The Drowning City

Part III Deep Water
Chapter 16

Bright chimes faded as dawn crept damp and gray through the streets of Merrowgate, replacing nocturnal business with diurnal. From the front of a narrow tea shop, its windows opened wide to catch the breeze, Isyllt watched shopkeepers unroll awnings over the sidewalk, set out crates and barrels. Children wheeled carts of fruit and bread onto the bridge and sat on the warped wooden railings, legs dangling as they called to passersby. Others crouched with fishing lines on the slick steps of the canal.

A cool morning, but Isyllt sweated and shivered in turns beneath her cloak. Her magic fought off any infection that crept into her blood, but the battles left her feverish. If she had the luxury of half a day’s sleep, she’d hardly notice it.

Her back itched with drying sweat and paranoia-she twitched at every sudden footfall, every flickering shadow, but moving made her harder to track, and people in Merrowgate seemed to make a habit of minding their own business. No one’s head turned at another cloaked figure. With any luck, the men’s clothes she wore-all that would fit-might fool a casual glance. Adam had laughed as she bound her breasts, but Zhirin, at least, had looked twice before recognizing her.

The girl returned to the table, carefully holding three bamboo cups. Ribbons of steam twined and tattered as she set them down and turned back to the counter for milk and honey. Isyllt cradled lacquered wood between her gloved hands-hiding bandages now. Not much warmth seeped through, and her left hand stung, but the gesture was comforting.

“What now?” Zhirin asked. Soft, but not furtive; casual-the girl was learning.

“I have to find my ring. And who knows, maybe that will lead me to Murai as well.”

“Do you think that will change anything? If you bring her back?”

Isyllt shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps they’d send me home in chains on an Imperial ship, instead of killing me.” She still hadn’t told anyone about Asheris, though she couldn’t say exactly why she felt the need to keep his secrets. Or why his lies still stung when she thought about them.

“Will you try to help her?”

Somewhere on the street a child laughed and she thought of the girl standing on the edge of the volcano, face flushed in delight at Asheris’s magic tricks. No child deserved to suffer for their parents, or for their country, but they always did. “If I find her.” She’d seen what happened to people who tried to live for everyone but themselves-most often they ended up dying for nothing. “If not, the more distracted the Khas is right now, the better.” She couldn’t help a quick glance toward Adam, but he sat silent as a statue, his eyes turned to the street.

Zhirin’s lips thinned and Isyllt waited for the recriminations, but the girl only stirred her tea, adding milk and honey till it was the same shade as her skin. “How will you find the ring?”

“If I’m close enough I’ll feel it. But for anything farther than a building away I need to cast a finding. For that I’ll need space, a map of the area, and a stone-probably quartz. Another diamond would be better, but I doubt I’ll find one of those in the market.”

“No-” Zhirin paused, frowning. “Do you remember, was Vasilios wearing any rings when…we found him?”

Pressing her tongue between her teeth, Isyllt tried to remember all the details-the cold flicker of the witchlight, the old man’s discolored face, one gnarled hand curled against the carpet…

“I don’t think so,” she said after a moment.

“His hands swelled in the rainy season.” Zhirin’s voice caught, throat working as she swallowed. “He sometimes took his rings off when he wasn’t working. They might still be in the house. I’ll check.”

She was quiet for a moment and the sounds of the street rippled over them, the muted rattle and clatter from the kitchen. “Jabbor wants me to go with him. Into the jungle. He thinks he can keep me safe.”

Isyllt sipped her drink. The shop used a lot of cardamom; the taste spread rich and bittersweet across the back of her mouth. “Do you think that?”

Zhirin’s mouth twisted. “I don’t know. I would have, only a month ago. But I think you’re right-I can do more here. I hope so, at least.”

“Do you know any more about the next shipment?”

“Not the schedule. But the ship is the Yhan Ti, docked southside at the seventh berth.” She stared at her milky tea as if she meant to scry it, set it down barely tasted. “I’m going to the house. Is there anything you need, besides the stone?”

“Money, or anything I can easily pawn in the market.”

The girl’s forehead creased, but she nodded. “If I get a mirror, can I use it to contact you?”

“Yes. Just say my name. I’ll hear you.”

“All right.” Zhirin pulled a purse out of her pocket, stacked brass and copper coins on the table. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Adam raised his cup as the girl left the shop, throat working as he swallowed. “Do you think we can trust her?”

