The angels frowned. One stepped forward. “We need but a moment of his time?—”
“Now!” a deep voice barked from inside the room. “All of you, out!”
The angels looked unhappy, their wings stiffening in affront, but they stalked off. The witches followed, eying Cathrynne and Mercy with resentment before disappearing down the stairs. The secretary led them inside and closed the door.
Lord Gavriel Morningstar sat behind a desk, his right wing bound against his body in a sort of sling. He looked up as Cathrynne entered and their gazes caught. His eyes were a tawny golden-green, the only color against his tanned skin and black magistrate’s robe.
Angels were always comely and Gavriel Morningstar was no exception. He had clean, masculine features, with a winsome dent at the center of his chin and thick coal-black hair that matched his brows and wings. But his jaw was unshaven and he had a rough, commanding quality that made her breath turn shallow.
Archangel. There were only seven in the empire. Each wielded immense power. Not magic, or he wouldn’t need cyphers to protect him, but political power. And this one certainly had raw magnetism to spare.
Cathrynne dragged her eyes away before he noticed her reaction. Morningstar had more authority than ten consuls. More even than the Morag. And he’d send her back to Arioch if he didn’t like her.
“Thank you for coming,” he said crisply. “I regret the need for it, but there is nothing to be done about that. What are your names?”
“Mercy Blackthorn, Lord Morningstar.”
She swallowed. “Cathrynne Rowan.”
His eyes settled on her once again . . .and lingered. “I asked for two cyphers,” he said softly.
“I am a cypher,” she replied.
“Then why don’t you bear a grace name?”
At least the hundredth time she’d been asked that question. “I do, in a way,” she hedged. “Cathrynne means pure in the ancient tongue of Bactra.”
He studied her, his expression unreadable. “So you are originally from Bactra?”
“No, I am Kirithi.”
A partial truth. She’d lived in Kirith for twenty years. That the first eleven were spent in Kievad Rus didn’t count.
Morningstar looked as if he might press further, but then weariness crossed his face. “As long as you keep me alive long enough to find Casolaba’s killer.”
“That I swear to do,” she said.
“Good.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, the corners of his finely carved lips turning down in a grimace. “I originally intended to conduct an initial inquiry of three days, but I have decided to remain in Kota Gelangi until the case is solved. I will not be intimidated.”
That didn’t seem to require a response so she said nothing, but Cathrynne was secretly thrilled. It could take weeks to catch the culprit. Let Lump and Crump stew in their own juices.
She looked around the office, assessing it for weaknesses. The large windows overlooking the square were an immediate problem. She turned to the secretary, Edvin Yarl. “Can we have drapes installed? An assassin on any of those rooftops across the way would have a clear line of sight.”
Yarl blinked. “Certainly, Cypher Rowan.”
“And the corridor needs to be kept clear at all times,” Mercy added, “unless someone has an appointment with Lord Morningstar. Tell the guards not to admit anyone unless they’re authorized.”
“Indeed. I shall do so immediately.” He gave them a tired smile. “It is a relief to have you here. I don’t want to insult our hosts, but I trust my own compatriots from Kirith more.”
Cathrynne liked Yarl. You could tell right away how someone felt about cyphers by the way they looked at you. His gaze was direct and unafraid.
There were mounds of paperwork on every surface. She noticed a list of names on a side table and reached for it. Morningstar’s head jerked up.
“Don’t touch that,” he snapped.
She withdrew her hand and met his flinty gaze. “Sorry.”
“Don’t touch anything. You may stand by the door,” he instructed, turning back to his papers. The cyphers from Kirith had ceased to exist.
