Yarl shot Morningstar a look that, from anyone else, might have earned a reprimand. “I shall pack accordingly.” He paused, then added with unexpected passion, “And I am certain you shall get to the bottom of this heinous crime posthaste, sir!”
Chapter 4
Gavriel
Gavriel savored the rush of wind as he soared above the astronomical observatory, its telescopes reflecting the late afternoon sun. Around it clustered the six colleges that made Arioch the greatest hub of learning in Sion.
Faraday with its million-volume library, whose copper roof had long ago turned a dignified blue-green. Bartolomeo with its acres of lawns and botanical gardens where students gathered between lectures. Grunewold and Whitworth with their fiercely competitive rowing teams. The Merry Sharp Institute with its distinctive yellow brick dormitories. And Kirith Polytech, newest among them, whose clean modern cubes contrasted with the city’s medieval bones.
Students in dark robes hurried through the quads far below, some juggling stacks of books, others deep in lively debate. They came from every corner of the empire, drawn by the promise of knowledge and enlightenment. Some would stay for a lifetime, others would carry what they learned back to distant cities.
Arioch had changed little over the centuries of Gavriel’s long life. Sleek automobiles purring through streets alongside carts and coaches were the main difference. As Kirith’s archangel, he wanted only to protect this repository of knowledge and invention for as long as he could.
Yet for all the venerable prestige of the universities, Angel Tower remained the tallest building in the city. You could stand on almost any street corner and see its golden cupola, a reminder that while the provinces enjoyed a degree of autonomy, Mount Meru was the final authority.
Gavriel angled towards the fourteenth-floor landing platform, where the doors of the north gate stood open. The guards made a starburst with their fingers as Gavriel alighted on the platform, followed by seraphim carrying Yarl and the luggage.
“Have a safe journey, Lord Morningstar,” said one.
He nodded curtly and strode through the gate. Inside, the tower opened into a hollow atrium where hundreds of angels went about the business of running the empire. Records of births and deaths, tariffs and tax revenues, agricultural production, provincial decrees, treaties, laws, and other documents—all were held in a vast repository.
Certain angels known as enumerators counted every human, witch, and cypher for the census. Since it was conducted every five years, the work never ceased and there were always rivers of paperwork flowing between the provinces and Mount Meru.
When they spotted Morningstar, the hum of activity ceased at once. Heads turned, voices hushed, as their archangel flew upward in lazy spirals. Gavriel could not instantly move from one place to another by forcing, as the witches did. But the Angel Towers of each provincial capital, seven in number, were all connected with liminal ley.
Ley was the animating force of Sion. Every living thing from earthworms to whales held a spark of it, and when a creature died, that spark would sink back into the vast ocean of ley at the center of the earth. It was the source of the witches’ power and ran hot in Gavriel’s own blood—although he could not work magic himself.
Liminal ley was the most subtle and peculiar type, flowing along the boundaries where one thing ended and something new began but neither state was yet fully present. It was the gap between past and future, light and dark, here and there. Gavriel knew scholars in Antioch who had studied the liminal ley for their entire careers and still barely understood it.
Only the gods did, and they were the ones who had directed the construction of the Angel Towers.
Gavriel landed in the round chamber at the very top, where six archways stood equidistant from one another. Some showed views of shifting sand, others of snow and ice. Gavriel chose the one that led to Kota Gelangi. He paused at the threshold to lay a steadying hand on Yarl’s shoulder. “Nearly there.”
Yarl swallowed and gave a firm nod. The seraphim to either side stared straight ahead.
“Take care with him,” Gavriel warned them, and stepped through the arch.
There is a certain unease one feels upon entering a liminal space. It is both familiar and uncanny. They are not places one ought to linger in, and Gavriel beat his wings hard, plunging into a fine mist. He flew blindly until he spied the golden glimmer of another tower, a twin of the one he had just left. He angled his wings and made for the open archway. A glance behind showed the seraphim and Yarl following.
Gavriel flew through the arch, folding his wings as he alit. Haniel, the archangel of Satu Jos, was waiting for him.
He had not seen her in some time, but she looked the same. Like a young woman just past the cusp of maidenhood, with waist-length fair hair and eyes the shocking blue of a glacier. She wore a silvery gown with fine embroidery at the neck. Her wings were white as a swan’s breast.
Gavriel bent a knee. “Permission to enter your city?”
“Of course.” She inclined her head. “Welcome, brother. We are honored to accept the aid of the esteemed Morningstar at this difficult time.”
Gavriel couldn’t tell if Haniel was being sarcastic. She didn’t look honored, but she rarely expressed emotion. Although he had known her for centuries, he’d never understood her. She was the most aloof of the archangels. Her policy, if she had one, seemed to be to stay out of human and witch politics entirely and focus only on bureaucratic tasks.
Gavriel knew he was lucky to have Cyranthe Dagan as his consul in Kirith. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but Cyranthe was honest and did what she thought best for the province. He could not imagine dealing with a consul like Barsal Casolaba.
Well, he could. Gavriel simply would not stand for the man’s corruption. But Haniel was tolerant to a fault.
“I hope you will stay with me during your time here,” she said. “I’ve had rooms prepared.”
Before Gavriel could answer, the two seraphim arrived carrying his secretary between them. Yarl’s natural complexion was brown, but Gavriel sensed a green undertone. He claimed liminal travel gave him indigestion.
Haniel’s bow lips tightened. “I do not wish to be ungracious,” she said, “but the towers are for angels alone, Gavriel. I am certain that we have had this discussion before, yet you insist on violating the prohibition.”