“I don’t have much choice. She may crack eventually, jeopardize the mission for foolish idealism. But she’s clever and we’re running low on allies.”

He nodded, a crease between his brows. “What now, then? I don’t want to stay on the street.”

“No. I think we should have a talk with Izzy.”

Red ward-ribbons covered the front doors of Vasilios’s house, but if the house was watched, Zhirin couldn’t tell. She straightened her shoulders; she wasn’t a fugitive, and she had as much right to be here as family. She still ducked around to the back.

The kitchen door had been warded, but the cord hung loose now, the latch undone. Zhirin slipped inside, not brushing the rope, and kicked off her shoes. The floor was dusty, smudged and dappled with footprints and dripped water.

She paused inside the threshold, listening hard, and nearly jumped as something white moved at the corner of her eye.

“Mrau,” said the cat, leaping onto the kitchen counter.

Zhirin pressed a hand over her hammering heart and laughed. “Gavriel! You know you’re not supposed to be up there.” She bit her lip as she realized there was no one left to care what counters or shelves he climbed. She stroked his cream-colored head and he leaned into the touch, rumbling loudly.

“I’m sorry I forgot about you,” she said, scratching between his shoulder blades. “You can come home with me today.” She glanced down at his bowls, frowned to find them full of clean water and fresh meat.

“Who’s been taking care of you?” she asked softly, but Gavriel only butted his head against her arm. Had the police thought to do it? Conscientious burglars?

She checked to be sure the ground floor was empty, then crept upstairs. By the time she reached the second floor, she knew she wasn’t alone. No voices or footsteps, but a prickling down her back, a tingle of otherwise senses. She drew a silence around her with a whisper.

The second story was empty too-she shuddered as she passed the library where her master’s body had lain-but when she reached the third she heard someone moving quietly in Vasilios’s private study. Her pulse echoed in her ears as she crept toward the door.

Then she recognized Marat and sighed aloud. The woman spun, hand dropping to her trouser pocket. Zhirin raised a hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The old woman recovered quickly. “And I didn’t expect to find you here, child. Have you brought the executors, then, to dispose of things?”

“No. I just wanted to look through the house.” Her eyes slid to the silver-chased box in Marat’s other hand. Zhirin recognized it instantly-her master’s jewel coffer. She swallowed; stealing from the dead was ill-luck indeed. Would her luck be any better?

“If you need money, I’ll make sure you get it. I haven’t gone over the estate records yet, but-”

She stopped as Marat chuckled.

“I’m sure you would. You always were such a thoughtful child.”

Zhirin flinched from the ugly mockery in the words. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing. You’ve never done anything, and that’s the problem. Not that I could expect much from someone raised by your Assari whore of a mother.”

Zhirin stiffened, cheeks burning. “You don’t know anything about what I do.”

“What, because you run around with the Jade Tigers, you’re a revolutionary? It’s not that easy.”

“No.” The word came out nearly a whisper. “It isn’t.”

Marat’s face didn’t soften, but her voice gentled. “Go home. Or better yet, leave the city. Go with your lover and spare yourself judgment for your mother’s crimes.”

“A woman stealing from the dead has little room to cast stones. Give me that box.”

Marat’s hand tightened on the silver coffer. Her other emerged from her pocket, fingers wrapped around the hilt of a knife. “Go home, girl, or you’ll end up like your master.”

Her hands began to tingle, and Zhirin swallowed sour spit. “It was you, wasn’t it? You killed him.”

“He should never have involved himself in Sivahra’s problems. Foreigners bring us nothing but trouble.”

“So you murder them?”

“Leave it alone.” Marat started toward the door.

Zhirin didn’t move, though fear and shock flooded her. “Put the box down.” She didn’t know how she managed to speak with her pulse so thick and fast in her throat.

Marat’s blade flashed toward her face and Zhirin ducked, grabbed for the woman’s wrist like she’d seen knife-fighters do. Fighters stronger than she-Marat pulled away easily, and the knife traced a line of heat across the edge of Zhirin’s hand. She gasped and jerked away, but didn’t step aside.

With a curse Marat shoved her and Zhirin lost her balance. She kicked as she fell, tangling her feet in the old woman’s ankles. Marat stumbled across the threshold, went down hard on her knees. The silver box clattered across the tiles-the sound was dull and distant through the roar of blood in Zhirin’s ears.

