide with her soul like fists. These were thoughts she herself had entertained, and he threw them back at her, knowing the injury they would cause. For a moment, she had the urge to do as he said. To give in and give up. But they were lies! They were desperate lies from a coward.

Through some magic or innate skill, he could weave his thoughts into the minds of others. Was it Fountain magic?

It didn’t matter, in the end. She would listen no more. She would not allow him to cause any more harm.

Cettie cracked the staff across his cheek before his fingers could reach her. The blow stunned him, made him sag. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his balance.

He looked dizzy, disoriented. “Who are you?” he gibbered. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

The Medium whispered to her, the voice clear this time, undeniable.

Into your hands is the accuser delivered.

She knew what she had to do.

“Who?” He looked up at her, his eyes sparking with recognition once more. The next moment they blazed silver as he invoked his kystrel to save himself.

Cettie spun the staff over her head and brought the metal knob down on his skull with killing force.

Jevin slumped into the brush, his arms and legs twitching. He choked and gasped a moment, struggling to breathe. She saw his eyes roll back in his head. Then he stopped moving, stopped breathing.

He was dead.

Cettie wiped her mouth on her sleeve, backing away from the body. She glanced over and saw Becka staring at them, aghast.

“C-Cettie?” Becka whispered.

Cettie was winded by the conflict. But she also felt . . . free. As if a fist that had been clenching her mind had suddenly relaxed. She stifled a sob.

“Are you all right?” she asked Becka.

The young woman trembled. She opened her mouth but seemed to struggle for words.

“The man you fear. The kishion who murdered Mr. Skrelling. He’s already dead, Becka. So is the woman you knew as Lady Corinne. My . . . my mother. I’m going to take you back to Lockhaven. Have you been trapped here on this cliff since you were abducted?”

Becka nodded. “I was so frightened, Cettie. So frightened. They told me he was coming. That he’d throw me off the cliff if I tried to escape. I’ve been here for days.”

Cettie smiled reassuringly. “Come. You’re safe now.”

“Where is Sera? Where did they take her?”

Cettie, holding the staff with one hand, took Becka’s hand in the other. She felt for an invisible ring on the girl’s finger. Thankfully, there wasn’t one. She then checked the other hand, just to be sure.

“To Lockhaven. Where I’m taking you. Sera’s worried about you. She needs you.”

“I would like to go back. They . . . they poisoned her.”

Cettie nodded. “I know. And I will make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

She squeezed her hand.





CHAPTER THIRTY?THREE

FORGIVENESS



The Tay al-Ard brought Cettie and Becka into Sera’s private room in the palace at Lockhaven. Brilliant sunlight came through the sheer drapery, revealing the remains of breakfast. Cettie had visited Sera on occasion in Lockhaven, but she’d not been there since her rise as empress. Becka knew the location, and so she was the one who had invoked the magic to bring them there.

Their arrival was noted with a gasp.

Sera and Trevon were sitting on the plush window seat, fingers interlocked. The gasp had been Sera’s. She jumped to her feet, her eyes full of bewilderment and joy as she stared at her two friends standing on the ornamental rug. Her wounds had been tended, her clothing changed into something more befitting her station. The same was true of Trevon.

“Becka!” Sera said in trembling relief. The two embraced, tears flowing. Becka was sniffling, but her smile was radiant.

Cettie remained aloof, savoring the wash of warmth inside her.

“Is it really you?” Sera said, pulling away and kissing her friend on the cheek.

“Yes,” said the younger girl. “I’m here to serve you, Your Highness. If you’ll still have me.”

“Have you! I can’t do without you.” Squeezing Becka’s hands, she looked at Cettie, her eyes swimming with tears. A moment passed, and then Sera rushed across the room and drew Cettie into her embrace, tightening her hold until it almost hurt.

Time seemed to melt away. Years were peeled back, stripped bare. Cettie’s mind was still perfectly sharp. She remembered their days together at Muirwood Abbey, their little cottage at Vicar’s Close with the lavender garden in front. Images flooded her along with the sights and smells from the memories. The times they’d spent together walking the grounds, often hand in hand. The memories seemed to feed a deep hunger inside her. Friends they had been. Friends they would always be. And those memories were joined by ones of the time she and Sera had spent with Trevon and Becka during the prince’s visits to their world, picking through the fruit stands on Wimpole Street as Sera bragged about the apples from Muirwood. Those had been such happy days. Days that had made the sun feel brighter.