Besides hunting down and arresting rogue witches, the White Foxes also sniffed out cypher children. They had chapters in every province, and were the most powerful and secretive order within the witches.
Cathrynne told herself everything would be okay. After all, they’d helped to catch some of the most-wanted witches in the empire. She’d nearly convinced herself of this until they reached Felicity Birch’s office, where George Claymond and Audrey Hayes were on their way out.
Audrey’s dark red lips parted in a vicious smile when she saw them.
“Enjoy your freedom,” she said. “It won’t last long.”
“Mum,” Cathrynne and Mercy said in unison.
They stood at attention while the head of the cyphers looked them over. No one knew her exact age, but she was old. Too old to bother with the dress code. Felicity Birch wore whatever she liked. Today, it was wide gray slacks and a blue cable-knit sweater.
“You were damned lucky,” Felicity said. “Those witches have killed three cyphers. Two at the port in Arioch, one in Bactra. Plus a customs official. He was probably dirty, but still. Good job.”
The wall behind her desk had a small plaque for every cypher who had died in the line of duty, which was quite a few.
“Thank you, mum.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Get in here and close the door.” Felicity lowered her voice. “The White Foxes are pushing hard for both of you to be punished, and this time they won’t back down.”
“We were just doing our job,” Mercy protested. “They ought to be thanking us.”
“And yet they’re not.” Felicity shook her head with exasperated fondness. “It was foolish to antagonize them, Cathrynne. You know they don’t like you. They never have. In their view, you were found too late. They prefer us to be molded from birth.”
Cathrynne was the only cypher without a grace name. She’d refused to answer to “Serenity” when she first came to the chapter house at age eleven. After a year of punishments failed to wear her down, Felicity had finally conceded, allowing her to keep her given name as long as she changed her surname to Rowan.
“That’s hardly my fault,” Cathrynne muttered.
“No, but your lack of diplomacy, not to mention self-preservation, is a pain in the ass,” Felicity retorted. “However, I have an idea that will buy us time for things to cool down.” She braced her hands on the desk. “Pack your bags. I’m sending you both on an assignment abroad.”
“Where are we going?” Cathrynne asked, bewildered and anxious. Mercy enjoyed travel and often spent her leave in exotic locales, but Cathrynne never left Arioch. Not in two decades. Both ships and carriages felt confining.
“Kota Gelangi,” Felicity replied.
Her heart sank further. The capital of Satu Jos was across the Parnassian Sea, a journey of two weeks. The direct route was faster, but most ships hugged the coast since the aquatic Sinn preferred deep water.
Cathrynne frowned. “Why?”
“Lord Morningstar needs protection,” Felicity said. “He’s investigating the death of Consul Barsal Casolaba. You do know about that?”
Cathrynne never read the gossip rags, but she vaguely recalled hearing about a consul’s death. Illness, wasn’t it? Or poison?
“You mean the one who got impaled,” Mercy said.
Impaled?
“Yes, that one,” Felicity agreed. “Morningstar just arrived in Kota yesterday and someone has already tried to kill him. Presumably the same person who murdered the consul.”
There was a shocked silence. Such a thing was unheard of. Archangels embodied the might of the empire. It was almost as insane as assaulting the god Valoriel himself.
“Who would dare?” Cathrynne wondered.
“Someone desperate to avoid capture, I imagine,” Felicity said. “He wasn’t hurt too badly. Apparently, he fell from a roof and broke a wing. Whoever did it got away. The assailant used illusion to get close. They masked themselves as his secretary, Edvin Yarl.”
“So it was a witch?” Mercy exclaimed.
“Careful now,” Felicity warned. “Such a spell requires skill but little strength. There are plenty of human weirdlings with enough witch blood to cast an illusory cantrip. Until we know for sure that a witch did it, it’s not a matter for the White Foxes. He’s refused their aid anyway. He also refused local protection. Understandably, I suppose.”
“So you’re sending us?” Cathrynne asked, still confounded at this turn of events.
