Page 34 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

Cathrynne

T he rooftop gave a wide vista of both the skies above and the streets below.

Cathrynne crouched in the shadow of the wall, a chunk of antimony in her right palm.

Bats swooped around her head, hunting insects, but she was watching for something larger and more purposeful—something like armored seraphim gliding through the darkness with murderous intent.

If Haniel knew the kaldurite had been found, she would try to kill Gavriel some other way. And this time she might succeed.

She blew out an impatient breath, watching the white fog dissipate. Ten-ten, the mirror hour when Haniel had the power to come and go unseen, was drawing near.

Yarl had left to hire a coach nearly an hour ago, heading to the train station where drivers congregated all night. What could be taking him so long? What if he had been captured? Interrogated?

Dire scenarios were filling her head when a large coach rounded the corner.

It was a diligence, enclosed and sturdy, designed for long-distance travel.

It halted before the townhouse and Yarl stepped out.

He tilted his head, searching the roofline.

Cathrynne raised her hand in a quick wave.

Relief washed through her as she flew down the stairs.

Mercy waited at Gavriel’s bedside. “He’s no better,” she said grimly.

The kaldurite had been glued to his wing for almost two weeks, devouring his strength. It made Cathrynne furious to think she had sat next to him all that time with no clue that the cause of his ailment was within arm’s reach.

“It’s not too late,” she said stubbornly. “We can still save him. But we must get him out of Satu Jos.” She glanced at the window. “Yarl found a diligence. He’s waiting outside.”

“Thank Minerva,” Mercy said with quiet feeling.

Together, they positioned Gavriel on a makeshift sling made of a blanket. Cathrynne ensured his wings were tucked against his body. He was too fragile to withstand another shock.

“On three,” she said, taking his shoulders while Mercy moved to his feet. “One, two?—”

They lifted together, grunting with effort. Gavriel was still a big man. Add in his towering wings and he was not a light burden.

“Stairs will be tricky,” Mercy muttered, backing toward the door. “You want to go first or shall I?”

“I’ll take the lead.” Cathrynne adjusted her grip. “Watch the frame.”

They maneuvered him through the opening, Cathrynne walking backward. The descent down the stairs was a grueling exercise in coordination. Halfway down, Mercy’s foot caught on the carpet, nearly sending them all tumbling.

“Careful,” Cathrynne hissed.

“Trying,” Mercy snapped back. “Not exactly a featherweight, is he? Ironic, that.”

They reached the bottom landing, both breathing hard.

The grandfather clock in the foyer read 10:06.

As they shuffled across the entryway, the front door swung open.

“Quickly,” Yarl said, glancing at the sky.

He lowered his voice. “I paid the driver well, but his courage may not last if questioned by seraphim.”

The caracals turned their heads at Cathrynne and Mercy’s approach, long, tufted ears twitching. The driver tipped his cap. “I am Lucio Tavora. I will get you across the border, never fear.”

Years of working the streets had made Cathrynne a quick study of character. Lucio Tavora had a bluff, honest face and calloused hands from years of handling the reins.

“Thank you, Master Tavora,” she said. “Perhaps you can help us?”

“Of course!” He leapt down from the bench. Together they maneuvered Gavriel’s limp form through the carriage door and onto one of the long, cushioned seats. Mercy and Yarl climbed in after. Cathrynne hesitated, scanning the skies one last time.

No winged shapes eclipsed the moon. No shadows crept along the walls.

“Come, Rowan,” Yarl called softly. “It’s 10:08.”

She joined them in the carriage, and the driver clicked his tongue. The team of six muscular caracals sprang forward, the diligence picking up speed as it reached the broad, straight avenue of Rua Capitolana.

“Where are we headed?” Mercy asked, bracing herself as they rounded another corner.

“Arjevica,” Yarl replied. “We will bring him to his sister, Suriel.”

“The archangel of Kievad Rus?” Cathrynne bit her lip, worried. “What makes you think this one can be trusted?”

“Suriel favors him,” Yarl replied. “She is dangerous, but not to her brother. And she despises Haniel. There is no chance they are conspiring together.”

“Why does she hate Haniel?” Cathrynne asked, somewhat mollified.

“I cannot say, but they are very different. Haniel shuns political intrigue—or pretends to—while Suriel thrives on it. And of course, their provinces are ancient rivals.”

