Broken Veil

Book 5: The Harbinger

by Jeff Wheeler

Genres: Historical Fantasy; Fantasy; Epic Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Gaslamp; Romantic Fantasy; Young adult; YA Epic Fantasy; Coming of Age; YA Coming of Age

Synopsis

Wall Street Journal bestselling author Jeff Wheeler's epic Harbinger series comes to a breathtaking conclusion as two women are swept into a battle that could destroy two worlds.

Rescued from a world of poverty, Cettie Pratt has avoided a bleak destiny—until now. Deceived and manipulated, she has been groomed for the ultimate betrayal: to destroy her best friend and stop peace from uniting two war-torn worlds. Her path leads her to a mysterious underworld where appearances can be deceiving.

Sera Fitzempress knows the value she has to her enemies. As heir to the empire, she must keep her foes at bay and prevent them from unleashing a being of unspeakable evil upon the world while fighting a brutal war. But her enemies are more cunning than Sera expects, and the key to their plans is none other than her best friend.

Neither woman knows what to believe. Neither one knows if she can trust the other. Both Cettie and Sera have made decisions that have irrevocably changed them. But the decisions they have yet to make will determine the fate of their world…

Release date: June 11, 2019

Publisher: 47North

Print pages: 346

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

Kishion Bond

The knife lunged toward Cettie’s ribs. She twisted her waist, her reflexes honed by practice. The weapons master would cut her if he could. And he had before. In such moments, there was instinct only. She grabbed his wrist with one hand, elbowed him in the face with the other arm, and then wrestled him for control of the dagger. He outweighed her. But that didn’t matter. She managed to get a grip on his littlest finger and quickly wrenched it so hard that the bone snapped. The dagger clattered to the floor, and the weapons master grunted in pain.

She had learned all the vulnerabilities in a human body. The ones at the throat, the eyes, the rib cage, the internal organs. And not all that knowledge had been taught to her at the poisoner school in Genevar. She had access to memories that were not her own, memories that sometimes sickened her but provided useful knowledge in times of need.

Cettie retrieved the dagger from the floor, holding it in an overhand grip, partially crouched and ready to repel another attack should the master attempt to fight on with a broken finger. Sometimes he did. Her heart beat fast in her chest, reminding her of the robin in the nest hidden in the eaves of the poisoner school.

“Well done,” said her father, the kishion, from the doorway.

She hadn’t heard him arrive or even noticed he was there. His announcement meant that the fight was over. The approval in his face did not move her, though she knew her abilities had improved. She’d seen all the seasons come and go, although Genevar was notoriously short on winter. Her old life seemed impossibly far away, as if it had happened to a different person.

Cettie straightened, watching the grim-faced weapons master rise, his brow contorted with pain. Now it was his turn to use the healing powers of Everoot. Everyone who trained at the poisoner school could use it, removing an injury almost instantaneously. The master didn’t speak but nodded to her before leaving, a sign of respect.

Cettie returned the dagger to the weapons wall, which held various implements of death. Fighting wasn’t her favorite part of the training she received, but she was good at it. She much preferred working with herbs and poisons. She was very sensitive to them and could detect even the smallest traces of winnow herb in a tea or crushed pondace seeds hidden in a crust of bread.

After relieving herself of the weapon, she turned and faced her father. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. When did you return?” Theirs was not a caring relationship. She no longer hated him, but the kishion were not known for their tenderness. Especially her father.

“Last night.”

“And where were you all this time?”

He gave her a small smile. “Killing Admiral Hatch. His loyalties became . . . conflicted.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard, still, by the carefree way he talked about murder. But then, he’d been doing it for a long time.

“Why are you here now?” she asked, dreading his answer. He never did anything without a purpose.

“There’s a new assignment for you,” he said. “One that will be best suited for your skills.”

Cettie frowned, her dread increasing. She didn’t want to seduce or murder anyone. So far, although she’d received training in both, neither task had been asked of her. But she feared it was only a matter of time. The people at the school didn’t care for her sensibilities. If she feared something or found it distasteful, she was usually expected to face it.

