Page 35 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

She was bending to drag it to the side of the road when she caught a faint whiff of char. One of the caracals growled low in its throat.

She knew that smell. It was the same one from the Nilssons’ living room.

She threw a blast of projective magic into the trees. An instant later, she was lifted up and hurled bodily against the coach. The impact drove the breath from her lungs. She lay there in the frozen mud, gasping silently, until a strong hand dragged her underneath.

“Poxy bastards,” Mercy grumbled, hurling a spell of her own into the trees. She lay belly-down in the frozen mud next to Cathrynne. “It has to be the Jennies.”

Cathrynne dug into her own gem pouch, seeking a particular stone.

She knew them all by touch alone, and red jasper made her think of lions and archers.

Like an arrow in flight, it kept its potency over long distances.

Her fingers found a chunk and she threw another battering wave of ley into the trees.

“I think they forced here.” Cathrynne whispered. “Got ahead of us and set a trap.”

Another onslaught came from the forest. The coach rocked violently and the caracals yowled in their traces.

“One more direct hit and it might roll,” Mercy warned.

Cathrynne thought of Gavriel and his elderly secretary inside the coach. The diligence was large and heavy. Once it tipped, they’d never be able to right it again.

“Hang on.” Mercy ducked back into the diligence, emerging seconds later. “Get Morningstar across the border,” she said. “I’ll find you in Arjevica.”

Cathrynne stared. “What? I’m not leaving you behind!”

Mercy grinned, her teeth white in the darkness. She held up the kaldurite, the stone shifting colors in the gloom. “What can they do to me?”

“I’ll stay,” Cathrynne insisted. “Give me the stone. You go with Morningstar?—”

Another blast of ley knocked her back into the icy mud. She clawed her way up, ears buzzing and little jolts of electricity dancing along her skin.

Mercy stood untouched, her blue-gray eyes stormy. “Go, Cathrynne. Gavriel needs you. I’ll catch up.”

She strode to the branch blocking the road, grabbed it one-handed, and hurled it aside. Then she plunged into the dark woods.

Cathrynne didn’t waste a precious second. She forced herself to stand and found the driver, who was hiding behind the bench.

“Road’s clear,” she whispered. “But we have to go now .”

Lucio Tavora gave a frightened nod. He clambered back onto his seat, hands shaking as he took up the reins. Cathrynne jumped aboard as the caracals raced away. Lithomantic bursts lit the trees behind them. She watched the bend in the road recede through the sleet-frosted window.

Mercy would come out on top. She always did.

Cathrynne’s jaw tightened. She felt sure it was the White Foxes, and the witches they recruited were always the strongest. The most merciless. She swore angrily and touched her split lip.

Yarl took a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “Here.”

She pressed the linen against her mouth. “I shouldn’t have let that jeweler escape. He must have run straight to his masters.”

“Or they tracked us another way,” Yarl agreed. “Mercy Blackthorn is a brave woman. I hope her gamble pays off.”

“So do I,” Cathrynne said.

* * *

Several hours passed. The coach slowed again and Yarl peered out the window. “The border,” he said. “We’re nearly there.”

Cathrynne drew open the curtain. Dawn had broken. Through the window, she saw a suspension bridge above a river. Customs posts stood on either side, flags snapping in the wind. The Satu Jos banner—a flame rising from a forge—faced off against the rook standard of Kievad Rus.

A railroad trestle also crossed the gorge. A train had stopped and officials moved through the brightly-lit cars, checking identity cards. Cathrynne could see the passengers’ bored, sleepy faces through the windows.

The diligence halted at the customs post and a guard in the brown uniform of Satu Jos peered inside.

Yarl leaned forward. “We have urgent business in Kievad Rus. This is a diplomatic mission.”

The guard’s face was impassive. “Even diplomats require transit papers with the proper seals.”

“Do you not recognize Lord Gavriel Morningstar, archangel of Kirith?” Yarl demanded. “He requires immediate medical attention. We were waylaid by bandits on the road.”

The guard’s hand rested on his sidearm as he studied Cathrynne’s silver eyes.

“All the more reason to verify your identities.” Two more guards appeared behind him.

A nod and whispered word from the first, and the men went running off.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to leave Satu Jos without clearance from the Angel Tower in Kota Gelangi. ”

Cathrynne surveyed the post, calculating how fast she could incapacitate the guards before the shooting started. Not good odds, since she couldn’t risk Gavriel getting hit.

