by Jeff Wheeler
“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.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE STREETS OF GENEVAR
The carriage wheels rattled down the cobblestone streets. The carriage itself was a handsome gold-and-blue contraption, outfitted with plush padded walls inside and springs underneath to make the ride more comfortable. The rear wheels were larger than the front ones, and a team of four horses pulled it at a dramatic pace. The driver box was in the front, at the top, providing the passengers with an unobstructed view of Genevar when the horses lurched down the inclines.
Cettie wondered if the city-state ever slept. Light posts spread at even intervals along the path revealed the burgeoning crowds. They had passed multiple manors nestled behind iron bars or stone walls before reaching the inner rings of the city, where both the streets and the buildings were jammed tightly together. Although each home was different in style and decor, they blended into a harmonious whole that indicated the vast wealth of the trading nation.
“So unlike the City,” Rand said, gazing outside the window on his side of the carriage. There were several other carriages out and about, although there were also pedestrians and some men and women on horseback. The tick-tocking noise of the carriage’s wheels became difficult to hear as the traffic increased.
“It’s very different,” Cettie agreed, still giddy from the revelation that Rand was to be her kishion and the joy of being outside the walls of the school. Rand’s hand was so near hers on the comfortable bench she thought they might touch if the carriage jostled more. A part of her wanted that to happen. She swallowed, gazing the other way. Despite her separation from Adam, it didn’t feel right.
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked me yet,” he said, drawing her eyes back to him. The hint of a smile flashed on his mouth.
“Asked you what?”
“About Fog Willows. How everyone is getting on.”
Cettie had been wanting to ask. Her heart had been begging it of her. And yet, she knew it was dangerous to appear too interested in home. She guarded her expression and shrugged. “If you want to tell me. I’m still surprised you’re here.”
“Why should you be?” he asked. “You know I hate nearly everything the empire stands for. The meanness. The hypocrisy. The small minds. I seek to change things, just as I have always wanted to. I tried to work through the system.” He shook his head. “But without backers, you can’t get anywhere in politics, and you won’t get backers unless you commit to do what they want. It’s so corrupt. No, when I was offered this chance, I leapt at it.” He gave her a quizzical look. “How did you end up here?”
There was something suspicious about his question. Shouldn’t he already know? It struck her that perhaps Rand’s sudden appearance at the school was too good to be true. The first few times she had been allowed to leave the poisoner school—after she had donned her kystrel and accepted the brand—she had been followed. Then they’d allowed her to travel alone. She’d thought about escaping, but logic had intervened. They could have followed her through the kystrel, and she likely wouldn’t have made it outside of Genevar without being captured . . . killed. Her mother and father were always watching her, judging her, testing her. Was Rand’s presence yet another test to see if she was loyal?
“I was tricked into coming,” Cettie said in an offhanded manner. “Lady Corinne brought me here.”
His look altered, just slightly. She felt a connection to him through the kystrel—one that allowed her to read his emotions, but not his thoughts. She understood that the longer he wore her kystrel, the stronger that bond would become. To the point, eventually, that their minds would be open to each other. Right now, she felt suspicion in him—suspicion about her motives. It was strange how clearly she understood his feelings without relying on expressions or other clues.
“So . . . if you could leave, you would?” he asked in a low voice. He leaned closer. “I could take you back to Fog Willows.”
Part of her wanted to leap at the opportunity. But his direct approach only made her more certain this was a test. She’d have to be very careful with what she said or felt.
“No,” Cettie said, shaking her head. “As much as I’d like to see it again, I don’t belong there anymore. Tell me about your sister. How is Joanna? How have you managed to keep her in the dark?”
“You have changed,” he said, and she felt a little throb of relief inside him. “Joanna is . . . well, Joanna. She’s quite popular these days. Fashionable too. She and Stephen Fitzroy have been . . . well, they’ve become close. Joanna could have any man in the empire, if she chose, but I think she’s got her eye on Stephen. He’s been very successful. He runs the mines and the family business. Selling secrets to the ministries, as you used to.” He winked at her. “They’ve set up some of those storm glass contraptions here in this world. In Brythonica, I think, though it won’t be long before all of the empire’s allies have them. Occitania and Legault have each been vying to get them too. And since you won’t ask, Lady Maren is also doing well. She’s taken a lover, but that doesn’t surprise anyone. An old flame of hers.”
The words sent a jolt of pain through Cettie’s heart. She squelched it, but not quite quickly enough, judging by the way Rand suddenly turned to look at her. He might not know how to interpret her emotions, but he could feel them. It was such a strange sensation, this union of hearts.
“You disapprove?” Rand asked.
Cettie looked out the window again. “She can do whatever she wishes. What of Anna?”