“Don’t you want to know?” he asked, noticing her silence.

“I suppose you will tell me anyway,” she answered, guarding her expression.

“You are going to hijack a tempest,” he replied.

Actually, that sounded intriguing. “Really? Where is this tempest?”

“It’s called the Rage, and it runs supplies from Brythonica to the battlefields over La Marche.”

Her heart beat faster. “What is its mission?” she asked, keeping her tone flat.

“Never you mind,” he said with a dark chuckle. “Seize it and bring it to Pree to prepare for its mission. A kishion has been assigned to work with you and dispose of the crew.”

Cettie suppressed an inner groan. “I can do this on my own.” If she did it alone, the imperial soldiers would survive.

Unless the Myriad Ones compelled her to do otherwise. Though the kystrel had improved her ability to control the dark spirits, it had not chased them out. They still lived inside her. They still whispered to her in voices that sounded like hers but weren’t.

“I’ve no doubt of that, Daughter. But it’s high time that you bonded with your own kishion. The connection will deepen your power. Your mother has been preparing this one to serve alongside you.”

Cettie wanted to resist, but she was wise enough not to. In her time at the poisoner school, she’d discovered that the Myriad Ones asserted themselves more powerfully when she resisted the will of her captors, sometimes to the point where she’d black out. If she was agreeable, she had more control of her personal thoughts and actions.

Bonding to a kishion would mean giving him her kystrel, but doing so would not strip her of its magic. If anything, it would make her more powerful. She would have control of him, and he would be able to use her magic. The bond forced an intimacy that would allow the man to catch glimpses of her thoughts. And vice versa. She didn’t want that, not at all.

If her father and mother knew how much she detested her new life, how much she ached for her old, they wouldn’t let her anywhere near a sky ship. Yet maybe they did know . . . maybe it was the very reason they’d insisted on such an arrangement.

“Who is he?” Cettie asked, feigning unconcern.

Her father gave her a knowing smile. “Time will tell. This operation has been underway for a long time. There can be no failure, Daughter.”

“And you won’t tell me what it is beforehand?”

He shook his head. “You only need to understand your part. You’ll earn our trust by fulfilling your duties. Don’t fail us.”

She bowed her head to him, but inwardly she was still rebelling. He left, and she decided to go to the gardens to see Jevin, the gardener of the various poisons growing at the school. Of all the people she’d met at the poisoner school, he was the only one who felt like a friend. He would talk to her whenever she was lonely, sensing her need somehow.

Some of the other girls who’d been there when she first started had already left, replaced by new ones. Each time a new girl arrived, Cettie’s heart ached. The other girls had tragic backgrounds. For them, coming to the school had been a vast improvement. Cettie was different. In her old life, she’d been the keeper of the cloud estate Fog Willows, engaged to a handsome doctor.

Regret had started creeping up on her as soon as she regained some control by accepting the kystrel. She would have given anything to go back, to reclaim the person she’d been. Jevin understood that, empathized with it even. But he’d tried to help her understand that leaving was impossible. Her parents would never let her out of their web. She knew too much, and the students at the poisoner school all knew the price of treachery. It had happened once in the past year. The girl who’d attempted to escape had been executed in front of all the rest.

As Cettie emerged from the building to the inner courtyard of the beautiful estate, she saw some of the other girls tending their plots in the garden. Cettie enjoyed the feel of the dirt on her hands and the smells from the various herbs. There were no weeds, and the little shrubs and bushes each had familiar names and purposes. Valerianum for making people fall asleep. Wickshot as a quick-acting poison that paralyzed someone. Monkshood—a very deadly poison that brought an excruciating death. All of the little flowers, stems, and sometimes the oils produced from them were highly toxic. Some herbs were so deadly they could only be handled with masks and gloves. Even so, the act of caring for them appealed to her. It even made her think of Adam, the man she had almost married, although the plants he relied on for his trade healed rather than hurt.

Jevin rose before the sun every day and played his hautboie before the massive gong announced the meal. This morning, she found him sitting on the stone wall, guiding one of the younger students—a girl about twelve years old.

