Page 33 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

“He must have known something,” Cathrynne said. “Maybe even who did it. And the killer decided he was too much of a risk.”

“So he was eliminated,” Mercy said. “But what about Durian? If a witch murdered him, how did they know what he’d found?”

“Because someone told them,” Cathrynne said. When she and Gavriel had visited Casolaba’s mistress, she’d noticed cheap hostels along the riverbank. “Durian and his friend must have stayed somewhere when they came to the city. I’ll shake some trees and see what falls out.”

Mercy gave a grim nod. “Do what needs to be done.” She glanced at the gaunt figure on the bed. “I’ll watch over him.”

* * *

Cathrynne scoured the hostels near the Corniche, asking questions of anyone who worked there. The first seven denied seeing a young man with a birthmark on his face, but at the eighth, the barkeep gave her a flat look.

“Don’t want trouble with the witches,” he said.

“All I need is information.” She slid several gemstones across the bar. He hefted them in a palm.

“Those are hot with ley,” she said. “Guaranteed.”

His brows rose. The gems disappeared into his apron pocket. “They stayed one night. Couple of weeks ago. Didn’t see them after, but I read about the boy in the papers. Shame, that.” He paused. “Do you want to see the ledger? I got proof.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. Did they talk about where else they’d gone in the city?”

“No, but they were sitting at the table next to Rafi.” He nodded his chin at a huge man with a forked beard hunched over a glass in the corner. “Maybe he heard something.”

Cathrynne thanked him and ordered another round of Rafi’s favorite drink, which the newly rich and chatty bartender explained was called a Spiked Admiral, named after a horned species of desert Sinn. She brought it over and slid into the seat across from him.

“A present,” she said, sliding the frothy glass across the table.

Rafi sneered. “Piss off.”

Cathrynne unwrapped the bandage from her left hand and gave the fingers an experimental flex. The bruises were almost entirely faded. Angus Valinger had done an excellent job resetting the bones.

Rafi stared at the raven tattoo below her knuckles. The sneer turned to hatred.

“Listen, bitch, I have nothing to say?—”

Cathrynne grabbed his beard and slammed his cheek down on the scarred table.

“You can’t—” he spluttered.

“I’m not from here,” she said softly, using an elbow to keep him pinned. “So I don’t give a damn about your civil rights. File all the complaints you want. Now, quiet down and you can have that drink, plus another one.”

He stopped struggling. “What do you want?” he asked from the corner of his mouth. It sounded like wuh-oo-un?

Cathyrnne eased up a little. “There were two kids in here a while back. One drowned. You probably read about it in the gossip rags.”

He said nothing.

“You were sitting next to them. I want to know where they went, who they talked to.”

He grunted. “Damn, psycho, just let me up.”

She sat back. Rafi smoothed his beard and shot an affronted look at the bartender, who nodded.

“Look, all I heard was some jeweler on Beryl Street. They thought he’d ripped them off or something.”

“Which jeweler?”

A shrug. “The kid didn’t say a name.”

She unhooked the whip from her belt and gave it an expert flick. The loud pop nearly made Rafi piss himself.

“D’Amico, okay!” he exclaimed. “Travian’s bones, that’s all I know.”

“Thank you.” Cathrynne stood up and dropped another gem on the table.

She left him nursing his two drinks and asked the bartender for directions to Beryl Street.

It wasn’t far, but it stretched for twelve blocks and had dozens of jewelers.

She couldn’t find any called D’Amico, but inquiries confirmed that there was a jeweler named Sim?o Gomes D’Amato.

When he saw her through the front window and rushed to lock the door, she knew she’d found the right place.

“I’ve had a long day,” Cathrynne said, forcing her way inside. “Don’t make it longer.”

“We’re closed,” he said, visibly shaking.

“Not quite yet you’re not,” she replied, pointing to the beaded curtain leading into a back room.

He retreated into a small, cluttered office, sweating profusely. She noticed a black telephone on the desk.

“I know that Kal Machena and Durian Padulski were here,” Cathrynne said, “so don’t waste my time denying it.”

His complexion turned ashen. “I had nothing to do with that boy’s death. It happened after he left!”

“Sit,” she ordered. D’Amato slumped into a chair behind his desk. “Maybe you didn’t kill Durian, but you tipped off the one who did. Am I right?”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting around.

“Whose payroll are you on?” she demanded.

“The Freedom Party,” he said quickly—too quickly. “About half the jewelers in the district reported to Consul Casolaba. We were supposed to keep an eye out for anything interesting or unusual. The rest spy for the Miners’ Union. I mean, everyone does it!”

D’Amato held her gaze, aiming for outraged innocence. Cathrynne believed him, yet she sensed it was a partial truth.

“But that’s not all, is it?” she said softly. “There’s someone else you reported to. A little double-dipping.”

Jowls wobbled as he shook his head. “No, no.”

Cathrynne thought of Gavriel, fading away in his bed. She rose abruptly and grabbed D’Amato by the collar, dragging him across the desk. Stacks of papers avalanched to the floor. “Tell me about the gems. Why were they special?”

“The girl called them kaldurite! They look like serpent’s eye, but they . . .” He trailed off, looking terrified.

She shook him, their faces almost touching. His hair smelled strongly of pomade. “They what?”

“They repel the ley.”

She frowned. “How?”

“I don’t know! They just do. I’ve hears rumors, but it’s the first time I’ve seen any.” His words came in a rush. “I bought a few samples. The kids left and I never saw them again, I swear!”

Cathrynne released him. “Show me the gems.”

He shrank away. “I gave them all to Casolaba.”

