Constellations wheeled above in the high dome of the sky. Durian had memorized them all, pointing them out on clear nights when they camped in the hills. The Ladder and the Throne. The Broken Feather. See it, Kal?
Now she made him a silent promise. She would escape. She would survive. And someday, she would make the witches pay.
Chapter 14
Gavriel
He pretended to consult the map, but his gaze kept lifting to the cypher seated across from him. She was staring out the window, her right elbow propped on the armrest and her left hand, the broken one, resting on her thigh.
Although Rowan looked deep in thought, her expression was not fixed. A succession of tiny changes flitted across her features like gusts of wind across water. A slight smile, followed by a tightening of the lips and a crease across her brow as some new musing made her frown.
He would give much to know what she was thinking about—then reminded himself that such things were not his concern. When he had learned that she would be escorting him to Pota Pras, Gavriel had felt apprehensive and elated at the same time. So far, he had kept his head sharing close quarters with her.
And why not? In his mind, he had reframed the incident with the coach so that his racing pulse was due to a near brush with death, not a near brush with Cathrynne Rowan.
He did enjoy her company. She was far less predictable than most humans or witches he had met. He sensed hidden depths and found her bluntness refreshing. The revelation that she feared the Sinn, for example, was a natural impulse, but he suspected few of her sisters would admit to it. Gavriel had no disdain for cyphers. He admired their devotion to duty. It was entirely the fault of their angelic fathers?—
The train jolted to a stop in a cloud of steam and hissing brakes. The depot was a tiny platform with a sign naming it Jarbidge Station. Gavriel surveyed the desolate hills silhouetted beyond the window, wondering if Rowan wasn’t right. Finding anyone out here felt like a fool’s errand.
She slung her pack over one shoulder. They joined a dozen miners who hunched against the biting wind. None spared them a second glance.
“Last stop before the Western Trail,” the conductor called from the steps.
“When do you come back this way?” Rowan asked.
“Dawn tomorrow.” He tipped his cap to her and climbed into the train as it pulled away.
Heavy machinery had carved parallel grooves into the earth leading toward a distant smudge of lights. The miners headed off down the rutted road. Rowan tugged her collar higher, blonde hair blowing about her face, as Gavriel consulted the map. He pointed to a faint track running northeast. “Red Dog Camp should be over those hills.”
The moon was full and the sky thick with stars, illuminating the rugged landscape in a pale glow as they set off.
“Have you ever met the Morag?” she asked after several minutes of silence.
“Once,” he said. “At a conference on the extractive industries hosted by Kievad Rus. She seemed like a formidable woman.”
Rowan gave a low laugh. “Scary is more like it. She has loads of scars from fighting the Sinn.”
“Most witches in Satu Jos do.”
“How many Morags have you known?”
A slight smile touched his lips. “Many, Rowan. Yet sometimes I wonder how much longer the current system will last.”
“What do you mean?”
He hadn’t meant to broach the subject, yet he didn’t mind speaking freely with her. “Only that I see all the tiny fractures running through Sion and watch them widen every year. The ancient balances of power are shifting. Take the Sinn, for example. They are malevolent, yet far more real to most people than the founders of this world.”
“You speak of the triple god.”
He inclined his head in agreement. “My father rarely leaves Mount Meru anymore. Travian and Minerva withdrew from public life an aeon ago.”
“Do you know what caused the schism between them?” she asked.
“No. It was before my time and Valoriel will not speak of it.” He paused. “There is speculation, of course.”
Her eyes lit up. “Please tell me. I have always wondered.” When he hesitated, she added, “Minerva is dear to my heart even though she has been gone for so long. The cyphers hold her closest, I think. She saved us.”
Gavriel knew the gruesome history, how the infants had been killed. It was a dark time. He disliked idle gossip, but found himself softening. What harm could come from telling her?
