“Careful,” Cathrynne hissed.
“Trying,” Mercy snapped back. “Not exactly a featherweight, is he? Ironic, that.”
They reached the bottom landing, both breathing hard. The grandfather clock in the foyer read 10:06. As they shuffled across the entryway, the front door swung open. “Quickly,” Yarl said, glancing at the sky. He lowered his voice. “I paid the driver well, but his courage may not last if questioned by seraphim.”
The caracals turned their heads at Cathrynne and Mercy’s approach, long, tufted ears twitching. The driver tipped his cap. “I am Lucio Tavora. I will get you across the border, never fear.”
Years of working the streets had made Cathrynne a quick study of character. Lucio Tavora had a bluff, honest face and calloused hands from years of handling the reins.
“Thank you, Master Tavora,” she said. “Perhaps you can help us?”
“Of course!” He leapt down from the bench. Together they maneuvered Gavriel’s limp form through the carriage door and onto one of the long, cushioned seats. Mercy and Yarl climbed in after. Cathrynne hesitated, scanning the skies one last time.
No winged shapes eclipsed the moon. No shadows crept along the walls.
“Come, Rowan,” Yarl called softly. “It’s 10:08.”
She joined them in the carriage, and the driver clicked his tongue. The team of six muscular caracals sprang forward, the diligence picking up speed as it reached the broad, straight avenue of Rua Capitolana.
“Where are we headed?” Mercy asked, bracing herself as they rounded another corner.
“Arjevica,” Yarl replied. “We will bring him to his sister, Suriel.”
“The archangel of Kievad Rus?” Cathrynne bit her lip, worried. “What makes you think this one can be trusted?”
“Suriel favors him,” Yarl replied. “She is dangerous, but not to her brother. And she despises Haniel. There is no chance they are conspiring together.”
“Why does she hate Haniel?” Cathrynne asked, somewhat mollified.
“I cannot say, but they are very different. Haniel shuns political intrigue—or pretends to—while Suriel thrives on it. And of course, their provinces are ancient rivals.”
“Short of Mount Meru, another Angel Tower is the only place he’ll be safe,” Mercy agreed. “Kirith is too far away. But Arjevica is just over the border.”
Cathrynne had not been to the Rus capital since she was taken from her childhood home at the age of eleven. She’d never expected to see it again, but getting Gavriel to a sanctuary where he could heal was all that mattered now.
Ten past ten came and went. She took out the pocket watch again and watched the minute hand creep around the dial, half-expecting the carriage door to swing open and reveal Haniel’s grinning face. Or worse, to see nothing at all; to blink and discover Gavriel dead or vanished from the coach. But the mirror hour of 11:11 passed without incident, and the caracals continued their steady lope through the streets.
The diligence passed the diplomatic quarter, and then the fruit and vegetable market, its stalls shuttered for the night. Finally, they reached the outskirts of Kota Gelangi and the main east-west road that ran all the way to Bactra.
The next mirror hour—12:12—slipped by, yet Cathrynne felt no relief. Gavriel lay motionless, his breathing so shallow she could barely see his chest rise and fall. Heartsick, she took his hand. It felt frigid, and she chafed his fingers, tried to lend him her warmth.
Across from her, Yarl reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the jeweler’s box she had taken from D’Amato. He lifted the lid and the kaldurite’s chill sparkle filled the carriage. Just a tiny shard had nearly killed an archangel.
“We will give it to Suriel as proof of this murder attempt,” he said, an edge of anger in his voice. “She will tell their father Valoriel, and he will see that justice is done.”
The road to Kievad Rus wound through the southern reaches of the Zamir Hills, which were thickly forested. Sleet lashed the coach windows, turning the world beyond into a blur of shadow. It was the middle of the night by now, and they saw no other conveyances on the road.
Mercy seized her chance to doze off, but Cathrynne felt too wired to sleep. At each mirror hour—1:11, 2:22, 3:33—she braced for the worst. But Haniel never appeared. She must not know of their escape yet. Perhaps she was confident her ploy had worked. After all, the stone had gone undiscovered for nearly a fortnight. Another day or two, and Cathrynne felt sure it would have finished him.
But he was not meant to die in that bed. He had another destiny.
Her eyes glazed over and she saw Julia Camara’s face through the bars of the kloster.
“When he falls from grace, you must not interfere. You must let him serve his penance, even if it lasts forever.”
“Penance for what? And why would I interfere?”
The seer’s eyes held a glint of pity. “Because you love him.”
