by Jeff Wheeler
Who was this man? His personality and mannerisms were so similar to the Rand she knew. Had she ever met the real Rand Patchett?
She saw his fingers twitch. A little groan passed from his lips.
“You are reviving,” she told him. “The toxin should be wearing off. It’s a serpent venom.”
“I know,” he murmured. “I recognize it.” He grunted, and she saw him test the bonds, his fingers clenching into fists.
“I have some questions for you. And since I can’t trust your answers, I’m going to give you another poison. It won’t hurt you.”
“Cettie, don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll answer truthfully. Don’t bother with the nightshade.”
She shook her head. She felt a strange growing sense of power, as if the Myriad Ones inside her were weakening. “I cannot trust anything you would say to me,” she answered, bringing the nightshade powder over to him. She dumped it into her palm and knelt by the chair.
She felt his heart racing, his dread increasing.
“They’ll hunt you,” he said. “We all will. You know too much. Everyone you love will be murdered. You can’t—”
She blew the powder into his face. He thrashed against his bonds, his features twisting with discomfort. He shook his head, trying to get the poison off his face. Cettie stayed rooted to the spot, trying to see past the scars. His voice was exactly the same as it had always been, she realized.
His shoulders sagged, and the fight went out of him. She felt through the kystrel that his mind was addled. He was in a state of hypnosis. The nightshade did not last for long. She couldn’t give him any more because of the risk of killing him, so she needed to work quickly.
“What is your name?” she asked, leaning close.
“Will Russell,” he replied, his voice dead and passive.
That surprised her even more. Will Russell was the young man who’d deceived Sera all those years ago. She’d met him once, at Muirwood Abbey, when she’d taken to flying with Aunt Juliana’s tempest. His disfigurement had dramatically altered his looks, but now that she knew the truth, she could recognize him.
Sera had been told he was dead.
“Where is Rand Patchett? Is he alive?”
“Yes. He’s in the dungeon below the poisoner school.”
“Why? What use is he still?”
“He’s a slave. And I need access to his memories through the kishion ring.”
Cettie nodded to herself. “Do you know what our mission was supposed to be? Where we were supposed to go?”
“I was ordered not to tell you.”
“Tell me anyway,” Cettie said.
“The empress has been abducted. You are going to impersonate her. When Ereshkigal is freed, you will be her vessel. She will rule once again.”
“Why me?” Cettie pressed, her heart filling with dread.
“Because you can exist in both worlds without heeding any of the covenants. You are the only person who can pass freely between them.”
She didn’t know why this was so, or even if it was true, but she wanted to keep the interrogation going since her time was limited. “How do you know this?” Cettie asked.
“I overheard your father.” The muscles on his hands and forearms began to quiver. The nightshade was wearing off. Too soon.
Cettie leaned forward, her voice thickening. “Where is Sera being kept?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t trusted with that information.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know!” he said, his voice becoming angrier. She felt the confusion inside him. The poison’s effects were dwindling. He was starting to remember.
“Is what you told me about the Fitzroy family true?”
“Most of what you believe is a lie.”
Cettie breathed quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt the room lurch, begin to spin. Those horrible things he’d told her were lies. Twisted words. Half-truths.
“Where is Adam Creigh?” she asked him next, pleadingly.
“Killingworth Hospital. In the Fells.” He almost choked on the words. “I’ve been ordered to kill him if you forsake us.”
He began to blink rapidly, his placid look steadily replaced by one of confusion. He jerked in the chair, trying to move his arms and legs.
Then he noticed her crouching in front of him and tried to knock foreheads with her. She backed away just in time.
“What have you done?” he snarled, wrenching against the bonds. It only made the ropes cut more deeply.
She backed farther away from him.
“Release me!” he ordered her. She felt a compulsion rise from him, one that jolted her heart. He was using the kystrel against her. How was that even possible? He was the kishion, she the hetaera.
The kystrel’s power should have been strong enough to control her. Yet somehow it did not.
“I don’t think so,” Cettie said, shaking her head. She went to the table and began to collect her things into her poisoner’s bag.
“What did you make me say?” he asked. “Let me go right now, Cettie. Please. I need to take you far away. I don’t want them to kill you.”
“Them?” she said. “Don’t you remember trying to kill me yourself?”
“I wasn’t going to kill you,” he said, shaking his head. His voice was desperate, full of real panic. He was afraid of failing. He was afraid for his own life.
“I find that difficult to believe.”
“I know you have Everoot with you,” he said. “I was going to heal you. I promise. Please, you have to listen to me. You cannot leave the hotel.”
“I’m certainly not staying here,” Cettie said. Her heart quivered with dread, but as soon as she said the words, she knew they were true.
“You think we’re alone? This hotel is run by the Genevese! They are behind all of the poisoner schools . . . the kishion. Trust me, you will not make it out of here alive without my help. They’ve already taken the tempest to prepare it for our mission. Please, Cettie!” He strained against the bonds again, his face wincing in pain. “I can protect you from them!”
