Page 32 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

Cathrynne

S he woke in an armchair, pulse galloping, the fiery afterimage imprinted on her eyes. It was the same dream as before. A faceless angel falling through blackness, wings trailing flame like twin comets.

“Cat.” Gavriel shifted on the bed, sheets rustling as he murmured her name.

She leaned forward, stiff from hours of sitting vigil, and found his hand. It was ice cold. That alone told her something was very wrong.

“I’m here,” she said.

Gavriel’s green-gold eyes opened, dulled by whatever ailed him. The planes of his face looked more severe, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks.

“How do you feel this morning?” she asked anxiously. “Worse?”

“Weak,” he admitted, the single word clearly costing him effort. His mouth twitched into what might have been a smile. “But better now.”

For days he had been like this, burning with cold, unable to eat more than a mouthful. They wrapped him in blankets, though he often threw them off in restless sleep. Other than the wasting, he had no other symptoms.

A knock made her tense, though she expected this visitor. Yarl had gone himself to the Angel Tower to fetch her.

“Enter,” Cathrynne called, releasing Gavriel’s hand.

The door opened and she tried to hide her surprise. She thought all archangels must be tall and imposing like Gavriel and his darkly handsome brother Raziel of Iskatar.

But the archangel of Satu Jos was small and youthful.

She had waist-length snowy hair and alabaster skin.

Her wings were also snowy white, making her sapphire eyes appear even more luminous in the dim light.

Despite her petite stature, Haniel glided across the room with the grace of a being both ancient and powerful.

“Sister,” Gavriel said, his voice stronger than it had been moments ago.

Pride, Cathrynne suspected.

Haniel’s face betrayed nothing as she approached the bed. “Your secretary tells me you have not improved.”

A seraphim healer had come from the Angel Tower the day before. She had found nothing wrong with him.

“I despise being ill,” Gavriel muttered.

“You should have stayed with me,” Haniel chided. “This manor you rented looks like a harem.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Cathrynne. “It is beneath you, brother.”

“Are you saying the décor is lethal?” Gavriel asked with a bit of his old spirit. “I’ll grant that the gilt and marble is excessive, but the Sundland Room has rather grown on me.”

It was the least lavish room in the house, with austere antique furnishings and wallpaper with a faded motif of snowflakes.

“You jest, but I am entirely serious.” Haniel’s cool gaze turned to Cathrynne again, settling this time. “Leave us, cypher. I will examine him myself.”

Cathrynne decided that she did not like Haniel. And she was reluctant to leave Gavriel alone with anyone, even his sister.

Gavriel looked between them as the tension built. “Let Cypher Rowan stay,” he said in a placating tone. “I don’t mind. It is her job to guard me.”

Haniel’s lips tightened in displeasure. “As you wish.” She moved to the opposite side of the bed and laid a palm against his forehead. She lifted the lids of his eyes, listened intently to his heart, and manipulated different parts of his wings.

“I fear there is a toxin in your blood,” she said at last.

“What kind of toxin?” Gavriel demanded.

Her gaze grew puzzled. “I’m not certain. Perhaps you were infected in the Zamir Hills.”

Cathrynne wondered if she was to blame. He had been pure before. Did the kiss corrupt him? Her fists clenched and she made herself loosen them.

Haniel produced a glass vial from her robes.

“What is that?” Gavriel asked.

“Meltwater from the snow at Mount Meru,” she replied. “It has healing qualities.”

Gavriel nodded and accepted a few sips. Haniel set the vial on the bedside table.

“See that he drinks the rest of it,” she said, smoothing the dark hair back from his brow. The examination seemed to have exhausted his reserves. Gavriel’s eyes closed again, his breathing turning shallow.

“He will recover,” Haniel said serenely. “You should see improvement by morning. Have patience and let him rest.”

After she left, Cathrynne sniffed the vial. It smelled like plain water. She returned to her chair, studying his face. He did not seem improved. The skin beneath his eyes looked bruised, the bones too prominent, as if something was consuming him from within.

* * *

Another week crawled by, each day stealing more of Gavriel’s strength. She measured time by the sharpening angles of his face. Haniel’s promise had proven empty. He was fading faster now.

When she wasn’t watching Gavriel struggle for breath, Cathrynne paced the bedchamber, wondering which of his enemies had found a way to break the unbreakable archangel.

“He’s been poisoned,” she said for the tenth time. “I’m certain of it.”

“But when?” Yarl wondered. “And by who? I’ve prepared every morsel of food myself.”

The scent of a bland vegetable broth filled the room, but even that made Gavriel turn his face to the wall.

