She tried to shake off the memory, but a small, terrible voice wondered if she was doing the right thing. What if Gavriel died before he committed whatever crime lay in the future? Would she spare the world the upheaval the Morag promised?
She rubbed her forehead. Too many tangled dreams. Too many visions she could not make sense of. But the man lying with his head in her lap was real. And she knew in her heart that she could not let him die, no matter what it cost.
Cathrynne counted Gavriel’s labored breaths and tried to work through the events of the last week. The value of kaldurite was obvious. For an ambitious man like Casolaba, if he could get enough of it, he might make himself a king. There had been kings and queens in Sion once, very long ago. Cathrynne learned that in her history classes, though she’d never paid close attention in school.
Perhaps Casolaba and Haniel had been in league together, and then had a falling out. It was also obvious why angels would not want the existence of kaldurite to be widely known—it could kill them.
As for the witches . . . well, it would give one faction an edge over the other. Plus, if the witches failed to control the kaldurite supply, they could easily be defeated by a human army.
She thought of what Gavriel had said when they hiked through the hills to Red Dog Camp.
I see all the tiny fractures running through Sion, and watch them widen every year. The ancient balances of power are shifting.
Kaldurite, if someone possessed it in abundance, would more than shift that balance. It would overturn it completely.
“We’re making good time despite the weather,” Yarl observed, breaking into her dark musings. “We should reach the border before dawn?—”
The coach slowed, then lurched to a stop. “What now?” Mercy growled, waking in an instant.
“Stay here,” Cathrynne said. “I’ll have a look.”
She readied a projective gemstone in her fist. Then she opened the door and jumped down into frozen mud. Wind drove the sleet sideways, stinging her eyes. She walked to the front of the diligence, where the driver climbed down to meet her. Frost rimed the brim of his hat.
“We need to haul that out of the way,” he said, pointing to a large tree branch blocking the road.
Cathrynne approached warily, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The thick part of the branch looked jagged. Dead wood. The storm must have broken it off.
She was bending to drag it to the side of the road when she caught a faint whiff of char. One of the caracals growled low in its throat.
She knew that smell. It was the same one from the Nilssons’ living room.
She threw a blast of projective magic into the trees. An instant later, she was lifted up and hurled bodily against the coach. The impact drove the breath from her lungs. She lay there in the frozen mud, gasping silently, until a strong hand dragged her underneath.
“Poxy bastards,” Mercy grumbled, hurling a spell of her own into the trees. She lay belly-down in the frozen mud next to Cathrynne. “It has to be the Jennies.”
Cathrynne dug into her own gem pouch, seeking a particular stone. She knew them all by touch alone, and red jasper made her think of lions and archers. Like an arrow in flight, it kept its potency over long distances. Her fingers found a chunk and she threw another battering wave of ley into the trees.
“I think they forced here.” Cathrynne whispered. “Got ahead of us and set a trap.”
Another onslaught came from the forest. The coach rocked violently and the caracals yowled in their traces.
“One more direct hit and it might roll,” Mercy warned.
Cathrynne thought of Gavriel and his elderly secretary inside the coach. The diligence was large and heavy. Once it tipped, they’d never be able to right it again.
“Hang on.” Mercy ducked back into the diligence, emerging seconds later. “Get Morningstar across the border,” she said. “I’ll find you in Arjevica.”
Cathrynne stared. “What? I’m not leaving you behind!”
Mercy grinned, her teeth white in the darkness. She held up the kaldurite, the stone shifting colors in the gloom. “What can they do to me?”
“I’ll stay,” Cathrynne insisted. “Give me the stone. You go with Morningstar?—”
Another blast of ley knocked her back into the icy mud. She clawed her way up, ears buzzing and little jolts of electricity dancing along her skin.
Mercy stood untouched, her blue-gray eyes stormy. “Go, Cathrynne. Gavriel needs you. I’ll catch up.”
She strode to the branch blocking the road, grabbed it one-handed, and hurled it aside. Then she plunged into the dark woods.
