The Drowning City

Chapter 15

After Adam had doctored her wounds, Isyllt cleaned up as best she could while Vienh went out for food. The room still stank like a surgery in spite of the cracked-open window. She felt better having an emergency exit, though she doubted she’d survive the two-story drop in her present condition.

“How much money do we have left?” she asked, trying to undo her shirt buttons one-handed and mourning all the clean clothes she’d abandoned in the Khas. She could sell the silver chains in her kit if she had to, but she carried nothing else of value.

“Enough for a few days here or a cheap passage home. Sleeping-on-deck cheap. I hope you don’t need anyone bribed.”

“At this point it’d be easier to kill people.” Her fingers slipped off a button for the third time and she swore.

Adam’s smile was a ghost in the deepening gloom. “It usually is.”

“They’ll have someone watching the embassy by tomorrow. At least the supply ship is already on its way.” She cursed foreign assignments and buttons silently. “I have to get my ring back.”

“Are you sure that’s smart?”

“Losing it in the first place was stupid enough. I’m not leaving without it.” She fumbled another button and snarled.

“Need help?” Adam asked, nearly smiling.

Pride fought pragmatism and lost soundly. “Yes, damn it.”

She watched his nimble calloused fingers and swallowed a laugh. He caught her expression and his lips quirked as he undid the last button and helped her slip the remnants of the sleeve off her left arm. Her linen undershirt was stiff with dried blood and sweat-it itched, but not so badly that she’d rather be naked.

Adam turned toward the door an instant before someone knocked. He eased the latch up, double-checking before he opened it wide enough for Vienh to slip in. She carried bamboo cartons of food and-saints bless her-a change of clothes. Isyllt’s stomach clenched at the smell of curry.

Dusk bells tolled slow and sonorous as they ate, and Vienh lit the room’s single lamp. Isyllt was halfway through a carton of rice and lentils when Adam tensed again. A heartbeat later someone else knocked. Isyllt swallowed a mouthful and glanced at Vienh-the smuggler shook her head sharply.

“I wasn’t followed, I swear,” she whisper-hissed when Adam glared at her.

He stood, easing a dagger from his boot as he edged toward the door; the quarters were too close for swords. Isyllt thought of her knife safely packed across the city and swore under her breath even as she edged out of the door’s line of sight.

“Please let me in,” a familiar voice asked softly. “I’ll attract more attention standing out here.”

Vienh drew her knife and moved behind the door. Adam glanced at Isyllt. “Only one,” he mouthed. She nodded slowly, and he reached for the latch.

Siddir slipped in-cautiously, when he saw Adam’s blade. The mercenary checked the hall quickly and shut the door. Siddir pulled a scarf away from his tousled curls. Isyllt tensed, waiting for soldiers’ footsteps, for the brush of hot magic, but none came.

Siddir smiled at her expression and bowed, stopping when Adam’s knife drew closer to his throat.

“They’ll charge more if you make a mess in the room, you know,” he said.

Isyllt started to cross her arms, but thought better of it. “How did you find me?”

Siddir cocked an eyebrow. “I am a spy, after all. I wanted to talk to you without the whole Khas looking on.”

She gestured toward the hard wooden chair. “So sit and talk.”

His gaze slid along her bandaged arms. “Did that happen at the execution?”

“Yes. You were there?”

“I was, but I didn’t feel the need to be in the thick of things. Luckily for me.”

“What happened? Is the Khas looking for me?”

“The Khas is a bit preoccupied at the moment. Nineteen people are dead, not counting the Dai Tranh-three councillors, the rest bureaucrats, servants, and soldiers. And it turns out the attack may have only been a distraction.”

Isyllt retrieved her food, nodding for him to continue.

“While all the shooting and dying was happening, more rebels kidnapped the Viceroy’s daughter. Lady Shamina was injured in the fight. Faraj is…distraught. I’m afraid recovering you won’t be the first thing on his mind.”

Isyllt swallowed and blinked. The man fleeing with a child-Murai. “Have they made demands for her return?”

“We’ve heard nothing.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “We?”

Siddir smiled. “A figure of speech. As I told you, my loyalty is not to the Khas.”

“Where is it, exactly?”

“To the Empire.” His smile stretched at her expression. “To the Empire, but not to Rahal.”