Marat tried to stand, gasped and fell again, one knee popping loudly. Pain twisted her face as she turned and lunged for Zhirin. The old woman’s weight drove the breath from her lungs and she barely threw up an arm in time to keep the blade from her throat.

Even three times Zhirin’s age and injured, Marat was stronger. The knife crept closer and closer, and her arm trembled and burned. She clawed at Marat’s face with her wounded hand, but did little more than smear blood on the woman’s cheek. No weapon in reach.

No-she had the river.

She’d never reached out to the Mir in fear before-the strength of the response shocked her. It rose through her like a wave, the power of rain and river and relentless tides. Her bleeding hand tightened on Marat’s face-flesh and blood, earth and water.

Marat coughed, narrow shoulders convulsing. Moisture seeped between her tea-stained teeth, trickled from her lips, splashing Zhirin’s face, and the pressure on the knife eased. She coughed again, choked. The woman jerked away from her grasp, knife falling forgotten as she reached for her throat.

Water leaked from around Marat’s panic-wide eyes, dribbled from her nose and mouth. Not tears, not saliva-silty river water. Zhirin scrambled up, staring in horror as the flood kept coming. Marat tried to speak, but liquid bubbled up instead, a rushing torrent that soaked her clothes and spread across the tiles.

It felt as though she took an hour to die, choking and writhing and vomiting water, but doubtless only moments passed before the old woman lay still. Water flooded the hallway, trickled over the edge of the railing and splattered against the floor below. Zhirin could hardly breathe and realized her hand was pressed against her mouth hard enough to ache. The smell of blood and river water filled her nose, coated her tongue, and she turned away to vomit up her breakfast on the study’s expensive carpet.

“Forgive me, Lady,” Izzy said, “but you’re being a fool.”

Isyllt wished she could argue; instead she shrugged. Sweat crawled against her scalp and the stink of oil and salted fish unsettled her stomach. Adam stood at her back, and Vienh at Izzy’s elbow-the heat of four people and the lamps was stifling in the Bride’s cramped storeroom.

“Have you ever seen a city rioting?” the dwarf asked, leaning forward. Lamplight gleamed in his eyes, shadowed a crosshatched scar on his left cheek. “I was in Sherezad in 1217, and nearly got caught in Kir Haresh in 1221. The cities burned, and ships with them. I knew captains who lost everything because they were too damned slow lifting anchor.” He looked at her bandaged hand, cast a pointed glance at his own maimed arm.

“I won’t lose the Dog because you don’t know when to cut your losses.”

Isyllt ran a hand over her face. “I can’t offer you cash, but I’ll see you compensated, I swear.”

“A dead woman’s promises are worth dust in the desert.”

Her lips curled, hard and sharp. “Even a dead necromancer’s?” Izzy swallowed, but she didn’t have the heart to toy with him. “If I die, my master will honor my bargains.”

“I would rather keep the Dog than trust in the honor of spies.”

Her hand twitched and Izzy’s eyes narrowed. But threats were useless, and she wasn’t going to kill him for being sensible. Saints knew someone should be. She looked at Vienh.

The woman frowned, ran her tongue over her teeth as if she tasted something sour. “Must I choose between my captain and my family’s honor, then? I’ll repay the debt, but I’ll be little use without a ship.”

Izzy turned, tilting his head back to glare at her. “You’d leave the Dog so easily?”

Vienh folded her arms under her breasts. “She saved my daughter’s life, Izzy. What do you want me to do?”

Adam unhooked two gold rings from his ear, untied a leather pouch from his neck. “If you need cash-” Metal glittered as he tossed the rings onto the table. An uncut amethyst followed with a quiet thump.

Izzy snarled, baring a gold tooth; Adam’s gold vanished off the table. “Rot your eyes. One more day.” He turned back to Vienh. “You know how much I value you, but you’ll be first mate of charred boards if we’re not lucky.” He swung down from his chair and left the room as fast as his short legs would carry him.

“I’m sorry,” Isyllt said to Vienh when the door swung shut.

The woman shrugged, though her jaw was still tight. “Not your fault, is it? Sivahra might be a lot better off if no one cared about family or honor. But you’d better do what you can before sunset tomorrow, or I may be rowing you to Selafai on a stolen fishing skiff.”

Before Isyllt could reply, her mirror began to shiver in her pocket, a tingle of magic that raised gooseflesh on her arms. She pulled back the grimy silk wrapping and Zhirin’s splotchy red-eyed face rose in the black glass.

