The chamber fell silent before exploding into chaos. A woman in silver robes—the non-voting witch representative—jumped to her feet. “That accusation is offensive and baseless,” she cried. “There is no evidence whatsoever that a witch was involved!”
Delegates shouted at each other from every corner. Roloa banged a gavel, demanding order with little success. It was getting ugly. Cathrynne shared a look with Mercy. They were about to usher Morningstar from the chamber when Luzia Bras looked up at the gallery.
“Lord Morningstar!” she called. “Will you investigate this boy’s death? Or do you only care about crimes against the powerful?”
He froze, then stepped forward, the center of attention. “I have no mandate to do so,” he said stiffly, his voice carrying through the chamber. “My commission extends only to the death of Consul Barsal Casolaba.”
The muttering grew angrier. “Justice! Justice!” someone shouted from the Miners’ Union benches. Others took up the cry.
Cathrynne scanned the gallery, aware of how exposed they were. Too many entrances, too many people. “We must go,” she murmured. “Now.”
For once, he didn’t argue. They left the gallery with shouts still ringing behind. Once they were in the corridor, Morningstar rounded on Levi Bottas. His face was a livid white. Cathrynne had never seen him so angry. “You set me up,” he growled.
Bottas quailed. “I had no idea what she planned, I swear! Luzia Bras just told me to bring you. She said she had evidence related to the murder and intended to present it before the Assembly.”
Morningstar briefly closed his eyes. Then he gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ve been outfoxed. And you, Bottas, were her cat’s paw. Do you know anything about this dead boy?”
He hung his head. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Morningstar spun on his heel and strode from the building, pausing on the marble steps. The setting sun caught his dark wings, picking out flecks of green and blue like the plumage of a grackle.
“Shall I call the coach, sir?” Yarl ventured.
“I wish to fly,” he growled, “but I cannot. At the least, we will walk. I need fresh air.”
Cathrynne felt sorry for him. How terrible to have such a gift and yet be grounded. They returned to the nearby townhouse in silence. Once there, Gavriel retreated to the library, shutting the door behind him. Yarl announced that he would make them all supper.
Mercy dropped onto a couch upholstered in sea-foam satin. “By Minerva, what a mess. I’m not sure Bottas is as innocent as he pretends. First, he has no clue about the hidden passage leading to the consul’s office. Then he lures Morningstar into the Assembly chamber for a public flogging and claims it was all Luzia Bras’s idea.”
“You think they’re in cahoots?”
“They could be. Bras has something to gain from the death. Now she can call a snap election. She might even become the next consul.” Mercy idly flicked the end of her whip. “But I can’t see why Levi Bottas would help her.”
“Sex, money, power,” Cathrynne said. “Take your pick.”
“Maybe it’s all three,” Mercy speculated. “Maybe Bottas likes older women. She said she kicked her husband out. She seduces him, then pays him to get rid of Casolaba and promises him a position in the new government. Levi Bottas was perfectly placed to get close to Casolaba. The consul would never have seen it coming.”
“That makes sense,” Cathrynne said, “except that his eyes were burned out and I can’t see Bottas doing that for no conceivable reason. Plus, whoever attacked Morningstar used illusion. Neither Bottas nor Bras are witches. If they had a smidgen of witch blood, we’d see it in their eyes. A thin ring of silver or a grayish cast. Neither has it, I checked.”
“Yeah. Too bad, it was a nice theory.” Mercy glanced at the library door and lowered her voice. “Toss a coin for who has to go in there?”
The delicious aroma of frying chickpeas and garlic filled the townhouse. Cathrynne found Yarl in the kitchen, managing several saucepans one-handed. A linen cloth draped over one shoulder.
“The table is set in the dining room,” he said, “but there’s still time to freshen up before supper.”
“Is that a polite way of saying I look dirty?” Cathrynne asked. She caught her reflection in a copper pot. Hair like a haystack, smudges under her eyes. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
She went upstairs to change. When she returned, she was surprised to find both Mercy and Morningstar seated at the long dining table. He’d shed his magistrate’s robe and wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms.
“A proper meal seemed sensible after the day’s trials,” he said almost cheerfully, pouring wine for the table.
Cathrynne shot Mercy a look of amazement. Mercy replied with a modest shrug. A minute later, Yarl bustled in with a platter of rice with roasted vegetables and flat bread. Everyone murmured thanks and dug in.
“So,” Mercy said, “how did you two meet?”
Morningstar glanced at Yarl. “Shall we tell the tale?”
Yarl set down his napkin. “It’s hardly remarkable.”