She set the curry down again. The pressure in her head had become a stabbing pain above one eye. She rubbed her temple, wincing as the movement tugged stitches.

“Would you please just tell me what the hell is going on?”

One brown cheek dimpled as he nodded. “The Emperor’s dreams of expansion are no secret in Ta’ashlan, but not all the Senate supports him. The Senate has consistently refused to increase taxes for military spending. But that doesn’t seem to be stopping Rahal. The money keeps coming in-never fast enough to be conspicuous, but enough that some senators have become suspicious.”

Isyllt reached for her cup of ginger beer and wished it were something stronger. “And they think it’s coming from Symir.”

“I’m almost certain of it. But we’re not sure where. At first we thought he was skimming from the tithes, but the Khas’s records balance-far too neatly, for a known hive of graft and corruption. Something’s happening off the books, but I don’t know what.”

It was Isyllt’s turn to smile. “I do. But,” she continued as Siddir cocked his head, “how will this be of any use to me? Giving the Empire a legitimate source of wealth will do nothing to keep Assari armies away from Selafaïn shores.”

“Expansion is not the will of the people in Assar. Rahal has supporters amongst the generals and the arms-makers, of course, but too many families still mourn those who died in the Ninayan campaign, or in Iseth, or here. Assar is large enough-there are things we want from Selafai, but another vassal country isn’t one of them.”

“And you think proof of this embezzlement would be enough to stop the Emperor?”

“Yes. Some of the senators are…willing to take steps.”

She pressed her tongue against her teeth, tasted ginger-sweet and treason. If he was lying, she couldn’t tell.

“Sivahra has a diamond mine. The Viceroy is smuggling the stones out in private ships.”

Across the room Vienh stiffened, lips parting. She subsided without speaking, though.

Siddir blinked. “Well. I’ve been underestimating Faraj, it seems, if he’s kept something like that a secret. I wonder where Rahal is selling them.” He shrugged the question aside. “We need proof.”

“I think I know where to look. I’ll need to speak to my contacts.”

He nodded. “I encourage haste. If the situation here continues to deteriorate, the Emperor will send troops, and everything will become more complicated.”

“I have another question for you, my lord, while we’re being so forthcoming. How well do you know Asheris al Seth?”

He didn’t blink, quite, but he stilled for a heartbeat. “Ah. Yes. Once, I knew him well. We went to the university together. We were friends.” The word came out too quickly, too blandly. “He had no designs to be an Imperial agent in those days. He was a middling mage at best-a lot of talent, but little dedication, more interested in carousing than serious study. His connection to the throne was too remote to concern anyone, and mostly he was left to his own devices.”

“But?”

“Seven years ago, something changed.” He frowned, smoothed his face again. “I still don’t know what it was. He joined an expedition into the desert-a spirit cataloging trip, very ordinary. Al Najid was with them as well. When they returned, no one heard from Asheris for several months, and when he finally emerged he was…different. More focused, more reserved. More powerful. It wasn’t long afterward that he began to rise in the Emperor’s confidences.”

Isyllt swallowed, her stomach cold. Seven years of feeding off a bound spirit. A spirit powerful enough to make a man immortal. Yes, that might change someone. Her left hand tightened before the pain stopped it. No doubt his fear of death was real enough, even if his distaste for bindings was a lie.

He would come after her. It was a secret worth protecting. He knew the taste of her magic-her magic and her skin. At least, she thought bitterly, no one could track her by her ring.

“How can I reach you?” she asked Siddir.

“I have a box at the Imperial Post. Leave word there, and I’ll get it within the day.” He started to rise, glanced at Adam to make sure the way was free of blades before he finished. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Thank me when this is over and I’m still alive. I’ll leave a message when I know more.”

When Siddir and Vienh had gone and Isyllt had arranged to send word to Zhirin, she sat down to finish her cold dinner. There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t hurt between her forehead and feet, and her stitches itched. It wasn’t safe to sleep, but she couldn’t fight it much longer.

“Sleep,” Adam said. “I’ll keep watch.”

“To hell with it,” she muttered, sitting heavily on the bed. “I’m not running anywhere else today.”

Slats creaked as she lay down. The mattress smelled of mildew and old sweat; she wondered about fleas. By the time her eyes closed, she’d stopped caring.

