“I wanted to send a dozen cyphers, but he’ll only accept two,” Felicity replied briskly. “And despite your recent blunder, you’re the best I have. Besides which, it will get you away from Lump and Crump. Don’t bother denying it, I know what you call them . . .”
Cathrynne’s scalp prickled. Felicity’s voice dimmed, replaced by a buzzing in her ears. Not now. By the three gods, not now.
But she couldn’t stop the visions once they began. All she could do was stay calm and pretend everything was fine. Her gaze flicked across the images hanging in the air over Felicity’s desk. Quickly memorizing them and then looking away since it wouldn’t do to sit there gawping at nothing like a freak.
The Dark Rider. Stars. A pair of doves, their beaks touching. The Crossroads.
The vision faded within seconds. Sometimes she knew right away what it meant. Sometimes, like now, she was unsure. The Rider usually foretold a message, and Stars could certainly be Gavriel Morningstar. But the rest . . . Perhaps it would come clear later.
Cathrynne touched her nose. A single drop of violet blood smeared her fingertip. She scrubbed it on her trousers. Thank the Trinity, Felicity wasn’t looking at her.
“When do we leave?” Mercy asked.
“At once,” Felicity replied. “Morningstar doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and whoever did it might try again.” She fixed them with a serious look. “Behave and do as you’re told. This is a golden opportunity to redeem yourselves.”
“So we’re travelling by sea?” Mercy asked.
Cathrynne knew the answer. There were thirty-six pictures in her repertoire of visions. One was The Ship, and it had not appeared.
Felicity gave them a tight smile. “Not quite.”
* * *
The forcing ground lay beyond the training quads at the farthest edge of the compound. It was contained by a wrought-iron fence covered with caution signs. Felicity waited at the center of the muddy yard. At her side stood a small woman with fierce white brows like a bird of prey. Ninnoc, an old crony of Felicity and one of the few full witches to befriend a cypher.
Ninnoc smiled warmly at Cathrynne and Mercy. “So these are our troublemakers? They look capable enough.”
“Oh, they’re plenty capable,” Felicity said. “It’s their judgment that concerns me.” She fixed them both with a dour look. “The witches of Kota will provide you with gems. Get yourselves straight to the Red House. And be respectful to Lord Morningstar. If you win his favor, the Foxes can’t bring you back. The archangel of Kirith outranks them.”
Cathrynne did not want to leave Arioch, and she most definitely didn’t want to be hurled through space with unnatural magic. But she grasped that she’d been offered a way out and resolved to do whatever it took to stay in the Morningstar’s good graces.
Ninnoc reached into her gem pouch and selected two stones. Obsidian in her right hand, moonstone in her left. One imbued with projective ley, the other with receptive ley. Exactly what you were never supposed to blend together.
“Stand close together and don’t move,” Ninnoc instructed. “If you need to sneeze, do it now.”
Cathrynne stared at the patches of scorched earth. Some were fused into a glassy, tubular structure called fulgerite, forged by the union of unspeakable forces. Everyone knew the stories. Witches who lost a limb when the box fractured. Others who never turned up at all.
“A bit closer now,” Ninnoc said encouragingly.
Cathrynne and Mercy squashed themselves together so tightly that Cathrynne could count the beads of sweat on her partner’s eyelashes. Felicity nudged their luggage into the forcing zone. She gave a firm nod, then took six steps back.
“Minerva keep you,” she said.
The stones in Ninnoc’s hands ignited. A low vibration traveled up through the ground. Then a silent thunderclap. The world lurched sideways. For a bad moment, Cathrynne’s body began to stretch as if she were tied to four mules, each running in a different direction?—
Then everything snapped back into place. She landed hard on her back. A vile oath, muttered quietly, signaled the arrival of Mercy. The sky was a deeper blue than Arioch, the sun hotter. Instead of mud, the forcing ground was clay baked hard as stone. A witch in a loose, ankle-length robe stood at the fence. His black hair was gathered into a topknot.
“You must be Cyphers Rowan and Blackthorn,” he called, politely ignoring their rough arrival. “The Morag is waiting.”
Cathrynne sat up, heart drumming. The Morag? She was the head of the High Council. The most powerful witch in Sion! How did Felony fail to mention that they would be called to see her?
It could only be because Felony hadn’t known. Which didn’t bode well.
Cathrynne shot Mercy a wary look as they shouldered their bags and followed the witch into a low, thick-walled building of sandstone. Inside, the air was cooler and smelled of dry, peppery spices. He led them to a set of ancient, elaborately carved wooden doors and pushed them open.
“The cyphers from Kirith,” he announced, then stepped aside to let them enter.
The room held little furniture, just a low table and overlapping rugs in a mandala pattern. Isbail Rosach, the Morag of Sion, sat cross-legged on the floor with a few other witches, separating gems into piles. Sunstone and amber, beryl and moonstone, olivine and peridot.