As Cettie walked the grounds, which were so familiar to her now, she felt anew the squeezing sensation of being restrained in this elaborate and fancy prison. At first, the school had appealed to her in a strange way. But with time, she’d realized the people who cooked the meals, who sewed the dresses, who healed the wounds were all slaves of a sort. No one there had the freedom to leave when they wanted, not even the poisoners themselves. And though Cettie and the other girls had access to the finest gowns, the sturdiest weapons, and the most elegant jewelry, none of it belonged to them. They were props, disguises. As long as the girls complied, they would have access to the spoils of vast wealth—but none of it was theirs.

Jevin had already noticed her, and she saw him give some final direction to the student before standing, brushing off his hands, and approaching her.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted with a smile. His black cassock looked drab compared to the colorful jerkins available to him. But his modesty appealed to her. He had a trimmed beard and ash-blond hair and a wiry frame. His unassuming appearance was deceiving, however—she’d seen him conquer the hardest challenge the school had to offer, climbing a nearly sheer wall dotted with Water Leerings, without any perceivable effort.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your lesson,” Cettie said.

“I could tell you needed to talk.”

“Do you know about my mission?” she asked him. “I just found out I’ll be leaving soon.”

He raised his eyebrows and arched them quizzically. “Only a little. Something about a tempest?”

She nodded. “Do you know who they’ve assigned to be my kishion?”

He gave her a serious look. “I do.”

“What can you tell me about him?” she asked nervously.

“I was asked for my counsel, naturally,” he said. “Of the options presented, I thought one in particular would be suited for you. It’s no surprise, in hindsight, that this particular kishion was also your mother’s intended choice for you.”

“I don’t know if I should be comforted by that or not,” Cettie complained, sitting next to him on the stone rim of the garden bed.

“Well, I suppose it’s a matter of trust. This is an important assignment. If you succeed, it will lead to a much larger one. One we’ve been preparing you for.”

“I know. You’ve hinted at it for some time,” she said, not without a bit of pique.

“Secrets must be guarded, Cettie. Part of me thinks you are still a little reluctant to be here. Is that true?”

“What gives you that idea?” Cettie said with a small smirk. She decided to change the subject, not wishing to give too much away. “Was it the same for my mother? Was she assigned my father, or did she choose him?”

“That was over twenty years ago, Cettie. I wouldn’t know the story firsthand. I’m not that old!”

“Of course not. But is it common for a hetaera and her kishion to form such an . . . attachment?” Obviously something had happened between her parents that had led to her birth.

“When two people work closely together under circumstances of stress and challenge . . . when they come to trust and depend on each other . . . well, as you’ve learned in your training, those are opportunities for attachments to form. Danger, or the threat of it, can often knit two hearts together. Look into your own past and tell me if you haven’t seen this pattern?”

She blinked in surprise. Yes, they had discussed this in training, how a hostage might fall in love with her abductor. But she’d never tried to make the connection to her own life. Were her past feelings for Adam contributable to this effect? He’d been present for so many of the turbulent moments in her life. Had the fear she’d experienced in those moments biased her feelings for him?

“I hadn’t thought of it that way before. In my own life.”

“Well, I’m glad to have enlightened you. But that’s all I shall say on the matter,” Jevin said apologetically. “I cannot reveal who was assigned to you. But I will say that I think it’s for the best. You tell me, later, if I’m wrong.”

Cettie nodded in gratitude and retreated to the manor, where she intended to bathe and change into a new dress. Fighting for her life tended to work up a sweat. She made her way to the room where all the garments were stored. There were dresses from every country and every fashion. If she showed interest in something that did not fit her, then the seamstresses who worked for the school would make her something new. Cettie, who had never before cared for fashion, now knew all the different styles of clothing, hairstyles, and degrees of embellishments preferred. She could disguise herself so she would be unrecognizable to people who knew her best. Memories of Fog Willows threatened to surface, causing pangs of regret, which she immediately banished with her kystrel. Her feelings began to soothe again.