The alarm bells began at three-quarters past noon, shattering the stretched-thin peace that filled the Laii parlor. Zhirin stumbled over a line of verse, dropped the book she’d been reading from. Fei Minh’s cup rattled against her saucer.

Zhirin cursed her cowardice-she should have attended the execution, though the thought had turned her stomach. But her mother disdained public bloodshed, and Zhirin had allowed herself to be convinced to stay home, to speak of nothing and read poetry aloud when neither of them had the nerve to voice their accusations and concerns.

Zhirin stood, and Fei Minh followed.

“No,” her mother said as Zhirin turned toward the door. “Don’t even think about it. Stay and wait for the criers.”

Her spine stiffened at Fei Minh’s tone, but Zhirin had never been much good at rebelling. And it was no use running anywhere if she didn’t know what was happening. Instead she nodded and hurried toward the bathroom.

Water splashed into the basin, rising quickly to the brim. She stilled the surface with a pass of her hand and pushed her nerves away. “Jabbor,” she whispered to her rippling reflection.

No image came. He was beyond the river’s sight. Isyllt’s name brought no response either, nor did Faraj’s. Zhirin bit back an angry hiss, rinsed her hands in ritual ablution before unplugging the drain and sending the water back to the river. She dried her hands and returned to the parlor, and the volume of Laii clan poetry.

The criers started an hour later. Zhirin and her mother stood on the front step and listened to story after story-the Dai Tranh had attacked the Khas; the Tigers had stormed the execution; the Viceroy had been shot; Asheris had been shot; the Vicereine had been attacked; the Vicereine’s daughter had been attacked. Zhirin’s stomach twisted tighter and tighter at each new rumor-no matter how wild, all agreed that the Tigers had been at the execution. But no one could agree on who was truly dead.

The rain drove them inside before the dusk bells, and Fei Minh helped Mau with supper while Zhirin paced the front hall. Someone knocked at the door as they laid out dishes. Zhirin hurried to answer it, fingers knotting in the hem of her shirt. Surely the Khas would send a message to her mother. Surely Jabbor would let her know what had happened-

A young mehti girl stood on the doorstep, rain dripping off the hood of her oilcloak.

“I’ve a message for Zhirin Laii.”

She swallowed. “I’m Zhirin.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed as she glanced through the open door. “Isyllt wants to meet you.”

At least someone was alive. “When? Where?”

“At dawn, at the Bridge of Splinters.”

Zhirin tightened her jaw to keep her mouth from falling open. If Isyllt had left the Khas-“Do you know what happened today?”

The girl shook her head. “Only rumors. What answer should I give her?”

“I’ll be there. Wait a moment.” She ducked into the tradesman’s parlor, fished a few pennies out of the tip-box. The girl palmed them neatly and they vanished into a pocket. “Thank you. And tell her…Never mind. Just tell her I’ll be there.”

The girl nodded and hurried down the steps.

“What is it?” Fei Minh asked as Zhirin shut and bolted the door.

“Only Vasilios’s housekeeper sending a message.” Her voice caught on his name, but at least she had reason enough for that. “She wants me to help dispose of the house tomorrow.” Fei Minh might not be swayed by sentiment, but the proper disposition of wealth would move her.

Her mother frowned, and for an instant Zhirin thought she would argue. But all she said was, “Dinner’s ready,” and turned back to the kitchen.

Zhirin followed her to the table, hoping food would clear away the taste of lies.

Zhirin woke with a start, darkness pressed tight against her window. She’d told Mau to wake her well before dawn, but she was alone, her door latched.

She jumped as a pebble rattled against the shutter, then let out a breath. She threw off the covers, wincing as she caught her toe on the edge of a rug, and hurried to the window. Easing the latch open, she waited a few heartbeats to be sure no more rocks were inbound before she leaned out.

Jabbor crouched on the wall between her house and their neighbor’s. For an instant relief was so sharp in her chest she thought she’d cry. Shaking it off, she closed the window and pulled on clothes. She paused in the hallway, listening carefully, but her mother still slept. Sleep charms, at least, were easy to manage.