“He was fine when we first got back from Pota Pras,” Cathrynne said, chewing her lip. “It had to be afterwards.”

“Casolaba’s funeral?” Mercy suggested.

“I thought of that. No one came near him. I made certain of it.”

“He seemed well until he retired that night,” Mercy said. “Then he was sick by morning.”

“Could someone have broken into his room?” Cathrynne asked.

“I don’t think so. It’s on the top floor, and I was outside the door all night. I made certain the windows were locked before he went to bed.”

Yarl set the untouched broth on a sideboard. “That’s what troubles me. By all logic, it seems impossible.”

“Well, someone got to him,” Cathrynne said. “I know they did!”

Gavriel stirred beneath the blankets. “I can hear you,” he muttered, “talking about me as if I’m already gone.”

She crossed to his bedside. “You’re not going to die,” she said firmly. “But you can turn that clever brain of yours to some use. Any ideas?”

Before he could reply, they heard voices outside. Yarl drew the curtain aside and peered out the window to the courtyard below. “It’s the Morag,” he announced. “With a delegation of witches.”

Gavriel struggled to sit up, mouth setting in a stubborn line. “Tell them to go away,” he growled. His gaze was pleading. “Please, Cathrynne. I don’t trust them.”

She didn’t trust them, either. Any one of them might be the poisoner. But she was only a cypher, as low in the witch hierarchy as you could get, and she wasn’t sure Isbail Rosach would listen.

Plus, she had ignored a series of red-eyed crows that came and pecked at the windows of the manor house. Isbail Rosach was probably quite annoyed with her.

“Stay and keep watch over him,” she said to Mercy and marched down the stairs.

The Morag waited on the doorstep with an escort that included the enigmatic head of the cyphers, Marvel Yew, along with two White Foxes.

Cathrynne felt sure she’d never met them before.

One had rings in her lips, nose, and both eyebrows, each glittering with a small gem.

The other was heavyset and unshaven. He had dark circles under his silver eyes and looked haggard.

Cathrynne met their cold gazes, then addressed herself to the Morag.

“Please come in, mum,” Cathrynne said, steering the group into the library.

“Where is Lord Morningstar?” the Morag demanded before the door had even closed. “He hasn’t been seen at the Red House in over a week.”

“He’s indisposed at the moment, mum,” Cathrynne replied.

“ Indisposed ,” the Morag repeated. “Is he aware that the consul’s aide, Levi Bottas, has vanished?”

“Ah . . .”

“Either Bottas is another victim, or he is Casolaba’s killer and his guilty conscience has driven him to flee. But the man must be found. If Lord Morningstar is unfit to carry out his commission, we will appoint someone else to lead it.”

She knew Gavriel would rather die than give up his appointment, as ludicrous as that might be. “He’s not unfit, mum. Just suffering from a case of the flu.”

“Then let the Morag see him,” the female White Fox said. “Let Morningstar tell her himself that he is fit to continue.”

Her accent was hard to place, just vaguely southern. “And you are?” Cathrynne asked.

She scowled. “My name is Ash Razum.”

“How about you?” She turned to the other White Fox.

“My name is none of your business, cypher,” he growled, flashing a set of metal teeth. This time, Cathrynne caught a distinct Kievad Rus accent. It was the same as the ambassador Gavriel had interviewed.

The Morag raised a quelling hand. “I would like to see Morningstar myself,” she said. “To discuss these new developments.”

Cathrynne held her gaze steadily. “That won’t be possible, mum, as he is sleeping right now.”

The Morag shook her head in disgust. “At the least, you shall tell me what happened in Pota Pras.”

Cathrynne sensed the White Foxes pricking their ears up.

“We didn’t make much headway,” she said regretfully. “Lord Morningstar spoke with Durian Padulski’s mother. She said he’d found something unusual in the hills and planned to sell it in the city, but she didn’t know any more about it.”

“What about where he’d found it?” Ash Razum exclaimed.

Cathrynne answered to the Morag. “She knew nothing.”

“Perhaps the boy is a dead end.” The Morag’s lips pursed. “Lord Morningstar shall have one more day to rest . We shall return tomorrow for his response.”

The delegation left. Cathrynne bolted the door and made sure the White Foxes had disappeared down the street before dashing up the stairs to rejoin Mercy and Yarl in the sickroom.

“They’re gone,” she announced, catching her breath.

Gavriel nodded wearily. “Thank you.”

Cathrynne quickly related the encounter. It had given her an idea. “We need to go back to the beginning,” she said. “The boy was killed first. By lithomancy.”

Mercy nodded. “I saw the body. I’m certain of it.”

“Which makes Bottas more likely to be a third victim,” Yarl ventured.