Opening the door, she walked in and saw a young woman in a shift, holding a dress in front of her while standing in front of the mirror. The sight of the face in the mirror made Cettie stop short and gasp.

“Becka?”

The girl turned in startled surprise. Cettie watched as her face quickly transformed back to that of Shantelle, a younger student.

“No, Cettie. It’s me,” the girl said, smiling awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you knew her.”

Cettie did know Becka Monstrum, who was Sera’s personal maid. Sera, who was now the Empress of Comoros.

Cettie approached her, noticing the dress in the girl’s hands was in the court style of Lockhaven.

“What are you doing?” Cettie questioned.

The girl looked even more embarrassed. “I cannot say,” Shantelle replied. “It’s part of my assignment. I was just practicing in front of the mirror.”

“You’re leaving the poisoner school?”

“I am. Very soon. I’m nervous, Cettie.”

Cettie swallowed. If Shantelle was practicing being the empress’s maid, what did they plan to do with poor Becka? Worse, what would Shantelle be asked to do to Sera? She knew it would suit their purposes if Sera were toppled from her throne.

If only she could get a message to her friend . . .

It would be dangerous to let any of her thoughts or feelings show, even to Shantelle, so Cettie simply told the girl, “You should be more careful. You need to always be on your guard.” The words were accompanied by a little frown.

The girl’s cheeks flamed with mortification. “I understand. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let myself be caught unawares.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Cettie promised, and the girl looked relieved. The poisoner school was not a place where the girls backstabbed each other. They genuinely tried to help one another, when possible.

After Shantelle left, Cettie chose a new gown and then went to the baths and quickly cleaned herself. The whole time, she could think of little else but the mission ahead and the kishion who would be assigned to her. By the time she finished, she had decided to seek out her father again to try to wrest more information from him.

She went to his room and knocked gently on the door before twisting the handle open. There were no locks on the doors, but it was still considered rude to invade someone’s privacy without some forewarning. His was one of the upper rooms at the compound, a tower that overlooked the courtyard. Though the room was empty, she noticed the window was open and heard the creak of timbers overhead. She imagined he was on the roof. She’d been up there with him before.

Had he heard her little knock? Probably not if he was outside. As she cautiously entered, she glanced at the table where he had a haphazard assortment of weapons—including pistols and knives. A sudden sharp pang struck her heart. Was this the weapon that had been used to shoot Fitzroy? The unnerving thought made her clench her fists, but she cast it away to prevent her emotions from reacting. There was a woman’s brooch as well. She fingered it, impressed by the decorative detail. Whom did it belong to? The noblewoman who’d sent him to his death? Biting her lip, she quickly began to search the room, looking for any clues about her assignment. The small details of a person’s life could reveal much about their patterns and habits.

There was a small trunk stowed beneath the cot where he slept. A strong urge to look inside it swelled in her heart. She cocked her head, listening for more creaks on the roof. He had a very light step. But timbers were unforgiving to someone who wished to remain quiet, and these timbers were ancient. She hesitated only a moment longer before kneeling by the edge of the cot and sliding the trunk toward her. She undid the latch—quietly—and opened it. The room was still dark, so it wasn’t easy to see the contents. There was a uniform there, a shirt with a bloodstain on it. And a book tucked underneath.

Cettie’s lips pursed as she drew the book out of the trunk. Her father wasn’t one for reading. She’d never seen a book in his hand, and there were none out on the table. She heard the ominous creak of the boards overhead. He was returning.

She looked at the cover of the small book—a notebook really—and her eyes widened with shock when she realized she recognized it. Her hands began to tremble. It was the notebook that Adam had given her, the one she had lost. Adam had entrusted it to her after receiving his commission to join the Ministry of War as a ship’s doctor. She’d always suspected that her almost-sister Anna had stolen it . . . out of jealousy or some other motive.

What was it doing in her father’s trunk?