The garden was a walled-in square behind the house, shaded by a pair of spice-fragrant cassia trees. In the center a fountain welled-or hiccuped, now; she’d never gotten around to fixing it. Dwarf kheymen slept beside the water, their bodies barely as long as her hand, tails sharp as whips. Their eyes flashed gold and green as she padded across the damp mossy flagstones, but they didn’t move. Her parents’ room overlooked the garden, but that hadn’t stopped her when she was fourteen, sneaking out with Sia. She looked up anyway, to be sure the curtains hung straight and still.

Jabbor waited in the shadow of the wall, apparently unhurt. Zhirin thanked all the waters silently. She breathed in the smell of his clean sweat as he took her in his arms, salt and cedar and drying rain.

“What happened?” she asked, pulling away sooner than she would have liked.

“I went to the execution.”

She folded her arms under her chest. “Why?”

“Because it’s our right to speak out, and what use is that if no one will? If the Dai Tranh had tried talking before burning, things might be different.”

“You could have been killed!”

He shrugged. “I nearly was, and the Khas wasn’t the worst of it.”

She turned away, paced to the edge of the fountain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have worried.”

“And I wasn’t worried today, hearing the bells and not knowing what happened? Listening to criers say you were dead?” Her voice rose, and she forced it down again. The fountain choked and gurgled.

She drew a breath, exhaled the scent of damp stone and cinnamon. No use in being angry about it now. Instead she propped a knee against the fountain, damp soaking her trousers as she dipped a hand into the water. Only a fraction of the Mir’s rush and depth, but it still soothed her. The problem was easy to find-a buildup of sand and clay in the narrow pipe. A bit of pressure, a gentle push, and the debris broke apart and washed away. The fountain gave one last hiccup, then began to splash rhythmically again.

Jabbor smiled, shaking his head. “Sometimes I forget what you can do.”

She sighed. “Everyone does, don’t they? That’s what I’m good for.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I don’t mean it that way. I know how you’ve helped us. I know what you’ve risked.”

“Not all of it, you don’t.” She cut him off. “First, tell me what happened today.”

“I went to the execution to speak, but the Dai Tranh came too. They started shooting and everything went to hell. They attacked your foreign witch too. She escaped with us, then left with her own people. I’ve heard rumors about deaths and kidnappings, but I don’t know what’s true or not, yet. None of the Tigers were hurt. I saw the mage al Seth fall, but I don’t think he’s dead.”

She thought of Asheris swallowing an inferno and shivered. “No, I suspect he’s hard to kill.” She scrubbed her wet hand against her thigh. “I found out what’s happening with those diamonds.” Her eyes darted toward her mother’s windows again, and she didn’t look away until she was done telling him about the diamonds, and her mother, and Jodiya’s threats. As she fell silent, the midnight bells began to toll-once, twice, thrice, deep and solemn.

“Ancestors,” Jabbor swore when the last echo died. He caught her arm, tugged her gently into the shadows. “Come with me. The Tigers can keep you safe. We can be in the jungle before dawn.”

Zhirin succumbed to temptation for a moment, leaned her head against his shoulder and let his warmth soak into her. “I can’t.” She straightened, stepped back. “Not tonight. I have to meet Isyllt tomorrow.”

“Zhir-Leave it. At this rate her supplies won’t come in time and the city isn’t safe. The Dai Tranh and the Khas will be after her.”

Her jaw tightened. “Then she’ll need my help, won’t she?”

“This isn’t a game!”

“No.” Her chest tightened at his expression. “Was I ever a game piece to you?”

He opened his mouth, shut it again. “Not at first. When I first saw you, you were a pretty girl, a girl I wanted to walk with, to flirt with. Then I found out who you were, and…yes. Yes, I thought of what you could do for us, and decided it was worth the risk. But I swear, Zhir, I won’t use you. I won’t be like the Khas that way, like the Dai Tranh.”

She stretched onto her toes to kiss him. “I believe you. But I’m still staying. You don’t have anyone else to overhear Faraj’s plans.”

“I’m sorry I underestimated you.”

She flushed. “It’s not bravery,” she said, forcing her voice light. “I don’t want to sleep in the jungle.”

He laughed and bent to kiss her again. It was harder to pull away this time.

“You should go,” she whispered. “I need some sleep before dawn. Can I leave word in the usual places?”

“I think so.” Heat soaked her arms where he held her. “Be careful, Zhir.”

“You too.” She kissed him again, a quick brush of lips, and fled back inside.