Chapter 21
Cathrynne
Her head throbbed like a second heartbeat. Memory returned in fragments. Leaving the Angel Tower. A car pulling alongside. The Jennies . . .
Cathrynne’s eyes snapped open. She sat up too fast and pain lanced through her temples. She was lying on a four-poster bed with silk pillows and a goosedown comforter. Sconces cast warm yellow light across damask wallpaper. The windows were draped in heavy velvet curtains.
She was still in her cypher uniform, but her whip and cudgel were gone. So were the gem pouches.
Cathrynne swung her legs off the bed, gritting her teeth at a wave of dizziness.
She tried the door first—locked. When she opened the curtains, she saw a vast emerald lawn stretching toward a line of dark woods in the distance. No other buildings were visible, no roads, not a hint of where they’d taken her. The sky was overcast and a fine mist hovered above the grass.
She tried to open the window but it wouldn’t budge.
“Have it your way,” she muttered, picking up an antique chair. It was nice and heavy. She took three steps toward the central window and hurled the chair at the glass.
It rebounded off an invisible barrier with a sound like a struck bell and flew back at her. Cathrynne barely managed to duck as it crashed into an expensive-looking writing desk behind her, snapping one of its legs.
Abjuration magic. They’d left a shield in place.
She looked around, thinking. There wasn’t a single scrap of metal in the room. Even the hinges and doorknob were wood. A room made to hold witches.
But not cyphers.
She picked up the broken chair leg, hid next to the door, and waited.
After an hour or so, she heard footsteps. They paused outside the door. There was a scraping sound as a bar was lifted on the other side. As the door swung inward, Cathrynne brought the chair leg down. It rebounded against another magical shield with such force that her wrist twisted and nearly broke. She cried out, half stunned by the pain.
“I do admire your spirit,” said a cultured male voice, “but I’d hoped we might conduct ourselves with a bit more civility.”
It was the dark-haired witch with streaks of white at his temples. He wore slacks and a tailored coat, and had the sleek, well-fed look of the very wealthy.
“Is it civil to kidnap someone?” she asked, cradling her throbbing arm.
“You left me no choice. I did invite you to come of your own accord.”
She backed away as he entered the room. “Just tell me what you want so we can get this over with.”
“Surely you can guess. I need to know everything Lord Morningstar has uncovered about the kaldurite.”
She gave a mirthless laugh. “Well, someone tried to kill him with it. Was that you?”
The witch frowned. “No.”
She bared her teeth. “See, I believe you. So you can believe me when I tell you I know nothing, except that Barsal Casolaba was murdered for it and so was the boy from Pota Pras.”
“Casolaba.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Now that was a spectacular end. But I had nothing to do with him, either. What I need to know, what is of paramount importance right now, is where Kal Machena and Durian Padulski found the stones.”
“I have no idea,” Cathrynne said.
“You must grasp the urgency for both witches and cyphers in every province,” he continued reasonably. “If we don’t control it, the humans or angels will, and we’ll lose what little power we still have.”
He stopped at the writing desk to survey the damage, looking slightly amused. Cathrynne backed against the windows, but he didn’t pursue her.
“Listen to me,” she said tightly. “I don’t know.”
He smiled. “I’d love to take your word for it, but I must ask for more concrete assurance. So you will give me a sweven of all you have done from the time you left Kirith until yesterday. Once that’s over, you are free to leave.”
