“Indeed.” Gavriel’s lips curved in a rare smile. “I would subpoena them as witnesses and our crime would be solved by lunchtime.”
They headed down the broad avenue leading from the Red House to the district where visiting dignitaries, members of the assembly, and various special interests kept houses.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t secure your usual residence,” Yarl said. “It was occupied by a delegation from Iskatar.” He paused. “The broker suggested an alternative. It was all I could find at such short notice.”
“Our stay is brief,” Gavriel said. “I’m sure it will serve.”
The house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, four stories of pink stone faced by a fountain with frolicking stone nymphs. The inside was worse. Gilt mirrors, red velvet upholstery, and nude statuettes plated in gold.
“Did you rent a brothel?” Gavriel asked.
“It belongs to Councilor Adnan Virek,” Yarl explained, “who is currently serving a term of house arrest in his second residence. He was convicted of perjury in an unrelated matter.”
Gavriel shook his head. “If the scribblers discover I am staying here, they shall turn it into a scandal.”
“Which is why I dismissed the household staff. The broker promised discretion.”
“And I’m sure you paid well for it. No matter, this will suffice.” Gavriel softened his tone. “Get some rest. We have a long day ahead.”
Yarl nodded. “Sir.”
They parted ways, and Gavriel wandered through the house. Virek apparently collected glass figurines of the Sinn, for they were everywhere. It was a peculiar local custom, keeping idols of the monsters that laid waste to their mines on a regular basis. He picked one up, studying the long tail and fierce teeth.
Some experts claimed the Sinn were a throwback to the primordial deity Valmitra, whose form was serpentine when she came to this world. Gavriel could not say if it was true. But something in the mingled blood of angel and witch had created an entirely new species, draconic and bent on destruction.
There were Sinn in Kirith, but they were the forest-dwelling kind, rarely seen. Their desert cousins were much larger and more aggressive. He had spotted a few from the air during his travels throughout the empire, but they never came near. He was not certain he would have survived the encounter if they had.
Gavriel climbed the stairs to the rooftop terrace. Kota Gelangi was more spread out than Kirith, the buildings lower. All except for the Angel Tower, which stood white and gold against the lightening sky.
He sat on a stone bench, clearing his mind in preparation for the day. After a few minutes, a soft scuff made Gavriel turn. Yarl stood in the doorway leading to the stairs, his tall, rather gaunt figure silhouetted against the interior darkness.
“Up so soon?” Gavriel said. “I thought I told you to rest.”
Yarl’s silence was disconcerting. What if he was suffering a stroke? The thought of losing him provoked a rare moment of self-doubt.
I shouldn’t have made him work through the night. Shouldn’t have brought him through the archway without considering the strain.
Yarl was in his seventies now. How swiftly the years had flown by! Gavriel feared the inevitable day his secretary would retire. Edvin Yarl was loyal and efficient, certainly, but he was also Gavriel’s closest companion—his only companion, in truth.
The time would come when he was gone forever. Gavriel knew this. It was the curse of a long life to feel the pain of loss again and again. Now, he silently vowed to all three gods that he would better care of his friend until that day came.
“Edvin?” He rose and took a step forward. “Are you unwell?”
The sun crested the distant hills, washing across the terrace. Yarl’s features were rigid. A counterfeit mask of the man Gavriel knew. Too late, he grasped the truth.
Illusion.
The figure raised a hand and a hammering force struck Gavriel’s chest. He slammed into the waist-high wall enclosing the terrace. There was the snap of bone cracking. For a heartbeat, he teetered at the edge.
Then he was falling. His broken wing flared with agony as he tried to slow his descent. The left extended, beating uselessly against the air, as he plummeted toward the marble fountain below.
Chapter 5
Cathrynne
The chapter house of the witches of Arioch sat in the heart of the city where the six colleges came together. It was enclosed within a high brick wall hidden by climbing roses. They smelled sweetest at dusk, just after a spring rain, and Cathrynne always associated them with coming home.
A statue of Minerva, the witch of Sion’s divine trinity, stood at the main entrance. Her marble gaze fixed upon all who entered, one arm raised to cast a spell. The statue was twelve centuries old—which is how long it had been since anyone last saw her.