She whirled around to face him. “I cannot trust a single word that comes out of your mouth. You’ve lied to me. All along. You are not Rand Patchett.”
He closed his eyes, and she felt a throb of anguish inside him. “But I am him now. I want to be him. Let me go!” he thundered. He opened his eyes wide with panic. “If you leave without me, you will be hunted like a fox cub. You can’t get rid of a kystrel’s connection! I will know where you are. And they will know. They will kill both of us, Cettie. And they’ll hurt everyone you love. Believe me, I’ve seen it. I saw what they did to Joanna to make Rand put on the ring.”
“What ring?” Cettie said, confused.
“The kishion ring! The one that binds him to me, and me to him.” He squirmed more. “I need it back. Where did you put it?”
She hadn’t even thought about it after she’d ripped it from his finger. It was somewhere on the floor.
“Free me,” he implored. She felt him invoke the kystrel again, saw his eyes turn silver with the magic. A sickening feeling filled the room—he had summoned the Myriad Ones with his power. A revelation unfurled in her mind. There was something twisted about the kystrels—they allowed those who used them great power and control, but there was a price. There was always a price. “Please, Cettie. I couldn’t bear it if they caught you. They’ll twist your mind.”
“But they already have,” Cettie said.
He shook his head. “No, they were trying to get you to choose this freely. You are more powerful if you choose it. If you don’t, they’ll make you a slave. You’ll be like the girls in the healing room. Your whole life spent in bondage. And they will kill all the Fitzroys . . . I swear it! They will. Even Phinia and Milk. Every single one of them, just to punish you. And you’ll still be a slave when it’s over. Please, Cettie. I beg you, listen to me!” She felt his sincerity. But was it real? Or was it just the kystrel�
�s magic weaving a spell around her heart?
“I won’t stay,” Cettie said, feeling the gooseflesh crawl up her arms. The Myriad Ones were in the room now, converging on her. She felt a shudder. William Russell was trying to stall her so they could mount an attack.
She grabbed her bag and started for the door.
“Don’t you dare leave me here like this! At least put a bullet in my skull! Have enough pity to kill me! You cannot let them find me like this! Cettie! No!”
She felt the fringes of her mind go black, but the sensation cleared a moment later. The Myriad Ones had failed to force themselves into her mind. Why? How could that be? Were the Mysteries protecting her, even though she no longer wore a chain?
“Cettie, please! Please!” Will’s voice throbbed with emotion. “Don’t you care if we all die?”
She looked back at him, feeling disgusted with herself, but the urge to run was primal. Without answering him, she twisted the handle and opened the door.
She took one last look at Will before she turned to leave. His eyes flashed white hot instead of silver. A look of terrible rage filled them. He wrenched one arm so violently the ropes nearly snapped apart. She sensed the power inside him, the full might of the Myriad Ones he’d summoned.
Cettie entered the corridor as the sounds of his cursing blistered her ears.
It was the middle of the night.
And she had nowhere to go.
CHAPTER TEN
RANSOMED
Cettie’s thoughts were awhirl with doubt and dread as she slammed the door behind her. She’d been lulled into a system of thinking that was so far from the truth she could hardly tell in which direction the truth lay. If only she could put some distance between herself and her pursuers, perhaps she could reason things out.
But where could she go? The feelings of helplessness were almost overpowering. The corridor stretched in two separate directions, each leading to a stairway, and she didn’t even know which way to turn. In moments, the man she’d tied up—Will Russell, not Rand Patchett—would be in pursuit of her. Her vision began to blur as the Myriad Ones attempted to overpower her will.
Help me, she begged in a silent prayer. She didn’t feel worthy of an intervention, but she would do anything to escape her tormenters. Death would be preferable to the life she’d been living.
Which way?
She felt a little tug to the right. It couldn’t even be described as a whisper. Just a slight nudge. And so she started that way, feeling tears in her eyes. Maybe she should go down to the inner gardens where the darkness would help conceal her. No, darkness wasn’t her friend. It was the middle of the night, the peak of the Myriad Ones’ power. Anguish and guilt ripped through her, and she tried to stifle a sob, failing.
She made it past the door immediately next to the suite she’d shared with Rand—no, Will—and an older man poked his head into the hallway. He saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt exposed and miserable and looked away from his searching face.
“Is everything all right, demoiselle?” he asked. “I heard a commotion next door.”
Nothing was all right, but his words of concern made her slow her flight. She looked at him again, taking in his kind eyes, his grandfatherly appearance.
“Someone is pursuing me,” she found herself saying. “I can’t stay.”
“The young man . . . from your room?” said the older fellow.
Cettie nodded and was about to increase her pace when he opened the door wider.
“The Fountain bid me help you,” he said, gesturing for her to come inside. “You will be safe in here.”
She stopped when she heard a loud crash from the room she had fled. The kishion was free. Indecision wrenched her insides. This old man might be killed if she accepted his help.
“Monseigneur, I cannot,” Cettie said, looking back at her door. She needed to run. Now.
“You will be safe here,” he repeated, stepping away from the door.
