She avoided his gaze, looking out the window. “I heard the wheels. It was moving too fast.”
Gavriel doubted this. He had heard nothing until it was too late and his hearing was keen. But he decided not to press. Rowan looked grim and unapproachable. She furtively wiped the blood from her lip, angling her body away from him.
What troubled him more than her obvious lies was his own undeniable physical reaction to her. Even now, he longed to close the distance between them and sit by her side.
Gods, the scent of her.
His jaw tightened. The pressure of the investigation must be getting to him. Gavriel vowed never to indulge such mad thoughts again—and to keep his distance from Cathrynne Rowan.
Chapter 10
Cathrynne
The caracal-drawn coach bounced across a patch of uneven cobblestones. Cathrynne stared into the blurry darkness, replaying the moments before it had nearly crushed Morningstar beneath its wheels.
Never in her life had a vision come with such force and clarity.
She was stepping off the curb when her scalp began to tingle. The neat rows of houses vanished in a blink. In their place she saw The Dark Rider, The Fox, and The Crossroads. Each symbol layered with meaning, but together the message was clear. Something was coming—something dangerous—set in motion by a cunning mind. And it would shift the future on its axis.
She had reacted without thought, throwing them both into the flowerbed. The blazing heat of his body had been an unwelcome surprise. He carried himself with such detachment, yet his skin had felt feverish through the heavy fabric of his clothing.
How thick his lashes were against the tawny green of his eyes, like one of the big cats. He had gazed at her with a softness she had never seen before.
Shock, no doubt.
Most people created tiny ripples in the ley, their lives a single raindrop on a still pond. But Morningstar’s influence was more like the turbulent wake of a steamship, or the pull of the tides.
It was clear that he did not believe her explanation.
Cathrynne returned to berating herself. One more slip and he would realize she had the power of foretelling. She would be immured in a tower for the rest of her life, reduced to babbling through a slot in the wall. Just another mad oracle entombed in stone.
Next time, she thought furiously, I’ll let him get whatever’s coming to him.
Morningstar seemed to sense her dark mood and made no attempt to engage her. The silence stretched between them, taut and palpable, until the coach jolted to a stop in front of the rented townhouse. He reached for his billfold, but the driver rushed to stop him. “No, no, after that unfortunate accident, it’s the least I can do.”
“The fault wasn’t yours,” Morningstar replied.
“Even so, even so.” The driver bowed, leapt into the seat, and departed with as much haste as he could without giving offense.
Inside the house, Mercy and Yarl were sharing a fragrant pot of kopi in the conservatory. Rain streamed down the wall of glass windows.
“I’ve got news about the dead boy,” Mercy announced as they entered.
Morningstar shook the damp from his wings and dropped into a chair. “Go on.”
“His name was Durian Padulski.” She glanced at her notes. “From a town called Pota Pras at the edge of the Zamir Hills.”
“Was it lithomancy that killed him?”
“I can’t say for certain—any residue of the spell would be long gone. But I can tell you that he was dead before he hit the river. The papers got it wrong. Durian Padulski didn’t drown. There wasn’t any water in his lungs. Cause of death is undetermined, but the coroner found a burn mark on his back that could be from projective ley. You must have seen those before.”
He shook his head. Mercy looked surprised. She unbuttoned her coat and pulled the collar aside. “Like this.”
It was a classic projective pattern, like a star had been branded into her flesh.
Morningstar was quiet for a moment. “Pota Pras is a mining hub.” He turned to his elderly secretary. “Gia Andrade—Casolaba’s mistress—told us that he mentioned a new kind of gem. Something worth killing for. Now we have another death, possibly related to the gem trade. I’ll admit the connection is tenuous, but it’s worth investigating.”
“Shall I go to Pota Pras and follow up with the family?” Mercy asked.
