Page 11 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

She approached Levi Bottas, who hovered at the door. “How do we access the dome?” she asked.

“There’s a stairwell at the end of the corridor.” He eyed Gavriel’s bandaged wing. “But it’s quite narrow.”

“I’ll manage,” Gavriel said.

Bottas found an elderly guard, who led them to a nondescript door. He unlocked it and stepped back. “It’s a long climb,” he warned.

“How many people have a set of keys to that door?” Gavriel asked.

“All the senior watchmen,” he said, a bit defensively. “At least a dozen of us. And I don’t think the locks have been changed in . . . oh, ages. These stairs predate the current building. When they rebuilt after the Great Fire, they incorporated the old tower. It was the only part still standing.”

The stairwell was indeed narrow, forcing Gavriel to angle himself to the side. His broken wing throbbed in protest as it brushed the wall, but he refused to admit weakness in front of Rowan. She seemed to think he was some desk-bound bureaucrat.

He expected her to tire, but she climbed the tight spiral steps without pausing for breath.

Light filtered through embrasures, illuminating dust motes that swirled in her wake.

At last, it opened onto a landing. Far below, through an ornate iron lattice, he could see the main floor of the Assembly Hall.

Above stretched the vaulted ceiling of the dome.

“Is this where they found him?” Rowan asked.

“No. He was suspended from the spire itself.” Gavriel pointed to an exterior door. “The killer must have gone through that way. It would have to be someone strong enough to carry the body up all those stairs.”

She tilted her head, considering. “Or maybe they didn’t take the stairs at all.”

He gave her a dark look. “Are you implying an angel did this?”

“Have you ruled that out?” Her gaze had an uncanny directness.

“No seraphim would murder a human,” he said dismissively. “Their loyalty to the ideals of the empire is absolute.”

“Not all of them,” she replied. “If that were true, I wouldn’t exist.”

Gavriel had no ready response. She was right, of course. Every cypher was living proof that an angel had strayed from his vows. The thought made him uncomfortable.

“Let us have a look,” he said brusquely, “since we came all this way.”

They stepped through the door to a railed walkway that circled the outside of the dome. An iron maintenance ladder curved up to the spire. The view was sweeping and they stood for a moment in silence, the wind whipping Rowan’s fair hair about her face.

“Well, that’s interesting,” she said.

“What is?”

“You can see the chapter house of the witches quite clearly. And the Angel Tower, too. Maybe the killer wanted to send a message to all the great powers of this city.”

Her observation was astute. The murder wasn’t just an assassination, it was a warning. But to which power? And from whom?

“I think you’re right,” Gavriel admitted. “They went to a great deal of trouble getting him up here, not to mention the risk.”

She looked pleased. “I’ve investigated a few murders, though not like this one. But unless it’s a drunken brawl, the place the body is left usually has significance—to the killer, at least.”

Rowan’s smell enveloped him. It was tantalizing, an alchemy of sweet and bitter. The climb had brought a delicate blush of color to her cheeks, and she stood close enough to discern the varying shades of gray ringing her irises.

“Well, shall we go down?” she asked.

He nodded, aware that he’d been staring. “Yes. I’ve seen enough.”

Each step of the descent jarred his broken wing, but his mind was elsewhere. Reluctantly, Gavriel admitted that visiting the scene had been worthwhile. The message of the murder was clearer now, even if its author remained a mystery.

* * *

He spent the remainder of the day immersed in Casolaba’s letters, searching for direct evidence of a motive.

Yarl filed them into dossiers as he finished with them, occasionally making notes on matters that warranted further investigation.

Gavriel found nothing overtly incriminating, but the pattern suggested a consul who played all sides against the middle.

The new blinds had been drawn tight and all the lamps were burning. Outside, the city buzzed with rumors, but inside there was only the rustle of paper and scratch of Yarl’s pen. Gavriel rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“These banking records don’t align with his official salary,” he muttered.

“Consul Casolaba had many private consulting arrangements,” Yarl remarked dryly.

Gavriel grunted. “I also see regular payments for a flat on Rua Alva. We must look into that?—”

A sharp click drew his attention to the far corner of the office. “Now this is interesting,” Mercy Blackthorn announced with triumph in her voice. A section of wood paneling had shifted.

“What is it?” Gavriel asked, rising from the desk.

“A secret door.” She pushed it open, revealing darkness beyond. “Quite clever. The mechanism’s built into the decorative molding.”

“Where does it lead?” he asked, peering past her broad shoulder.

“Let’s find out,” Rowan said.

The two cyphers disappeared into the passage. They returned a few minutes later. “It’s a stairway,” Blackthorn reported, “leading down to a side entrance, completely concealed from view. Anyone could enter or exit the consul’s office without passing through the main lobby.”

This changed matters considerably. “So our killer could have entered this way on the night Casolaba died,” Gavriel said.

“And from the office, it’s just a short distance to the stairs leading up to the dome,” Rowan pointed out.

He turned to Yarl. “Summon Levi Bottas.”

When the aide arrived, he professed shock at the hidden door. “I—I had no idea,” he stammered. “I swear it, sir!”

“You were his chief aide,” Gavriel pointed out. “You must have spent a good deal of time in this office.”

“Well, yes, but he was a very private man.” The words tumbled out in a rush.

“There were meetings I wasn’t permitted to attend.

He didn’t confide in me. I just took notes and ran errands.

But Acting Consul Roloa was Casolaba’s deputy for many years before I arrived.

He must know about it!” He raked a hand through his dark hair, causing it to stand on end.

“Calm yourself, Bottas. I am not accusing you. Why don’t you bring us all some kopi?”

The flustered aide departed.

“He’s lying,” Rowan said. “The whole lot of them are.”

Gavriel arched a brow.

“I could beat the truth out of him,” she offered. “It wouldn’t take long.”

Blackthorn winced. Gavriel wondered if it was a poor jest, but Rowan looked entirely earnest. “The investigation would go a lot quicker that way,” she added.

Gavriel turned to Yarl, who gave an amused shrug. “That is not how justice is administered in Sion,” he said severely, aware that his reputation would be tarnished by even a whisper of what she had just said. “I fear you are ill-suited to this posting. Perhaps I should request someone else.”

Her face froze. Then, a flurry of emotions. Embarrassment followed by regret and a flash of naked fear. “I apologize, Lord Morningstar,” she said in a humble tone. “I spoke out of turn.”

The abrupt shift intrigued him. There was very little artifice to Rowan; she seemed to voice whatever she thought.

“Very well. See that it doesn’t happen again,” he said.

Yarl cleared his throat. “It’s growing late, sir. You should get some rest.”

Gavriel eyed the papers yet to be sifted through. He was tempted to remain, but his broken wing was aching and he’d had little sleep in days now.

“The streets aren’t safe after dark,” Blackthorn said. “Too many vantage points for a hidden assailant.”

“I’ll arrange for a coach,” Yarl said, moving toward the door.

It arrived promptly, its matched foursome of tawny caracals padding silently in their harnesses. Gavriel settled into the cushioned interior, while the cyphers took positions on either side. Yarl sat opposite, his diary open on his knees as he made final notes from the day’s investigation.

As the coach pulled away from the Red House, Gavriel studied Rowan from the edge of his eye. Her methods were barbaric, but there was something bracing about her directness. In a world of half-truths and strategic omissions, it was a rare quality.

I will keep her as my bodyguard , Gavriel decided. At least for now.