“No. You would have kept at least one for yourself. Because the other person, the one whose name you won’t give up, is a witch. And you needed to protect yourself just in case.”

The startled look on his face confirmed her guess.

D’Amato thrust a clammy hand into his pocket. “You can’t use lithomancy on me!” he squealed.

Cathrynne’s jaw set. “I don’t need to.”

The tussle was brief. She pried his fingers open and extracted a small gem that shifted from blue to purple to red as it caught the light. The moment it touched her skin, awareness of the ley vanished. It was like going blind or deaf. A critical sense was simply gone.

Nausea twisted her stomach. A wave of dizziness made the room spin.

She dry-heaved, steadying herself against the edge of the desk.

D’Amato seized his chance and darted past her, light on his feet for a paunchy middle-aged man.

She heard the shop door open and close. The kaldurite slipped from her fingers.

Within a minute, the sickness passed. Once again, she sensed the ley in her pouch. The ley that coursed through her own blood, courtesy of her angelic father.

“Blessed Minerva,” she said, staring down at the gemstone lying at her feet.

Everything made sense now.

* * *

Cathrynne had the feeling of being shadowed on her way back to the townhouse, but she saw no one. She’d wrapped the gemstone in a piece of velvet and stowed it in an empty jewel box. That seemed enough to dull the effect so she could carry it in her pocket.

She pounded on the front door until Mercy threw the bolt. Then she raced up the stairs to Gavriel’s bedchamber. He lay so still she feared the worst, but when she touched his shoulder, he stirred slightly, then lapsed again into unconsciousness. His skin was gray.

“Found something?” Mercy asked.

Cathrynne tossed her the jeweler’s box. She caught it one-handed and took out the stone—then flinched. “What is that?” Mercy threw it to the carpet, her mouth drawn down in revulsion.

“That,” Cathrynne said, “is what’s killing Gavriel.”

“What’s killing Lord Morningstar?” Yarl came in.

“It’s called kaldurite,” she explained. “A gem that repels the ley. Pick it up.”

Yarl did so. He held the stone to the lamp, watching it shift from sapphire to ruby. “It’s extraordinary,” he said softly.

“Do you feel anything?” Cathrynne asked.

He frowned. “No.”

“It must be because you’re human. When I touch it, I feel a bit sick.” She looked down at Gavriel. “But his blood is almost pure ley. We need to search his body.”

“What if he swallowed it?” Yarl looked stricken.

“I think he would already be dead. Come, help me. It will be small, hidden somewhere against his skin.”

They removed his shirt, which had laced vents to accommodate his wings. Gavriel was a strong man, his chest solidly built, but she could count his ribs. When Yarl removed his trousers, she and Mercy turned their backs. Minutes passed.

“I cannot find anything,” Yarl said, frustration in his voice.

“Lay the sheet over him,” Cathrynne said. “It must be there.”

She heard the rustle of cotton. “Mercy, help me turn him on his side.”

Together, they managed to roll Gavriel over.

Beneath his shoulder blades was a second set of scapulae.

His wings extended from those. Cathrynne ran her fingers carefully along each feather, starting with the small coverts and moving downward to the primary flight feathers, probing for anything foreign.

Near the joint where wing met shoulder, nestled among soft down, she encountered something hard and smooth.

The moment she touched it, the ley vanished. She gasped and instinctively drew her hand back. Gavriel moaned.

“Careful,” Yarl warned. “His feathers are rooted in the bone. Pulling one out is like pulling a tooth. I am not certain he can survive the shock.”

She nodded and parted the feathers, ignoring the queasy feeling in her stomach when she touched the kaldurite. It was the size of a thumbnail, affixed to feathers and skin with a tarry adhesive.

“How did it get there?” Mercy asked.

Cathrynne worked the stone loose, picking it away from the adhesive. “Someone must have come in while he slept.”

Mercy shook her head. “I told you, no one entered this room.”

Cathrynne gave the stone to Yarl, who added it to the jeweler’s box. Her fingers still tingled from the contact, as if she had brushed the scales of a dozing serpent.

“I woke up at three thirty-three exactly,” she said. “I remember looking at the clock. Maybe I heard something.”

At those words, Yarl seemed to age ten years in an instant. He sat down in the chair next to Gavriel’s bed, staring at nothing.

“What is it?” Mercy asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

He had not shaved in several days. A hand stole to his chin and rubbed the white beard sprouting there. “Haniel . . . She is an Angel of the Hours,” he said.

“What does that mean?” Cathrynne had never heard the term.

Yarl glanced at the clock. It was five after nine. “She has great power at certain times of day. The mirror hours. Five fifty-five. Ten-ten. Eleven-eleven . . .”

“Three thirty-three,” Cathrynne said, her gut sinking.

Yarl nodded. “For that minute, she can move through time and space as if it were frozen. If she came here, she might have walked right past us and no one would remember her presence.”

Mercy muttered a curse. “Haniel examined him, didn’t she? She probably made sure the kaldurite was still in place, still hidden.”

Cathrynne eyed the open window. It was growing dark out. She stood up and closed the sash, then drew the curtains.

“Hanirl knew about the journey to Pota Pras, too, which neither of us had mentioned.”

Perhaps you were infected in the Zamir Hills.

A cold worm of dread burrowed into her heart. If the archangel of Satu Jos wanted Gavriel dead . . .

“We need to get him out of this province immediately,” Cathrynne said. “Haniel must have killed Casolaba too. Hung him from the dome when their partnership went wrong.”

“I’ll fetch a diligence,” Yarl said, heading for the door.

Mercy shook her head in amazement. “Is there anyone— anyone— in Kota Gelangi who isn’t part of this fucking conspiracy?”