Page 61 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

Spring had taken firm hold and the heather was in bloom, vast swathes of purple against the green meadow grass and fescue. Gavriel shortened his stride to match hers and they hiked in easy silence for a while.

“How long have you lived at Everfell?” she asked.

“About five hundred years. I’ve tried to keep it as it was when I first came. We light the hearths for warmth in the winter, and use candles and oil lamps rather than electricity. I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

She shook her head. “Not at all. My family’s dacha in the countryside was much the same. I like the simplicity of it.”

A shadow crossed his face at the mention of the Lenormands.

“I’m sorry for the way my grandmother treated you,” she added quickly. “It was unfair.”

Gavriel looked uncertain—which was not a quality she’d seen often.

“I don’t blame her. It’s my fault . . . ” He paused and drew Cathrynne to a halt.

“There,” he said softly, pointing to a russet shape in the heather.

They watched the fox trot past, its bushy red tail almost as large as its body, and disappear into a stand of gorse.

“She’s hunting voles,” Gavriel said with a smile. “Spring means new litters and hungry kits.”

Whatever he’d been about to say regarding Nestania, he seemed to change his mind.

They rambled along dirt tracks that wound through the rolling hills, meeting more denizens of the heath.

A startled chocolate-brown hare with black feet zigzagged across their path, running so fast it was a blur.

A few minutes later, Cathrynne exclaimed over a nest with three speckled eggs hidden in the grasses until a pair of irate skylarks harried them onward.

Gavriel pointed out golden plovers and merlins, a distant roe deer in a copse, and the tracks of a badger along a muddy section of road.

It was so different from the streets of Arioch where Cathrynne had spent her entire adult life. The city had its charms, but she began to understand Mercy’s yearly trips into the mountains to hike and camp. There was a peacefulness in the wilds, a calm solitude that healed the soul.

They reached the cliff edge in late morning. The inland sea stretched to the horizon, sunlight fracturing on the waves. Wind gusted stronger here, blowing salt spray amid the cries of gulls. They stood side by side in silence, watching the waves heave against the rocks below.

“Sometimes I launch from the cliffs,” Gavriel admitted, “and fly with the peregrine falcons.”

“For fun?” she teased.

He donned a scowl. “I am unfamiliar with that term, Rowan.”

“Oh, stop. Do you really fly with falcons?”

“I do. And we race.” He preened. “I usually win.”

She shadowed her eyes with one hand, scanning the sky. “Aren’t they the fastest thing in the world?”

“They are the fastest animal ,” he said.

“A falcon’s heart can beat up to nine hundred times per minute.

They are extraordinary. My father borrowed some of their traits when he designed the angels.

” His lips curved. “I don’t hunt small birds, but I do have the ability to tuck my wings and dive at tremendous speeds. ”

Cathrynne had seen falcons perform this feat from the top of the astronomy tower in Arioch. “It makes me dizzy just thinking of it. Aren’t you afraid of crashing into the water?”

“Of course.” The wind tugged a lock of raven hair across his forehead. “That’s why it’s fun.”

“I won’t ask for a demonstration,” she laughed.

He grinned and gazed out to sea. “None of my friends are here today. They are probably tending their fledglings.” He leaned over the cliff until the soles of Cathrynne’s feet began to tingle and she reminded herself that tumbling over the edge was not a concern for him.

“You can’t see it from above, but they nest on the ledges. ”

She took in the wide panorama of rolling hills, distant woods, and sun-kissed waves. “This is a beautiful place. Thank you for showing it to me.”

“I suppose we should head back,” Gavriel said with reluctance.

As they turned to the path, he bent to pick a bouquet of buttercups. He presented it to her with solemn formality, the sunlight burnishing the flecks of gold in his eyes. “I’ll have a vase with water brought to your room,” he said.

She grinned and held the bouquet under her chin. “Well?”

He looked befuddled. “Well, what?”

“If my chin turns yellow, it means I like butter. Haven’t you ever tried it?”

He shook his head, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “I must say, your chin is very yellow.”

“Then I shall have scones for dinner, with extra butter and jam,” she declared imperiously.

“As my lady desires.”

She flushed and covered it by tickling his chin with a buttercup. “Does the lord of Everfell like butter?”

“Only if it comes from the local pasture,” he said loyally. “The cows are happy, so they make the finest butter in all of Sion.”

“And do you commune with these happy cows?” she asked, as they started walking back to the house.

“I do. They are part of the estate and thus under my personal protection.” He glanced at her. “As you are, Cathrynne.”

She arched a brow.

“Not part of the estate,” he added hastily. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” she said. “And I’m glad you brought me here. It’s a good place, and I needed that. But I should be getting back to the chapter house. I must tell them about the kaldurite.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “I have considered the matter, and I believe that under the law, it belongs to the witches. Haniel would only work mischief if she had control of it.” He paused.

“It’s getting late though. One more night before you leave would do no harm. I shall miss your company, Cathrynne.”

She tried to ignore the small thrill that went through her.

He meant nothing by it. And she could not .

. . would not . . . Ugh . Why did her thoughts tangle so when she was near him?

Flustered, she bent to add some sprigs of meadowsweet to the bouquet.

The white blossoms complemented the yellow, but it also gave her a chance to gather herself.