“Are you all right?” Isyllt asked, eyebrows knitting.

The girl rubbed a hand against her nose. “I’m not hurt. I have the ring, and I found out what happened to Vasilios.” She glanced down, jerked her head up again. “I need-I have to do something with a body.”

Isyllt and Adam exchanged a glance. “Wait there. We’ll come as soon as we can.”

She broke the spell and wrapped the mirror. “Corpses before lunch-this will be an interesting day.”

Vienh fell in beside them as they left the bar, and Isyllt arched a curious eyebrow. The smuggler’s grimace might have been meant as a smile. “I’m coming with you. Izzy’s angry with me anyway, and everyone else thinks I’m a traitor to one cause or another-I might as well do something to earn it.”

The swamp was thick with midges, the whining clouds enough to overwhelm the charms they wore. Zhirin waved and slapped, scratched stinging welts on her wrists and face. More insects bothered Adam and Isyllt-she wondered idly if it was just her own eucalyptus perfume keeping the worst away, or if their paler skin was more attractive. A breeze might have cleared the midges away, but too much magic could draw unwelcome attention.

Silty water slopped against her thighs, squelched between her toes. A pity the Dai Tranh didn’t have a convenient city hideout, but Isyllt’s spell had drawn them out of Symir, past the expensive houses and estates on the Southern Bank and into the thick mangrove swamps that lined the bay. Mostly fisherfolk lived here, in houses high on stilts to avoid the grasping tides and houseboats anchored beyond the trees. Such a simple place to hide, but effective-all the news of the rebels centered around the Xians and the Lhuns, northern forest clans. Who paid attention to a few mud-fishers in the south? Zhirin wasn’t even sure whose lands these had been.

Clouds hid the moon and stars and they risked no witchlights, only a shuttered lantern carried by Isyllt’s sailor companion. Zhirin moved carefully, avoiding submerged root-spears and crab-traps. Fish and snakes brushed past her; larger creatures swam lazily in the bay, and she kept one otherwise ear trained on them. The cold and hungry minds of eel-sharks were a welcome distraction from her own bruised thoughts.

“Are we there yet?” Vienh muttered, crawling around a thicket of roots. The sailor took point while Adam trailed behind, the two mages slogging in between.

Isyllt touched Vasilios’s ring where it hung against her chest, and Zhirin clenched her jaw. A white diamond set in gold-it was hers if she wished to claim it. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to keep it in remembrance of her master or toss it into the depths of the bay. At least he’d kept no spirits bound in it.

“Not yet,” Isyllt said, “but the pull is stronger. We’re getting closer.” She held her bandaged hand against her chest, away from the water.

Zhirin curled the fingers of her own wounded hand. It only hurt when she thought about it, didn’t even need stitches. She’d cut herself worse on broken shells in the river. But the shells hadn’t been trying to kill her.

How did you grow used to that? When did people become nothing more than threats? The necromancer had offered quiet sympathy but hadn’t tried to hide her relief-one more enemy exposed and dead. Never mind that the enemy had been an old woman whom Zhirin had known for years. She clenched her fist; the scabbed cut cracked and burned.

Vienh paused, waved for silence and checked the lantern shutter. Isyllt and Zhirin moved closer, sloshing as quietly as they could. Ahead, the trees gave way to a narrow finger of water. A house stood on the far side of the inlet, shuttered and dark.

Isyllt touched the diamond and frowned, then turned toward the bay. “What’s out there?” she asked, staring into the dark.

Zhirin squinted but saw only shades of black. She dipped her hand into the water, stretched out better senses. The bay welcomed her in, dark and soothing. Roots and weeds, salt and silt, the soft tickle of fish and crabs, the growing depth and pull of the sea. The sinuous undulations of eel-sharks and sharp, clever thoughts of nakh. And there, not too far from the shore, the weight of a boat, its keel digging into her skin. Delicate shivers rippled through the hull as people walked the decks.

Reluctantly, Zhirin eased out of the water’s embrace, retreating into the stifling solidity of flesh. “A boat. Maybe a houseboat. There are people aboard.”

Isyllt frowned, hand on Vasilios’s ring. “That’s it. They’re there.”

“So we swim?” Adam asked, sounding none too thrilled with the prospect.

“Be careful,” Zhirin said before anyone could move deeper. “There are sharks in the bay. And nakh.” She frowned. “A lot of nakh.”

