Chapter 16
Cathrynne
She stared at the sluggish brown current of the Bessamer River, thinking that she really ought to thank that beast for stepping in before she made the worst mistake of her life. She had kissed an angel and there was no point pretending it would have ended there.
How she missed the cold, haughty Lord Morningstar! At least he had been manageable. But Gavriel . . . The heat in his eyes when he looked at her stole her wits. Damn it all.
The consequence of such couplings had been drilled into her since the day she arrived at the chapter house in Arioch. If the angel’s seed took root in your womb, you could take a draught to induce abortion, but that wasn’t guaranteed to work.
Cyphers never survived the births. The Sinn clawed their way out. Their own mothers were the first to die—but not the last.
Gavriel Morningstar was no ordinary seraphim. He was an archangel. The seventh son of Valoriel, a god. What might their union produce?
A terrible thought came. What if the Dark-bringer was her own child?
Cathrynne gripped the rail, swallowing bile. The seer had called her by name, had known exactly who she was. Every detail of that rainy night at the kloster was branded on her memory.
When he falls from grace, you must not interfere. You must let him serve his penance, even if it lasts forever.
A single day ago, Cathrynne could not have imagined Lord Morningstar falling from grace. He was the most devout of the angelic host. Rigorous, emotionless, and always correct. Yet at Red Dog Camp, she had glimpsed another man. One who came a hair’s breadth from breaking his vows.
The word penance lodged in her mind like a splinter of glass. Gavriel had used that word himself. The Rod of Penance. He said it opened a portal to the Plain of Contemplation, which sounded pleasant but wasn’t at all.
Cathrynne mulled over the vision she’d had in Felicity’s office. The Dark Rider. Stars. A pair of doves, their beaks touching. The Crossroads.
Yes, she saw it now. The Dark Rider brought a dire warning. If she fell in love with Gavriel Morningstar, it would alter the course of many things—and not for the better.
Cathrynne retreated into silence for the rest of the trip back to Kota Gelangi. It wounded Gavriel. She saw it in the tightness of his jaw. The man who had bantered about cheese, who had held her hand and sheltered her with a wing—who had kissed with utter abandon—disappeared. In his place returned Lord Morningstar, high-handed and arrogant.
Thank the three gods.
“We arrive within the hour.” The voice behind her was clipped.
Cathrynne didn’t turn from the rail. “I know.”
She sensed him lingering, perhaps waiting for more, but she kept her eyes fixed on the churning water below. After a moment, he turned away, the cabin door closing with more force than necessary.
“I trust the journey to Pota Pras was eventful?” Yarl asked as he greeted them at the front door of the manor house.
You have no idea, Cathrynne thought, dropping her pack in the foyer.
“Partly,” Gavriel replied. “How were things in my absence?”
“Well, your return is timely,” Yarl continued, following them into the drawing room. “Barsal Casolaba’s funeral is scheduled for this afternoon. Your attendance is expected.”
Gavriel looked annoyed. “I suppose I have no choice. When?”
“The procession begins at three. You have been allocated a position of honor behind the immediate family.” He gestured to a stack of broadsheets on the table, all blaring headlines about the lavish funeral. “The city mourns.”
“As well they should for such a paragon of virtue,” Gavriel remarked in acid tones. “Where is Cypher Blackthorn?”
“She said she had an errand to run,” Yarl replied.
“Do you know when she plans to return?” Cathrynne asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
She cursed inwardly. She’d hoped Mercy could escort Morningstar to the funeral.