“Short of Mount Meru, another Angel Tower is the only place he’ll be safe,” Mercy agreed. “Kirith is too far away. But Arjevica is just over the border.”

Cathrynne had not been to the Rus capital since she was taken from her childhood home at the age of eleven. She’d never expected to see it again, but getting Gavriel to a sanctuary where he could heal was all that mattered now.

Ten past ten came and went. She took out the pocket watch again and watched the minute hand creep around the dial, half-expecting the carriage door to swing open and reveal Haniel’s grinning face.

Or worse, to see nothing at all; to blink and discover Gavriel dead or vanished from the coach.

But the mirror hour of 11:11 passed without incident, and the caracals continued their steady lope through the streets.

The diligence passed the diplomatic quarter, and then the fruit and vegetable market, its stalls shuttered for the night. Finally, they reached the outskirts of Kota Gelangi and the main east-west road that ran all the way to Bactra.

The next mirror hour—12:12—slipped by, yet Cathrynne felt no relief. Gavriel lay motionless, his breathing so shallow she could barely see his chest rise and fall. Heartsick, she took his hand. It felt frigid, and she chafed his fingers, tried to lend him her warmth.

Across from her, Yarl reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the jeweler’s box she had taken from D’Amato. He lifted the lid and the kaldurite’s chill sparkle filled the carriage. Just a tiny shard had nearly killed an archangel.

“We will give it to Suriel as proof of this murder attempt,” he said, an edge of anger in his voice. “She will tell their father Valoriel, and he will see that justice is done.”

* * *

The road to Kievad Rus wound through the southern reaches of the Zamir Hills, which were thickly forested. Sleet lashed the coach windows, turning the world beyond into a blur of shadow. It was the middle of the night by now, and they saw no other conveyances on the road.

Mercy seized her chance to doze off, but Cathrynne felt too wired to sleep.

At each mirror hour—1:11, 2:22, 3:33—she braced for the worst. But Haniel never appeared.

She must not know of their escape yet. Perhaps she was confident her ploy had worked.

After all, the stone had gone undiscovered for nearly a fortnight.

Another day or two, and Cathrynne felt sure it would have finished him.

But he was not meant to die in that bed. He had another destiny.

Her eyes glazed over and she saw Julia Camara’s face through the bars of the kloster.

“When he falls from grace, you must not interfere. You must let him serve his penance, even if it lasts forever.”

“Penance for what? And why would I interfere?”

The seer’s eyes held a glint of pity. “Because you love him.”

She tried to shake off the memory, but a small, terrible voice wondered if she was doing the right thing. What if Gavriel died before he committed whatever crime lay in the future? Would she spare the world the upheaval the Morag promised?

She rubbed her forehead. Too many tangled dreams. Too many visions she could not make sense of. But the man lying with his head in her lap was real. And she knew in her heart that she could not let him die, no matter what it cost.

Cathrynne counted Gavriel’s labored breaths and tried to work through the events of the last week.

The value of kaldurite was obvious. For an ambitious man like Casolaba, if he could get enough of it, he might make himself a king.

There had been kings and queens in Sion once, very long ago.

Cathrynne learned that in her history classes, though she’d never paid close attention in school.

Perhaps Casolaba and Haniel had been in league together, and then had a falling out. It was also obvious why angels would not want the existence of kaldurite to be widely known—it could kill them.

As for the witches . . . well, it would give one faction an edge over the other. Plus, if the witches failed to control the kaldurite supply, they could easily be defeated by a human army.

She thought of what Gavriel had said when they hiked through the hills to Red Dog Camp.

I see all the tiny fractures running through Sion, and watch them widen every year. The ancient balances of power are shifting.

Kaldurite, if someone possessed it in abundance, would more than shift that balance. It would overturn it completely.

“We’re making good time despite the weather,” Yarl observed, breaking into her dark musings. “We should reach the border before dawn?—”

The coach slowed, then lurched to a stop. “What now?” Mercy growled, waking in an instant.

“Stay here,” Cathrynne said. “I’ll have a look.”

She readied a projective gemstone in her fist. Then she opened the door and jumped down into frozen mud. Wind drove the sleet sideways, stinging her eyes. She walked to the front of the diligence, where the driver climbed down to meet her. Frost rimed the brim of his hat.

“We need to haul that out of the way,” he said, pointing to a large tree branch blocking the road.

Cathrynne approached warily, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The thick part of the branch looked jagged. Dead wood. The storm must have broken it off.