Page 20 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

She knew the way to the Red House by now. It was lit up at night, the notorious spire glowing against the clouds. She paused, trying to imagine how one might hoist a body onto it, then retraced the route Mercy had taken her the day they first arrived at the forcing ground.

A twenty-minute walk brought her to the chapter house. Welcoming yellow lights burned in its windows. She told her business to the witch on duty and was escorted to the Morag’s chambers.

Isbail Rosach sat on the carpet deep in conversation with another woman, rangy and dark, with more scars than Cathrynne had ever seen. Not stellate scars. These were burns. She had fought the Sinn.

“This is Marvel Yew,” the Morag said by way of greeting. “Head of the cyphers in Satu Jos.”

“Mum,” Cathrynne said with a respectful nod.

Marvel Yew gave no acknowledgment. She wore a uniform similar to Cathrynne’s, but instead of the starburst symbol of Kirith, hers had a flame rising from a forge.

“Your presence is overdue,” the Morag said tartly. “I told you to report to me yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, mum. We’ve been busy.”

She did not extend an invitation to sit. “What progress has Morningstar made in the investigation?”

Cathrynne knew it was possible that she was speaking to the woman who had ordered Casolaba’s death and maybe even that morning’s attack, but she wasn’t about to deceive the most powerful witch in Sion—especially since she was such a poor liar.

“Casolaba’s mistress told us that he discovered a new kind of gem. He said it was priceless.”

The Morag’s head cocked. “A new gemstone?”

“That’s what she claimed. But she didn’t know what it was, or who he was meeting about it.”

“Go on.”

“Lord Morningstar believes the consul’s death is connected to the boy found in the river. Durian Padulski.”

Her silver eyes gave nothing away. “Connected how?”

“Padulski is from a mining town in the Zamir Hills. If he was murdered, it’s quite a coincidence.”

“ Was he murdered?”

“We can’t say for sure,” Cathrynne admitted. “Mercy Blackthorn saw the body. She said the burns could have been caused by a projective spell.”

“Could have been.” The Morag looked skeptical. “And he died before Casolaba?”

“Yes, by about four days.”

“So what’s the theory of the crime?”

“If Morningstar has one, he hasn’t shared it with me.”

“What is your theory, then?”

Cathrynne thought of the witches at the Nilssons’ house. “Maybe the boy was involved in some kind of gem smuggling ring. He knows too much. Or maybe he steals from them. They kill him. The consul finds out and makes a fuss, so they kill him too.”

Isbail nodded slowly. “Tell me, Rowan, does Barsal Casolaba seem like the sort of man to give an angel’s purple piss about a rockhound from the hills?”

“No, mum. I suppose not.”

“Don’t look so deflated. There may still be something in it. What else? You’re holding back.”

“Not holding back, mum. Just haven’t got there yet.” She watched the Morag’s reaction. “Someone tried to kill Lord Morningstar again today. It was right after we left the mistress. He was almost run down by a coach.”

Isbail Rosach and Marvel Yew exchanged a quick, unreadable glance. “Was he harmed?” Isbail asked.

“No, mum. But someone used lithomancy again. I believe they enchanted the caracals.”

Her face darkened. “Are you accusing me ?”

Cathrynne swallowed hard. “Of course not, mum.”

“It was I who requested Lord Morningstar’s presence here,” the Morag said. “Would I do that merely to kill him once he arrived?”

“No, mum.”

Isbail Rosach drummed her rings against the desk. “What does Morningstar plan to do next?”

“Mercy Blackthorn is going with him to Pota Pras. I’ll stay behind in Kota Gelangi to poke around and see what I can find out.”

She looked up sharply. “I think not. You will accompany the archangel to Pota Pras.”

Cathrynne tried not to scowl. “It’s already been decided that Mercy will go.”

Isbail fixed her with a cool stare. “You’ll do as I say. I know of your troubles with the White Foxes in Kirith.”

A queasy knot formed in her stomach.

“They have a chapter in Kota,” she continued, “and they are aware of your presence. It would not be wise for you to stay here alone. Better if you disappear for a day or two.”

“Maybe it was them who attacked Morningstar,” Cathrynne blurted.

“Why?”

“Because they killed Casolaba and don’t want him catching them.”

“And they killed Casolaba because . . .?”

Cathrynne glanced at Marvel Yew, who had been observing the exchange in silence. It was hard to tell what she thought. Cathrynne plunged onward and hoped she wasn’t leaping from a cliff.

“The new gemstone,” she said. “They want it for themselves.”

