Page 51 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

Gavriel

H is wings sliced the air, each powerful downstroke carrying him in a circle beneath the domed cupola of the Angel Tower. Gavriel dropped abruptly, feet touching the polished floor just long enough to pace five steps before launching himself aloft again.

The waiting corroded his temper like acid.

The witches claimed that a note had arrived at the chapter house, in Cathrynne’s hand, saying that she was returning to Arioch by ship. Yarl was back at Everfell. Gavriel had sent word to watch the docks, but he did not believe she had left Arjevica. Not of her own free will.

“She is here ,” he muttered. “I can feel it. Either hiding or being hidden.”

“The witches deny involvement,” Suriel said. “I have spoken to the Morag herself, as well as the heads of the chapter houses.”

“What about the White Foxes? I don’t trust them.”

“They claim ignorance.”

“Of course they do!” he erupted. “Someone is lying. And when I find out who it is . . .” He launched into the air again, aflame with restless energy.

If something had happened to her . . . No, he could not allow himself to think that way. Yet the prospect of losing her tightened around his throat like a noose.

“I will not remain here another hour,” Gavriel said, striding for an open archway. “The witches can tell me to my face that they know nothing! And I will judge their honesty myself.”

Suriel looked weary of his ranting. “Go, then,” she said. “But I have asked the birds and rats for aid. If Cathrynne Rowan is in my city, I will know by sundown.”

Communing with animals was Suriel’s special talent.

He nodded brusquely and launched into the air.

He flew direct to the chapter house, alighting on the wide marble steps.

The ornate Beaux Arts building rose before him, windows reflecting the overcast sky.

A pair of witches at the entrance eyed him with hostility.

“I require an immediate audience,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries.

One went inside. The other watched him in silence. After a moment, the first witch returned. “Come, Lord Morningstar.”

She brought him to a tiny room with a wooden chair and a stack of broadsheets folded on a table. The message was clear: wait like any other petitioner.

He paced for a while, then scanned the gossip rags. With no fresh developments, Casolaba’s murder was fading into the back pages. Levi Bottas, Casolaba’s aide, had still not been found.

Gavriel threw the paper down, unable to focus. An hour passed, then two. He was about to go find someone and demand a meeting when the door opened. It was the same witch who had brought him there.

She led him up a staircase to a wood-paneled study. Another witch stood at the window. Her waist-length white hair glittered with jeweled pins, a testament to her age and authority.

“Lord Morningstar,” she said crisply. “I am Nestania Lenormand. Please state your business.”

He did not sit down, and she did not invite him to.

“I would like to know what you are doing to find Cathrynne Rowan.”

“The cypher from Kirith?” Nestania’s silver eyes revealed nothing. “Inquiries are being made.”

“What sort of inquiries ?”

“That is witch business.”

“It is my business. She is from my province and was assigned to protect me. I am responsible for her.”

“Then perhaps you should go home and see if she has returned.”

“My secretary Edvin Yarl has already done so. She is not there.”

Nestania clasped her hands. Each finger had a stack of rings. “I have spoken to Felicity Birch, the head of the cyphers in Kirith. We are doing all we can.”

“Which is what exactly?”

Her chin lifted. “I do not answer to you, Morningstar.”

“No, you do not,” he agreed. “Yet you seem remarkably unconcerned that one of your own has gone missing. Is it because she is a cypher?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You go too far. I must ask you to leave.”

Gavriel’s patience, already stretched to the breaking point, snapped. “This is unacceptable. I demand to know what steps you are taking to locate her.”

“ You demand ?” Nestania’s eyes flashed. “We will handle this matter in our own way, in our own time.”

“That’s not good enough.” Gavriel stepped closer. “What if she dies while you sit here doing nothing?”

“It would still be witch business.”

“I will not accept that answer,” he growled.

“It is the only one you will get.”

“Then I shall take the matter to Mount Meru. Tell my father to deploy the legions.”

He sensed ley gathering around her.

“You would not dare,” she said with slow venom.

“Try me, witch,” he snarled, all propriety gone.

“You have no jurisdiction here,” she repeated, but there was a flicker of uncertainty.

“I am the chief magistrate of Sion,” Gavriel said, his voice pitched low and deadly. “My jurisdiction is whatever I decide to make it.”

A crackling silence followed. They traded glares, each measuring the other’s resolve.

“Get out,” Nestania Lenormand said at last.

Gavriel realized he would get nothing more from her. He strode from the study in a towering rage and flew in circles above the city. The more he thought about it, the angrier he grew. Either they did not care what happened to Cathrynne, or they were lying.

He would not stand for it. Gavriel sped for Angel Tower.

If it is civil war the witches want, then they shall have it.