Broken Veil Read online

  ALSO BY JEFF WHEELER

  The Harbinger Series

  Storm Glass

  Mirror Gate

  Iron Garland

  Prism Cloud

  Broken Veil

  The Kingfountain Series

  The Poisoner’s Enemy (prequel)

  The Maid’s War (prequel)

  The Poisoner’s Revenge (novella)

  The Queen’s Poisoner

  The Thief’s Daughter

  The King’s Traitor

  The Hollow Crown

  The Silent Shield

  The Forsaken Throne

  The Legends of Muirwood Trilogy

  The Wretched of Muirwood

  The Blight of Muirwood

  The Scourge of Muirwood

  The Covenant of Muirwood Trilogy

  The Lost Abbey (novella)

  The Banished of Muirwood

  The Ciphers of Muirwood

  The Void of Muirwood

  Whispers from Mirrowen Trilogy

  Fireblood

  Dryad-Born

  Poisonwell

  Landmoor Series

  Landmoor

  Silverkin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Jeff Wheeler

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542092449

  ISBN-10: 1542092442

  Cover design by Mike Heath | Magnus Creative

  To Tyler

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  According to the...

  SERA

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The number of...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  The idea came...

  SERA

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I have been...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The intruder arrived...

  SERA

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I am writing...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY−ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY−TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY−THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY−FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY−FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY−SIX

  She’s sleeping in...

  SERA

  CHAPTER TWENTY−SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY−EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY−NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY−ONE

  I am back...

  CETTIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY−TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY−THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY−FOUR

  It’s been two...

  CHAPTER THIRTY−FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  The people who live in the Fells often have no other options. The streets are crowded with urchins, laborers, and those rejected by society. Different parts of the city are run by street gangs, which outnumber the officers of Law twenty to one. Everything that can be sold is sold. But much is taken.

  I don’t fear for my life or my wallet as I walk these streets. There is an unspoken truce between the Fells and me. The street gangs steer clear of me because they know of my hospital. The one Empress Sera endowed to me. Killingworth used to be an estate, but the owner fell into debt and lost it to a speculation. I’ve spent the last year transforming it into an institution for healing and research. We are the only hospital that treats gang members and gentry alike. Need is the criteria we use for treating patients, not wealth.

  But as I walk these desolate streets, I see the fleeting image of a twelve-year-old girl. One with holes in her shoes and a threadbare dress. I see her face in the hungry faces of the urchins. I see her wince each time a child is slapped or beaten. Her haunting eyes watch me as I set a broken arm or stitch a wound closed. She’s the ghost of the Fells. My own personal ghost.

  Every child of the streets knows they can get a bun or a bowl of soup from Killingworth. They come in droves. Every day. And so I keep seeing her face. My ghost. My Cettie.

  —Adam Creigh, Killingworth Hospital

  CETTIE

  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.
r />   “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.