Morningstar rolled his shoulder with a wince. “I must go myself. They deserve that much.”
“Then take Cypher Blackthorn with you,” Cathrynne suggested, desperately hoping to avoid his company. “I can remain behind and trace his movements here.”
Gavriel appeared grateful for the suggestion. Their eyes met briefly before they both looked away.
“I’ll head to the wharf and inquire about riverboat schedules,” Mercy said, throwing on her coat and heading out the door.
Morningstar stood quickly. “Yarl, if anyone in the Red House asks where I am for the next few days, tell them my broken wing pains me and I’m resting. No one is to disturb me.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“I have every confidence you can manage the investigation in my absence. If anyone refuses to cooperate, tell them they’ll be charged with obstruction and whatever else you can think of once I return.”
He vanished into the library. Cathrynne took up a post outside, deeply relieved. Tomorrow, he would be on his way to Pota Pras with Mercy, and she would be free of his horrid presence.
The kitchen smelled of home. Not her own—she’d forgotten what that smelled like—but warm and inviting. Cathrynne paused in the doorway, watching Yarl arrange fried mustard greens and oysters on a plate. Her stomach growled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since morning.
Yarl looked up, his face creasing into a smile. “I thought you might be hungry. Please, sit.”
She slid onto a wooden stool at the kitchen island. The oysters glistened in their crisp coating, and the mustard greens had been sauteed with garlic and pepper. Pure Kirithi comfort food.
“This looks divine,” she said, picking up her fork. “You’re a man of many talents.”
“One doesn’t live to my age without acquiring a variety of skills.” He poured glasses of water from a clay pitcher. “I’ve found that Lord Morningstar rarely remembers to eat unless food is placed directly in front of him.”
Cathrynne took a bite of the greens, savoring the bitter-sharp taste. Yarl leaned against the counter, watching her eat. “I must also thank you for saving his life today. He told me about the carriage.”
The fork paused halfway to her mouth at the memory of Morningstar’s breath tickling the hollow of her neck and his solid weight pressing her down into the flowerbed. She forced herself to chew and swallow. “Just doing my job.”
Yarl’s keen brown eyes studied her. “He’s not accustomed to needing protection. I think it unsettles him.” A rueful smile. “His brother Michael, the archangel of Sundland, is reputed to be fearsome with a blade. But Lord Morningstar never had an interest in learning the martial arts. He’s more of an intellectual.” Yarl paused. “Of course, he is quite fit. Flying requires immense strength, and Valoriel designed the angels to have aesthetically pleasing physiques.”
She decided to steer the conversation to a safer topic. “Forty years is a long time to work for someone.” Especially a poxy prat, as Mercy would say. “Do you think about retiring?”
Yarl chuckled. “I threaten to every now and again, but I believe I have another decade in me yet.” He wiped down the countertop. “Who will look after him when I’m gone?”
The remark was made lightly, but she got the sense Yarl did actually worry about Morningstar. “He seems capable of looking after himself,” Cathrynne said.
“In some ways, yes.” Yarl folded the cloth. “In others, not at all. He forgets that not everyone views the world as he does. Time moves differently for him.”
She couldn’t help asking. “How old is he?”
“Over seven hundred years, I believe, though he rarely speaks of his age.” Yarl touched his silver curls. “I was a young man with dark hair and a spring in my step when we first met. Yet Lord Morningstar hasn’t aged a day.”
She contemplated this as she ate. Angels were very different—that much she’d known. But watching everyone around you get old and die while you remained unchanged must be difficult. Perhaps that was why so many of them never left Mount Meru. It was easier to stay among their own kind.
“How long can archangels live?” she asked.
“I am not sure,” Yarl admitted, “but they measure their lives in millennia rather than decades.”
Cathrynne finished her supper in silence. Yarl tried to take her plate, but she shook her head. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”
He conceded with a smile and went to prepare a tray for Morningstar and Mercy, who had returned from buying their riverboat tickets and taken the first evening watch. Cathrynne soaked the pans in soapy water, her thoughts drifting. How strange it must be to watch civilizations rise and fall like the tide. No wonder he seemed so remote. Perhaps it was self-preservation.
As she rinsed the silverware, movement caught her eye. A large crow alit on the windowsill and glared at her through the glass, red eyes unblinking. Cathrynne knew what it meant: a summons from the Morag. She recalled her nightmare and felt a centipede crawl up her spine.
He comes.
The crow launched into the sky with a caustic croak as Yarl bustled into the kitchen. “There’s an almond trifle for dessert,” he said with a wink. “It’s my specialty.”