CHAPTER TWO

The Mission

A shadow spread across the window, blocking the light. Her father had landed on cat’s feet, not making a sound. It was everything Cettie could do not to display any signs of panic. When someone was nervous, there were little signals that they displayed for all to see. Cettie had been trained to counteract these impulses. She had almost decided to roll under the bed and hide, but her father’s instincts were honed to a knife’s edge. He’d probably heard her in his room and had come to investigate.

“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly, eyeing her with suspicion as he climbed down from the windowsill.

She picked up one of the pistols on his table, examining the length of the barrel. “When is he coming?” She set it down. “The kishion I’ve been assigned to.” Next, she chose a dagger from the table, weighing it in her hand before setting it down again.

“Soon. Why do you care?”

She turned and leaned back against the table. From her vantage point, she could see the little trunk stowed under the bed, just as she’d found it. She’d stashed the book in the pocket of her gown. She folded her arms and looked her father in the eye.

“I want to prepare myself. I wasn’t expecting to be assigned already.”

“Already?” he said with a chuckle. “Your mother was seventeen when she was assigned to her first kishion.”

“Her first?” Cettie asked quizzically.

He walked deeper into the room. “I’m not the first she bonded with, but I am the one who has lasted the longest. It’s dangerous working for her. Let me answer your question bluntly. He comes by zephyr. Tonight.”

That was soon. Too soon. She didn’t feel ready. She set the dagger back down. “Thank you,” Cettie replied. She started for the door but paused, looking over her shoulder. “Did you know her beforehand?” She wanted to keep him talking, to reduce his suspicions that she had invaded his things.

“You mean your mother?”

Cettie nodded.

“Only by reputation,” he answered.

“Do you know where she came from? Who she was before the poisoner school?”

His lips pressed together. He didn’t answer her. She hadn’t really expected him to reveal anything. Cettie’s mother was Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky. Somehow her mother, a poisoner, had infiltrated the upper echelons of the empire, becoming one of the wealthiest, if not the wealthiest woman in the empire of Comoros. And she had transformed both worlds—in Comoros, she’d killed the former emperor, Richard Fitzempress, and in Kingfountain, she’d helped foment a rebellion that had given power to General Montpensier. The war between the worlds, which had subsided for a time, had begun again, with renewed rage and fire. It had been underway for more than a year, with battles being fought all over Ceredigion, Occitania, Leoneyis, and Brythonica. But not in Genevar. The ones controlling the conflict were reaping the rewards of the violence. The Genevese were in the shadows, using their fleets and influence to protect Montpensier’s crown.

Seeing that her father was no longer willing to speak, Cettie left his room and retreated to hers. Would he search his things to see if she had stolen anything? She had been meticulous about replacing the trunk, but sometimes the littlest things were what gave you away.

As she walked, she wondered if her assignment would lead her back to Comoros. Though that was what she wanted, more than anything, it would be a dangerous thing. One of the girls that Cettie knew had already been captured and killed by Sera’s empire. Killed because she bore the hetaera brand on her shoulder. The same brand that Cettie had on her flesh.

The hetaera brand was bestowed by a Leering, though it was a different one than had been used in the past. The old Leering had rendered a hetaera’s lips poison and made her a vessel for the Myriad Ones. Cettie had been told the new Leering was different, that it gave those who took the vow the ability to control the Myriad Ones. And so she’d taken the vow, only to realize the promises she’d been made were exaggerated. The dark creatures had not left. Would not leave.

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?”

“I travel constantly,” he answered. “I’ve never liked being in one place for very long. I tried making a go at parliament, as I told you I would, but I couldn’t find anyone to back me. Until now, that is. There are many of us in the government, advancing in the ranks.”

Jevin interrupted. “Now that you are here, Mr. Patchett, it’s time to prepare for your mission. You both leave before midnight.”

“Ah, yes,” Rand said. “Formalities. I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Cettie is quite a pilot. We can take over a tempest. No problem.”

“Come this way, then,” Jevin said, steering them both to the inner domain. It was surreal to be walking alongside Rand. She kept glancing at him, unnerved by his presence. His demeanor and mannerisms were so familiar to her. He’d always had the inner energy of a predator cat, constantly pacing and stalking. He was also very impulsive, which she did not think was a good quality for a kishion. It didn’t matter—she couldn’t be happier to see him.