“She’s engaged. To that doctor in the Fells.” He said the words casually, acting as if he hadn’t known that Adam and Cettie had planned to marry. “She goes to the hospital every week to volunteer, read to patients, that sort of thing. They’re a handsome couple.”
Jealousy. Envy. She felt their poisons work through her blood.
Well, at least Anna got what she has always wished for.
“You still care,” Rand said softly, matter-of-factly.
Cettie invoked the power of the kystrel. She saw her eyes begin to glow in her reflection in the glass. The feelings melted away.
“Not really,” she said with indifference.
Rand put his hand on top of hers. It was a gesture of familiarity. A sense of numbness overtook her, and she released the magic and turned to him. She’d expected him to be looking at her, but his eyes were trained out the other window. The carriage turned onto a less populous street, heading to a different part of town.
“I’m glad they chose you for me,” she said, and meant it. Even if he, too, was manipulating her, at least he was a part of the life she missed.
He nodded, his eyes still distant. T
he carriage jostled and began to pick up speed again, and they butted shoulders. Sometimes she could feel the burn of the brand on her shoulder, remembered pain shooting through her from the mark with which they’d claimed her.
Like a slave.
She bit her lip and cast out the thought. The carriage’s speed surged again, and her stomach lurched as the carriage bounced up and down.
Rand scowled and grabbed his arquebus and then tapped the roof. “Slow down, man!” he called.
That was when Cettie noticed that the reins were trailing behind the horses in the street.
“The driver’s gone,” Cettie said, realizing it instantly.
Rand’s frown deepened. “Another test,” he said.
They hit a bump in the road that nearly threw them into the ceiling. Cettie’s heart fired with fear, but she’d long since learned to master it.
Rand lurched forward, smashing the butt of his arquebus through the window in front of them. Glass shattered and sprayed the street, and he used the gunstock to clear the remaining shards from the edges of the window. Cettie noticed they’d turned down a side alley.
“The reins are on the street,” he said. Leaving the arquebus on the forward seat, he climbed through the window. The wind whipped through his hair as he looked back at her. “You climb up to the driver’s seat.”
Cettie nodded and opened the door of the carriage. The alley was very narrow, and she had to watch closely to be sure she didn’t smash into anything. She reached up to the cargo storage above, and gripping it, pulled herself up the side. Her shoes weren’t appropriate for the feat, but she’d climbed the waterfall wall many times by now, and this task was so much easier in comparison. The horses were panicking, running faster and faster as the reins slapped against the road. She had a moment to notice a crater filled with murky water in the middle of the street before the carriage struck it, jarring her bones and causing a curse to spill from Rand up ahead. Cettie finished the climb and hastily occupied the empty driver’s seat.
Rand was walking on the tongue of the carriage, which connected to the traces, which in turn attached to the galloping horses. He poised himself, arms spread wide for balance, and inched his way forward. If he fell, he was a dead man. Cettie used the kystrel to boost his courage, but she sensed he wasn’t afraid. In fact, he was excited by the challenge.
“Watch out, there’s another pothole up ahead!” Cettie called out.
In a fluid movement, Rand ducked low and snagged one of the reins. His legs absorbed the shock of the impact without falling. Cettie then used the kystrel to reach out to the terrified horses. She felt their quivering fear, their panic, their mindless need to escape, and she drew away those emotions to steady them.
Still balancing on the narrow bit of wood, Rand dipped again and retrieved the other animal’s rein. He stepped back and handed both leather straps up to her.
Cettie wrapped them around her hands and pulled, applying the perfect amount of pressure—enough to slow the beasts but not enough to cause them to rear up. The horses were already calming, as was her own heart, and they slowed to canter. Rand started to climb up to the driver’s seat next to her, pausing midway. She heard his hiss and felt a gush of surprise and pain through their bond.
“What happened?” she asked as he finished the climb and sat down next to her.
“Cut my hand on the window just now,” he said, squeezing his hand into a fist. It was a vicious cut, the blood dribbling from his hand. “Thought I’d cleared it all.”
“I can cure it,” Cettie said. She eased the horses to a stop. They were in a side street, empty of traffic. The fishy odor of the wharves and docks hung in the air, heavier now, as if the horses had brought them closer to the water. Handing the reins to Rand, she reached into a secret pocket in the upper vest portion of her gown. She withdrew the waterproof pouch, loosed the drawstrings, and pulled out a small clump of Everoot.
“You carry it with you?” Rand asked, looking at it.
“Every poisoner does,” she replied. Did they also use it in the kishion training? That surprised her. “Let me see your hand.”
His nose wrinkled, the only sign of his discomfort, but she felt the throbbing pain pulsing from his mind. The cut was a deep slice through the middle of his palm. She knew all the muscles and nerves of the hand. It wasn’t fatal, of course, but it was painful. She gently pressed the Everoot into the wound and watched it close before her eyes, the blood absorbing into the mosslike plant.