The Morag looked amused at this heresy. “I will concede that the White Foxes often behave as if they are a law unto themselves, but I have no grounds to accuse them of treason. Their order is under my authority. They are accountable to the High Council. And I have not heard even the faintest whisperings of a new gemstone.”

“Well, I think it exists. You just don’t know about it.”

The Morag seemed to tire of her pertness. “What else?”

“Nothing, mum.” She stared at the carpet to hide her mutinous scowl. “I will do as you say.”

A snort. “Damned right you will.” Isbail Rosach reached into her robes and took out a gem pouch, which she tossed over. “Freshly mined. Learn what you can in Pota Pras and report back when you return to the city.”

Cathrynne tucked the pouch into her belt, partly mollified. Back home, she received a strict gem allotment each month. If she blew through them too fast, she was out of luck. “Thank you, mum.”

The Morag waved her away. Cathrynne waited outside the door for a minute, but no one came to show her out, so she made her own way through the low-ceilinged corridors.

She desperately did not want to travel with Gavriel Morningstar.

What if another vision came? It was a choice she didn’t care to face again.

Lost in thought, Cathrynne paid little attention to where her feet led her.

She looked up to realize that she had taken a wrong turn and was in an unfamiliar corridor.

There was no one around to ask for directions.

She tried to backtrack and only got more lost. When she found a meeting room with large windows facing the outside and an unlocked exit door, she pounced on it.

In the rainy darkness, it was hard to tell which way the front gates were.

As in Arioch, the compound was sprawling.

She hurried down random pathways, head bent against the downpour, which is why she didn’t see the kloster until she was right in front of it.

The tower was hulking and dark, without a flicker of lamplight.

She knew it was the kloster because of the stench.

It reminded her of a zoo. Of animal misery.

She was turning away when a soft voice called to her.

Called her name.

It came from one of the bottom cells. Fingers curled through the bars, beckoning.

Cathrynne hesitated. She wanted to quickly walk away, to pretend she had not heard, but this was a sister, after all.

Something in her could not refuse. She approached warily.

The girl’s hair was matted into chunks, so filthy it was impossible to tell its natural color.

“Dark-bringer,” she whispered furtively. “God-killer. He comes.”

Cathrynne blinked away the icy rain. “Who is he?”

The girl’s eyes were lucid. Sane, if appearances could be trusted. “I don’t know his name. But when he falls from grace, you must not interfere. You must let him serve his penance, even if it lasts forever.”

“Penance for what?” She was bewildered. “And why would I interfere?”

“Because you love him.”

She shook her head, though dread curdled her stomach. “I love no man. So what you see will never come to pass.”

The seer regarded her for a long moment. “I hope it is so,” she said at last.

Cathrynne impulsively reached out and gripped the girl’s fingers with her own, ignoring the terrible odor that wafted through the bars. “What is your name?”

“Julia.” She swallowed. “Julia Camara.”

A full witch, then, not a cypher.

The pouch at Cathrynne’s belt was full of projective stones. She had an urge to pull the tower down, to reduce it to rubble. Her anger was big enough that she felt sure she could do it. “I’ll get you out. Run as far as you can. They’ll never know who did it?—”

Julia drew back, alarm on her face. “No, no. I am safe here.”

Cathrynne shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. Her bandaged fingers curled into a fist. “Please let me help you.”

A ghostly smile touched the seer’s lips. “We will meet again. Now go, Cathrynne Lenormand. Go, Witch of Winter. Go!”

She jerked her hand away and retreated into the dark cell. Cathrynne stood there for a minute, her blood racing. The girl knew her birth name. No one knew that except for Felicity Birch and the White Foxes who had dragged her from her childhood home.

She ought to call Julia Camara back. Demand answers.

Instead, she turned and walked away, feeling like a vile coward.

* * *

Cathrynne eased the front door shut. The lamps were switched off save for a line of light spilling from beneath the library door.

She kicked off her wet boots and left them on the rack, then padded across the floor in damp stockings.

She was almost at the stairs when the library door opened and Morningstar emerged, looking rumpled and annoyed.

Of course, his unruly black hair and creased shirt only made him more attractive.

“Where did you go?” he demanded.

“For a walk. Am I under house arrest?”

He scoffed. “In this weather?”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes. I happen to like walking in the rain. Where’s Mercy?”

“Making a pot of kopi.”

Cathrynne heard whistling coming from the kitchen, along with the faint clatter of mugs.

“I’m not a complete fool,” Morningstar said. “You must have gone somewhere.”