Yarl’s face darkened. “Listen carefully. I am Edvin Yarl, secretary to Lord Morningstar. If you prevent his passage, you will answer directly to Mount Meru. Would you like to explain to Valoriel himself why his son was delayed?”

The guard seemed unmoved.

“I can arrange for you to be personally escorted to the Summerlord’s presence,” Yarl continued. “I’m certain he would be fascinated to hear why a lowly border official thought his authority superseded that of an archangel.”

A new voice cut through the tension. “What seems to be the problem?”

A woman in the navy uniform of Kievad Rus was approaching across the bridge. An officer’s insignia gleamed on her collar.

“These travelers claim diplomatic status but have no papers, captain,” the Satu Jos guard admitted grudgingly. “A cypher, a human, and an angel. One of them is injured. Who knows what mischief they’ve been up to?”

The captain’s eyes flicked to the interior of the coach, lingering on Gavriel’s slumped form. Recognition sharpened her eyes. “That is indeed Lord Morningstar, and Suriel is expecting him,” she said. “I’ll take responsibility for them. Kievad Rus welcomes the archangel and his party.”

The guards exchanged glances, still uneasy.

“Unless you’d prefer to make this a more serious incident?” the captain added. “I can call Suriel herself?—”

The men stepped back, defeated. “They can pass.”

Cathrynne heaved a sigh of relief as the coach rolled forward again, wheels rumbling over the wooden planks of the bridge.

“Thank you for intervening,” Yarl said to the Rus captain, who walked alongside.

She nodded. “Lord Morningstar is ill?”

“He needs his sister’s aid,” Yarl replied, keeping Gavriel’s condition deliberately vague. “But she will be grateful. What is your name?”

“Captain Von Hahn.”

“I will tell her.”

Once they reached the other side and passed the rook standard, some of the tension leached from Cathrynne’s shoulders. “A cypher named Mercy Blackthorn is following behind us,” she said to Captain Von Hahn. “Will you see that she is allowed across the border?”

“I can do that.” She eyed them all with reserved curiosity, as though she wanted to ask more questions—but might be better off not knowing the answers. “Shall I send word ahead to Angel Tower?”

“Yes, please,” Yarl replied. “Ask them to have healers ready.”

The captain gave a brief salute and waved them past the checkpoint. Cathrynne sat back. Mercy would come to Arjevica. And if she didn’t . . . Well, Cathrynne would hunt those White Foxes to the ends of the earth.

* * *

They paused once to rest the caracals and wolf down a quick meal at a roadside inn.

Gavriel’s condition remained unchanged, but he didn’t seem worse.

It was dark again by the time they reached the Angel Tower.

Cathrynne Rowan stared up at the golden cupola.

In twenty years as a cypher, she had never set foot inside one.

“Here we are,” Lucio Tavora said, his good humor returned now that they had reached their destination.

The man had not uttered a word of complaint, even after the harrowing attack on the road. Now he jumped down from his perch and opened the door with a bow.

Yarl untied his purse and took out a stack of dragha bills. “The remainder of your payment. And additional for the hazards you and your cats faced.”

Tavora waved it away. “The agreed upon fare is sufficient, Master Yarl. There are always passengers looking for transport back to Kota Gelangi. I am sure to fill the seats.”

“You’re certain?”

“Quite.” Tavora glanced at Gavriel’s still form, his expression growing serious. “It was an honor to serve the Morningstar. Should you require my services again, you need only seek me out.”

Together, the three of them eased Gavriel from the carriage.

His wings dragged on the wet pavement, the onyx feathers dull.

Before they’d taken a step toward the gate, it swung open.

Four seraphim emerged, brusquely taking charge of Gavriel.

In the moonlight, their faces were like living statues, devoid of compassion or any emotion at all.

“Wait,” Cathrynne said, a flutter of panic rising in her chest. “I should?—”

“Let them,” Yarl murmured, as Tavora clucked his tongue and drove off.

She lowered her voice to a bare whisper, remembering Mercy’s warning about angelic hearing. “I don’t trust anyone but you, Edvin.”

He squeezed her hand. “The feeling is mutual. But only his own kind can save him now.”

They followed the seraphim into the tower. It had pearly walls that seemed to glow from within. The central chamber soared upward, a dizzying spiral that made her head swim. The seraphim carrying Gavriel flew upward. Cathrynne and Yarl followed along a stairway that hugged the curving inner walls.

“Suriel is the oldest archangel living,” he said softly. “She wields great authority. Haniel would not dare to cross her, and she certainly would not set foot within this tower uninvited.”