“Ah,” Rand said with a sigh. The sensations of being cured by Everoot were so extraordinary, she almost envied him his cut. She dabbed the root against his palm and, after it shriveled slightly, returned it to the waterproof pouch. After stowing it again, she examined his hand, making sure the injury had completely healed. He didn’t attempt to pull back. And that was when she felt the shape of the invisible ring on his finger.
He jerked his hand away, flexing his fingers. “I’m fine now. Thank you.”
Before he could quell it, she felt his alarm. He’d not meant for her to know about the ring he wore.
The Arsine warehouse appeared to be abandoned. Or perhaps it had only been made to look that way. Neither of them thought it a good idea to make a direct approach, and so they’d bribed another carriage driver to bring their carriage to the gate of the warehouse. They’d instructed the driver to ask if it was the Arsine warehouse and to inform the guards that a young couple would be coming later to talk to the manager about picking up supplies.
They both knelt on the street, concealed behind the carriage of the man they’d hired, their clothes spattered with muck. They watched as the driver arrived at the gate and called out to the guards. Cettie began to tremble, from anticipation and from cold, and Rand pulled her close.
As they huddled together, Cettie heard the sound of boots approaching the gate from inside. Four night guards emerged. She wasn’t close enough to hear what was said, but after the driver addressed the guards, one of them raised a pistol and shot him in the chest.
She flinched. The others yanked open the doors of the carriage, pistols drawn, and there was a moment of confusion as they realized there were no passengers.
“They killed him,” Cettie whispered.
“They knew we were coming,” Rand answered darkly.
“But how?”
He shook his head and then breathed out. “My guess is it’s another test. They know we’re coming for the tempest. They’re not going to just let us take it.”
“But why would they do this?” Cettie said. “I thought the mission was important.”
He turned her to face him. “What’s more important is knowing if we can be trusted.” He pursed his lips, and she felt him throb with excitement, trepidation, and . . . attraction? The danger they were in thrilled him. But he was also feeling something for her at this moment, being so near her, so close he could smell her hair.
The horses were spooked from the pistol shot, neighing and rearing up, so one of the guards took the reins and began dragging both horses and the carriage inside. A second guard hefted the dead driver, who had fallen off the seat, over his shoulder as if he were no more than a sack of grain. She felt a little pinch of guilt, which she immediately tamped down, something she’d learned to do often at the school. Life, she’d come to learn, could end abruptly.
There were still two at the gate, and they made no sign of leaving.
“What do we do now?” Cettie wondered.
Rand lifted his arquebus. “We do what we were sent to do. We’re taking that tempest when it arrives. They weren’t going to make it easy.”
He slid the tip of his arquebus through the spokes of the wagon wheel. “Only four at the gate. That’s foolish.”
“Won’t they hear the report?” Cettie asked.
“Not from this distance. This isn’t one of their rifles, Cettie. It’s one of ours.”
She heard the familiar zip as a bullet flew from the shaft. No explosion, no flash of fire. One of
the guards crumpled. Rand pulled a lever, loading another ball into the chamber, and a second guard went down an instant later.
“The gate is still open,” Rand said. He gave her a little smile. “Go. I will cover you. Between the two of us, you are the more dangerous. I can feel their fear already. Can’t you?”
His eyes were starting to glow. And he was right. She could.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE RAGE
Cettie crossed the threshold of the gate, her eyes fixed on the darkness. The carriage and horses had been led over to the wall, and the mounts were becoming even more skittish. Even though the kystrel now hung around Rand’s neck, it allowed her to feel the presence of those left to defend the warehouse. Her senses were heightened in a way that she’d not experienced before. She could feel each quivering heart, each swallow of apprehension. Invoking the kystrel’s power, she amplified the guards’ fear, summoning her memories of the Fear Liath in the streets of the Fells.
One of the men broke cover from behind the carriage and fled. She sensed him abandon his weapon, his mind so frantic he didn’t think. She heard the familiar zip of the arquebus—not through her ears, but through Rand’s. The guard crumpled. She experienced a little thrill—Was it hers?—as she watched it happen. The interior of the courtyard was a mess of barrels and crates, which appeared to be empty. A tall wooden door barred the path to the warehouse, and a smaller door to the left seemed to lead to an office of sorts. She walked across the inner courtyard, sensing the huddled bodies hidden throughout. The guards could hear her footsteps, and they were terrified. Good. It would keep them from attacking her.
She sensed Rand leaving the shadow of the wagon as he began to trail her. Through their connection, he knew where she was, just as she knew where he was. She couldn’t hear him, but there was an invisible line between them, a taut bowstring that quivered. He loaded three more balls into the arquebus. She passed the dead body of the driver whom they’d paid to approach the gate. Stooping, she fetched the small bag of coins from his belt and stuffed it into her own pocket. It would not serve him now.