“This room,” Jevin said, stopping in front of one of the smaller rooms. He twisted the handle and opened it, revealing a small table surrounded by some chairs.

Rand gestured for her to sit first, and he began pacing along the perimeter of the room. Jevin sat down at the head of the table and set the instrument down beside him. “This mission has been underway for several months,” he said. “I won’t explain the larger aims at this point, but let me describe once again the near-term goal.”

“Steal a tempest. Dispatch the crew,” Rand said with a shrug.

“Yes, to put it bluntly. The tempest you seek, Rage, should be arriving at midnight, according to our intelligence. Its destination is the Arsine warehouse here in Genevar. It must be commandeered upon arrival and flown to the Hotel Vecchio in Pree. There, you will pose as brother and sister. One of the rooms on the top floor has been arranged.”

“What about my zephyr?” Rand asked.

“Your zephyr stays here until you finish your mission,” Jevin said. “You will take a carriage together to the warehouse. Once you get to the hotel, you will wait there until further instructions arrive. It may be several days, depending on how other parts of the mission go. Do not leave the hotel until ordered or unless you are compromised.”

Jevin leaned forward and looked at Cettie. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold ring. “This will help you impersonate Miss Patchett. She does not know her brother has joined our efforts. Since you have met her, you have knowledge of her looks and manners. The ring will aid in your disguise, although I recommend choosing a dress that will facilitate the transformation. Here, try it on.”

She took the gold ring from him and stared at it. Then she slid it onto her finger.

“There is a word of power that activates the ring: metamorphoune. All you must do is think the word.” He pursed his lips. “Try it. The magic will draw Miss Patchett’s appearance from your memories.”

Cettie gazed at the ring on her hand and thought the word. Metamorphoune.

A rippling sensation went through her. It felt strange, as if her ears were plugged from a quick ascent to a higher altitude. She heard the chords of magic, faint music, but soon it blended in with the noise of the room, and she heard nothing. Looking down at her hands, she saw that they were different. The shape was different, the nails longer and covered in polish. The ring was gone.

Cettie touched her finger with her other hand, feeling the ridge on her finger. The ring had vanished upon activation of the spell, but it was still there.

“Yes, it’s still there,” said Jevin. “And it worked wonderfully. Is this what your sister looks like, Mr. Patchett?”

“Indeed, it is,” Rand said, sitting back. He chuckled to himself. “Her hair is a little longer now, but that’s hardly—”

“It matters,” Jevin said. “Now, Cettie. Give Mr. Patchett your kystrel. It will be able to access his latest memories of his sister, which will improve your disguise. It will help make the transformation more real. More convincing. Your voice will be the same to you. But others will hear the one they are familiar with. You will be able to speak in any language necessary for the situation.”

“I will?” Cettie asked, intrigued. She tugged at the chain around her neck, loosening the kystrel from her bodice. In the past, whenever she’d thought about taking it off, she’d felt uneasy, wary, and protective of it. Though its magic had not freed her as she’d hoped, it was still a powerful protection. But knowing Rand was to be her kishion changed things—she was eager to share her power with him. She hoped that by doing so, she would feel a little more connection to the girl he’d known her to be. She hesitated for only a brief moment before pulling it off and handing it to him.

Rand took it, cupping it in his palm. She saw him swallow as he stared at the magical emblem with curiosity. Then he slipped the chain over his own neck.

A jolt went through Cettie’s heart, and gooseflesh tingled down her arms.

“When do we leave for the warehouse?” Rand asked. “How far is it?”

“The carriage was summoned an hour ago. You’ll be leaving after dark. Pack the clothes you need. Occitanian coins will be provided for expenses.” He looked at Cettie and put his hand on top of hers, the one with the ring. “These are powerful rings,” Jevin said. “If you do well, you will be permitted to keep this one.”

“How will we find the hotel?” Cettie asked.

Jevin smiled pleasantly. “There is a hurricane hovering over it. It is one of our enemy’s bases in Occitania.”