Cathrynne thought of the witches at the Nilssons’ house. “Maybe the boy was involved in some kind of gem smuggling ring. He knows too much. Or maybe he steals from them. They kill him. The consul finds out and makes a fuss, so they kill him too.”
Isbail nodded slowly. “Tell me, Rowan, does Barsal Casolaba seem like the sort of man to give an angel’s purple piss about a rockhound from the hills?”
“No, mum. I suppose not.”
“Don’t look so deflated. There may still be something in it. What else? You’re holding back.”
“Not holding back, mum. Just haven’t got there yet.” She watched the Morag’s reaction. “Someone tried to kill Lord Morningstar again today. It was right after we left the mistress. He was almost run down by a coach.”
Isbail Rosach and Marvel Yew exchanged a quick, unreadable glance. “Was he harmed?” Isbail asked.
“No, mum. But someone used lithomancy again. I believe they enchanted the caracals.”
Her face darkened. “Are you accusing me?”
Cathrynne swallowed hard. “Of course not, mum.”
“It was I who requested Lord Morningstar’s presence here,” the Morag said. “Would I do that merely to kill him once he arrived?”
“No, mum.”
Isbail Rosach drummed her rings against the desk. “What does Morningstar plan to do next?”
“Mercy Blackthorn is going with him to Pota Pras. I’ll stay behind in Kota Gelangi to poke around and see what I can find out.”
She looked up sharply. “I think not. You will accompany the archangel to Pota Pras.”
Cathrynne tried not to scowl. “It’s already been decided that Mercy will go.”
Isbail fixed her with a cool stare. “You’ll do as I say. I know of your troubles with the White Foxes in Kirith.”
A queasy knot formed in her stomach.
“They have a chapter in Kota,” she continued, “and they are aware of your presence. It would not be wise for you to stay here alone. Better if you disappear for a day or two.”
“Maybe it was them who attacked Morningstar,” Cathrynne blurted.
“Why?”
“Because they killed Casolaba and don’t want him catching them.”
“And they killed Casolaba because . . .?”
Cathrynne glanced at Marvel Yew, who had been observing the exchange in silence. It was hard to tell what she thought. Cathrynne plunged onward and hoped she wasn’t leaping from a cliff.
“The new gemstone,” she said. “They want it for themselves.”
The Morag looked amused at this heresy. “I will concede that the White Foxes often behave as if they are a law unto themselves, but I have no grounds to accuse them of treason. Their order is under my authority. They are accountable to the High Council. And I have not heard even the faintest whisperings of a new gemstone.”
“Well, I think it exists. You just don’t know about it.”
The Morag seemed to tire of her pertness. “What else?”
“Nothing, mum.” She stared at the carpet to hide her mutinous scowl. “I will do as you say.”
A snort. “Damned right you will.” Isbail Rosach reached into her robes and took out a gem pouch, which she tossed over. “Freshly mined. Learn what you can in Pota Pras and report back when you return to the city.”
Cathrynne tucked the pouch into her belt, partly mollified. Back home, she received a strict gem allotment each month. If she blew through them too fast, she was out of luck. “Thank you, mum.”
