“A thousand apologies, sister,” Gavriel said, turning to his secretary. “Master Yarl, would you be kind enough to go ahead to the Red House and inform them of my arrival?”
Yarl composed himself with admirable speed. “Of course. I shall request a full dossier on the consul’s recent activities.”
“And arrange for the usual accommodations while you’re at it.”
Yarl nodded and closed his eyes as the seraphim gripped his arms once more and spiraled down through the hollow core of the tower.
“The usual accommodations?” Haniel echoed. “Tell me you are not taking quarters among the humans, Gavriel. I’ve had rooms prepared at my residence for you.”
This, too, was an ancient dispute.
“A kind gesture,” he said, “but you know my answer. I require solitude when adjudicating cases.”
“But it would be far simpler to stay with me.”
Gavriel met her gaze, which was somehow innocent and calculating at the same time. “I’ll be here for three days, no more. You’ll receive a copy of my report before I depart.”
“So brief a sojourn?” She affected indifference, yet he caught a flicker of relief.
“I did not wish to come at all,” he said sharply. “Three days will suffice.”
“Very well.” Haniel picked up the thread of her previous argument. “But I’ve said before and will say again, bringing humans through the arches taxes them severely. You should not do it. The poor man.”
“And yet he survives,” Gavriel replied. “Now to the matter at hand. What are your thoughts?”
She paused as a cherubim flew into the chamber bearing a tray with a pot of hot kopi, the sweet, muddy beverage popular in Kota Gelangi. Gavriel accepted a cup, gazing through the archway leading to Mount Meru. It was hidden by clouds, but he had a sudden longing to see his father. What counsel would Valoriel offer? Surely that it was another sign of the empire’s slow decay.
“Consul Casolaba was neither an honest nor a good man,” Haniel said matter-of-factly once the cherubim had departed. “Of course, few humans are.”
“That doesn’t justify his murder.”
She made a noise of dismay. “Did I say such a thing? I am merely warning you that you have a very large haystack to comb through. Barsal Casolaba behaved more like a king than a consul. He used his influence to reward his allies and ruin any who stood in his way. The only surprise is that he managed to survive this long.”
Gavriel sipped his kopi. “Give me the short list, Haniel.”
She proceeded to name the Miners’ Union, spies from Kievad Rus, certain factions among the witches, and even the deputy consul, who had been angling for Casolaba’s position for years.
“That’s not counting the dozens of other violent enemies he must have acquired among the city’s underworld,” Haniel reported with some relish. “But I am certain you will get to the bottom of it.”
Gavriel could not stop himself. “Why did you permit his corruption, Haniel? Isn’t there something you could have done?”
She regarded him with pity. “First of all, the humans are Travian’s children. He ought to manage them.”
“Travian has been gone for centuries,” Gavriel reminded her.
“Nevertheless, it is not my place to overstep.” She adopted a prim expression that irritated him no end. “My role is an administrative one. And even if I cared to get involved, who should I have replaced him with? They are all the same. Grasping for wealth, pleasure, power—whatever eases the pain of their brief and pointless lives.”
“Some, yes. But I disagree that they are all the same,” Gavriel said quietly.
“You are entitled to your opinion. But I do not envy you this task.” Haniel set her cup aside untouched, her voice honeyed again. “Should you require anything, brother, anything at all, you need only ask.”
Gavriel fell through the hollow core of the tower, its levels passing in a blur. At the twelfth floor, he snapped his wings open and arrested the descent. The guards at the east gate touched their breastplates in a salute as he passed through.
Kota Gelangi was three hours earlier than Kirith, but it was the southern winter and dark had fallen by the time he reached the Red House. Liberty Square was mostly empty, but a young man waited with Yarl at the top of the steps. He wore a maroon coat with diagonal brass buttons and clutched a leather valise.
“Lord Morningstar,” he said with a nervous bow. “I am Levi Bottas, aide to the late Consul Casolaba. I’ve been assigned to assist in your investigation.”
Bottas was in his early twenties, with side-parted black hair and a clean-shaven, artless face.