She could not say that she would gladly stay for weeks, taking long walks with Gavriel across the moor, eating divine food, and pretending that they could be more to each other than cypher and angel.

“One more night,” she agreed. “I confess, I like it here very much.”

He looked boyishly happy. They walked back to Everfell, trailing short noonday shadows across the moor.

***

A delicious lunch had been laid out when they reached the house.

Fresh lemonade with just the right amount of tartness, chilled tomato soup, cucumber and cheese sandwiches on the same soft, chewy white bread she’d had for breakfast, followed by little cakes dotted with just-picked blueberries.

Cathrynne stuffed herself and regarded Gavriel’s trim waistline with envy.

How on earth did he manage to eat like this every day?

If she had his cook, she would end up very plump—and too content to care a whit about it.

The only thing to do after a long walk and leisurely three-course lunch was to take a nap. She retired to her bedchamber, leaving him in his study (where else?) to go over the heaps of correspondence that had piled up in his absence.

She drifted off to the cheerful warbling of robins in the birch trees. At first, she dreamt of Borosus. He was soaring above the sea, blue scales shining in the sun. A smaller Sinn with silver and green scales flew beside him. Somehow Cathrynne knew it was a female.

She stood on the cliff edge, watching them perform an intricate dance together, plummeting toward the waves in a tight spiral and then rolling away at the last moment.

For such large creatures, they were graceful and acrobatic.

Cathrynne felt a profound sense of awe. The Sinn were not mindless predators as she had been taught.

They were thinking, feeling, intelligent beings who had been persecuted for hundreds of years.

She was about to call to Borosus when the ground beneath her feet crumbled. Dirt and pebbles skittered into the void below. She scrambled back but it was too late. The cliff gave way and she was falling, the walls racing past as she plunged to her doom on the jagged rocks?—

As often happens in dreams, there was no impact. A moment later, her pulse still thundering, she stood on a vast plain of ice and fire. The sky was as black as the bottom of the ocean. But a cold gray light, like dawn on a bitter winter’s morning, illuminated the barren landscape.

At the rim of the horizon was a smudge that might have been hills, or possibly a city, but it was obscured by the steam rising from pits in the frozen earth. Cathrynne closed her eyes and tried to wish herself back in her bedchamber.

When she opened them, nothing had changed—except that a figure was walking towards her.

It had reddish skin and wore no clothing besides a loincloth around its hips.

Its head was bald as an egg. The features were blandly androgynous, but as it drew closer, two small, high breasts became visible and Cathrynne revised the pronoun to she .

“Greetings!” the woman called with a toothy smile. Her head cocked in appraisal. “I am surprised to find a witch here.” She chuckled. “But all are welcome!”

Cathrynne looked around with trepidation. “Is this the Plain of Contemplation?”

“It has many names. I call it Char’azul.” Her eyes had a reddish cast as well and they fixed on Cathrynne with alert interest. “I am Merric. What is your name?”

Her voice was honeyed, but Cathrynne sensed danger in the question. “This is only a dream,” she said firmly. “And you are not real.”

Merric laughed. She gazed at her hands, flexing the long, slender fingers. “Funny, I feel quite real. I think it’s you who have come here only in spirit. That does happen every now and then.” Her voice sank to a sultry whisper. “But you have power. I can smell it. Perhaps a bargain can be made.”

Cathrynne frowned. “What kind of bargain?”

“That depends on what you want.”

“I see. And what do you want?”

Merric grinned. She had pointy eyeteeth like a caracal. “Many things . . .” She trailed off, head tilting back. “Ah. He comes at last!”

Cathrynne turned to follow her gaze and spotted a tiny spark in the black sky. It grew bigger by the moment, trailing flame like a comet.

“The time of exile and penance is here. You must not interfere, Cathrynne Rowan Lenormand.”

She startled at the new voice behind her. The red-eyed woman had vanished and Julia Camara stood in her place. This time, the light of madness flickered in the seer’s eyes.

“If you try, the gods will die and you will join me in the kloster for the rest of your days?—”

“Stop!” Cathrynne covered her ears. “Just stop!”

Julia threw her arms wide to the heavens, an expression of mad exultation on her face. “He comes!”

Icy fingers gripped Cathrynne’s heart. It was the angel of her dreams, approaching at a terrible velocity like a star falling to earth, except that this time she could almost see his face?—

Cathrynne sat up in bed, trembling. It had grown dark outside. A sob escaped her just as the door burst open and Gavriel rushed in holding a candle. The bed creaked as he sat on the edge of the feather mattress.

“I heard you scream,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern. “Are you well?”

She wordlessly shook her head. He set the candle down, and then his strong arms circled her, drawing her close. He murmured words of comfort and reassurance against her hair and she relaxed against his chest, the warmth of his wings enfolding them both.

“Just a bad dream,” she said, pulling back to look into his eyes. “I . . . I can’t remember it now.”

He tenderly brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “You’re safe here, Cat.”

Once he had called her by her cypher surname, Rowan. Then Cathrynne. But the distance between them was melting away. She didn’t care to examine what it meant—especially the dream, which she recalled in vivid detail. She knew she should tell Gavriel about it. Warn him . . .

And she would. But right now, she wanted to kiss him. So that is what she did.