Broken Veil

by Jeff Wheeler

  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.”