Free Wings of Wrath by C.S. Friedman

effects of sunlight. Which implied that the scrolls and tablets surrounding them were ancient, and probably quite valuable. If so, it was an impressive collection.
    â€œSo,” Ramirus said, sitting down opposite Colivar in a leather-bound chair that creaked beneath his weight. “What brings you to my domain? Besides a desire for social pleasantries, of course.”
    He was smooth, Colivar thought. So smooth. You could never get past that smoothness to read what was in his heart, not unless he wanted you to. That was what made the game so interesting with him.
    â€œI was curious as to whether you would be attending Salvator’s coronation.”
    A muscle along the Magister’s jaw tensed slightly. “I have not yet decided.”
    â€œI hear it’s going to be quite the spectacle.”
    Ramirus shrugged. “I tire of Aurelius spectacles.”
    The shrug was too casual, the tone too dispassionate. You are still involved with that family, Colivar observed. That is interesting .
    â€œIf that is all you came to learn,” Ramirus continued, “you could have sent a letter. The answer would have been the same and the delivery would have cost you considerably less.”
    â€œPerhaps I enjoy your company.”
    â€œOf course,” Ramirus said pleasantly. “And perhaps tomorrow the sun will rise in the west.”
    Now it was Colivar who smiled. “I could make it so, if it pleased my host.”
    â€œIndeed. I would not put it past you to try. Though I imagine even your formidable power has its limits.” Ramirus dismissed the thought with a sharp wave of one hand. “You came here to talk to me, Colivar, so speak your mind. I have little taste for pointless pleasantries these days. And be forewarned, if I find your query is not worth my time I may yet charge you for your damages to my estate.”
    Colivar leaned back in his chair. It was a posture designed to look casual, collegial, but the intensity of his gaze rendered it something quite different, and he knew that Ramirus would recognize it for what it was: the stillness of a predator. “You recall the day the Souleater appeared, yes? Outside Danton’s palace?”
    Ramirus nodded; one corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “Hard to forget.”
    Stained glass wings filtering the sun, knife-edged whip-tail slicing through air and flesh with equal ease, agonizing beauty wrapping itself around a man’s soul . . . Colivar shook off the memory with effort. “As I recall, your arrival at the site with a Guardian by your side was rather . . . serendipitous. Rather incredibly so, to be frank. I find myself . . . curious.”
    One white eyebrow arched upward. “Do you really expect me to answer that?”
    â€œIt never hurts to ask.”
    â€œKnowledge has its price, Colivar.”
    â€œI did not say I expected it to be free.”
    Ramirus steepled his fingers thoughtfully. Dust motes stirred in a thin beam of light beside him. At last he said, “The hawk. The one that fought the Souleater outside Danton’s palace. What happened to it?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”
    â€œThink what you like. It fell in battle and was gone by the time I went looking for it. I know no more of its destiny than you do.”
    â€œAnd its true identity?”
    â€œA witch, apparently. I have only guesswork on that count, the same as anyone. But it seems the likely answer.”
    Ramirus nodded. “Then here is the answer to your own question. Fadir came to me and asked for help in manipulating Danton. I realized that the only person capable of that—if anyone was—was his wife, the High Queen Gwynofar. And she . . .” His expression darkened slightly. “Let us say she had good reason not to approach her husband at the time. So I sought out the one person she trusted most, her half-brother Rhys,