“You will not,” she said. There was something strange about the moment, almost a feeling of familiarity. Had she experienced this moment in a dream? She blinked rapidly, realizing her indecision was going to get both of them killed.
The old man gestured with his hand, palm up, silently repeating his invitation. There was a small lamp lit within the chamber, but it was full of shadows, as if he’d been sleeping until the recent disturbance.
Cettie bit her lip, unsure, and then accepted the offer for simple pragmatic reasons. She really didn’t have any other choice if she wanted to escape. As she went inside, she heard the door handle jangle in the room she’d shared with the kishion. She’d escaped with not one moment to spare. The old man silently pressed his door closed, keeping the handle pressed down so that the latch wouldn’t click.
“Cettie!” boomed a voice in the hallway. Will was furious.
Her heart quailed with dread. She didn’t want to fight him again, but she would do it to protect the old man who’d helped her. Leaning back against the wall, gripping the pistol she had taken from Will, she used her free hand to loosen her bodice and feel for the kystrel. Despite what had happened earlier, she was desperate to rip it off. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Gooseflesh danced up her arms. The ghosts had followed Will out into the corridor. She swallowed, trying to make herself small. Strangely, the spectral beings did not walk through the walls.
She felt another powerful urge to rip the kystrel off her neck. Breathing quickly, dreading another surge of pain, she gripped the chain and tugged. Nothing happened this time. She snapped it off her neck.
Cettie saw a shadow come to the door. It stopped at the threshold. The old man’s hand still clenched the handle. In the dim lamplight, she saw there was a patch of pure white in his gray hair, just above his ear. Again she had the sensation that she’d met him before in a dream.
She held her breath, staring at Will’s shadow, willing it to pass. The kystrel dangled from the chain clenched in her fist.
And then, to her utter relief, the shadow walked away. A sigh slowly escaped her mouth. She lowered the pistol and the medallion. The ghosts had not yet left, but she sensed they were somehow blind to her presence, even the tall one who had always been able to find her. Which was bizarre because she bore a brand on her shoulder that should have summoned it.
She glanced around the room, taking in her surroundings. It was much smaller than the suite she’d been in. Just a connected washroom and two small—
A little boy lay asleep on one of the beds. He was probably eight years old and slept with such an innocent, untroubled face, Cettie’s heart melted inside her. Young children had always helped her keep her ghosts at bay.
The old man waited for several more minutes before releasing the door handle. It clicked softly.
“Thank you, monseigneur,” Cettie whispered, shaking her head.
“You are welcome,” he replied. “Come sit. Rest. You look weary. Are you hurt?” He motioned to an empty chair.
Cettie walked across the room and parted the curtain, staring out at the night sky. There was a balcony there. She wondered if she should climb up onto the roof and find another way down to the gardens below. From there, she could circle around. It might be easier in the dark.
“I think I’ve trespassed on your kindness long enough,” Cettie said. “Thank you for offering me shelter. But I cannot stay.”
“But if you go out there tonight, it will not end well,” he said simply. “They will find you.” His words were filled with the confidence of someone who knew he was right.
She paused at the curtain and gave him a probing look. “Who are you?”
“A friend, if you’ll have one. My name is Owen. You are . . . Cettie?”
Will had shouted her name in the corridor, but she had a suspicion the old man had already known it. She wanted to feel distrustful, to second-guess her decision to seek shelter, but she felt . . . peaceful at that moment. This was more than just the absence of anxiety. Despite th
e danger of her situation, she felt calm, reassured, and at peace. She hadn’t felt this way since losing her connection to the Mysteries.
“Yes, that is my name,” she answered. “Are you Occitanian?”
“No. I’m from Kingfountain, although I’ve been to Pree a few times. The Fountain sent me here a few days ago. With my grandson, Curtis.” He gestured at the sleeping boy again. “I was planning to leave in the morning. Perhaps we can help you.”
The sense of relief was overpowering. Again she felt tears burn in her eyes. “You don’t even know me.”
“I may look old, but I remember being young,” he said, with a wry smile. “Being afraid. Alone. You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who helped me when I was that age.” He nodded to his sleeping grandson. “I came to Pree for a reason, Cettie. The Fountain bid me here. To help you, I think. If you will let me.”
“The Fountain,” Cettie whispered, shaking her head. He’d said that once before, but she’d been too overwrought to heed his words. The Fountain and the Mysteries were two manifestations of the Knowing. They were one and the same. She’d asked for help from the Mysteries, and this man had been sent to her. She had forsaken her oaths, but if there was a way back, she’d take it.
“You don’t have to decide now. Wait until morning. Here, you sleep on my bed. I’ll stand watch through the night to make sure that man does not return. We can discuss things after you’ve rested. Would that be all right?”
She was still afraid, but she accepted his offer with a nod and stepped away from the window. If the Mysteries had truly brought her there, it was time for her to start heeding them.
She stared at the kystrel in her hand a moment, wondering what to do with it.
“Here. Give it to me,” he offered, holding out his hand.
“I wish I could destroy it,” she said.
“It’s caused you pain?”