“Lovely,” muttered Vienh.

“What are they doing here?” she muttered, half to herself. Nakh always swam in the bay, but she’d never heard of so many schooled together. Not since the attack at the festival, at least.

“What should we do?” Isyllt asked. Gratifying, to be asked so seriously, not to be treated as an apprentice, but it meant she had to think of a clever answer.

A solution came to her quickly-it wasn’t exactly clever, but she couldn’t think of anything else.

“I’ll distract them,” she said, before she could think better of it. “Wait a moment, then start swimming.” She unbuttoned her blouse, hung it over a tree branch. The night wasn’t cold, but gooseflesh prickled over her arms.

Isyllt’s eyebrows rose, but all she said was, “All right.”

Zhirin hoped it was confidence in her abilities, not callous disregard for her life.

She tugged off her shoes too, set them dripping beside her shirt. Mother, she prayed, watch over your idiot child. Mud shifted like gritty silk between her toes. A few steps and the water closed around her ribs. Her chest swelled with breath as she slipped under.

She hadn’t thought when she dove into the canal after Isyllt at the festival, only acted. It was much easier that way. She let the fear slip away in bubbles of air.

When she couldn’t touch the bottom or break the surface with an outstretched hand, she called light, the sickly blue-green illumination of fireflies and fish-lures. It spread in tendrils around her, clung to bits of debris. A beacon. Blood seeped from her bandaged hand, dark threads unwinding.

An eel-shark glided past-the light slid across its wedge-shaped head, fringed gills and long, writhing tail. Its eyes flashed in the glare. In the distance, she heard the others begin to swim, clumsy mammal strokes. The shark heard it too.

“Stay,” Zhirin said, filling the word with power. Its air bubble didn’t float away but hung shining by her face. The shark circled, keeping to the edge of the light.

She felt the nakh coming a heartbeat before she saw them. Pale shapes emerged from the murk, triangular faces gleaming amid clouds of hair, tails shining with dark rainbow scales and iridescent fins.

Have you come to play with us? The words shivered through the water, echoed inside Zhirin’s head. Or to feed us?

“What are you doing here?”

We like these mammals. A tail flickered in the direction of the boat. They feed us well.

“They’re murderers.” The ache in her chest grew with every word.

What care we for mammal deaths? One of the nakh glided closer. Her-though Zhirin could only guess at gender-face was bruised.

“If these mammals betray and kill their own so easily, do you think they’ll be more loyal to you?”

That gave them a heartbeat’s pause. Zhirin’s lungs burned, and she eyed the nakh’s fluttering gills with envy.

I remember you, the nakh said. Her face glowed on the other side of the light, eerily beautiful even with the dark swelling on her cheek. You chased us off the kill. One long, webbed hand rose to toy with glowing bits of debris, rolling them across her knuckles like a coin-trick. Zhirin tensed for an attack.

But- The nakh flicked a luminous leaf with one clawed finger, watched it twist in the current. You’ve come to us to speak. The others have never done that. The eel-shark circled, bumped its triangular nose against the creature’s hand. She stroked its head carelessly. Like a dog, but dogs weren’t larger than their masters, and had far fewer teeth.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay and talk much longer.” The words slipped silver and shining from her lips, and the urge to breathe in was nearly overwhelming.

The nakh grinned, baring nearly as many teeth as her pet shark. No. But I’m curious-you say these mammals we aid now will turn on us. Would you offer us sweeter promises?

“I won’t offer you men to eat.” The image of Marat’s body rose behind her eyes, wrapped in sheets and spells, weighed with garden stones, sinking into the canal. She forced it down. “But if you let me and my friends come and go tonight unharmed, I’ll treat with you however I can.”

You’ll speak with us here, below?

“I swear, by the River Mother.”

The nakh cocked her head, eyes flashing white as she blinked. Very well, river-daughter. You and yours may pass freely tonight, and you’ll come to us again. She patted the shark on the head and it turned, gliding silently toward deeper water. We know the taste of your blood, if you lie.

The nakh twisted away, vanishing into the black. Zhirin knew she should wait, make sure it wasn’t a trick, but her chest ached too fiercely. She kicked up, broke the surface with a choking gasp. She floated for a moment, spitting bitter water and letting the pain in her lungs ease. Then she swam for shore.

It was a nice night for a swim through shark-infested waters. The water was cool but not icy, the tides gentle this far into the bay. Isyllt concentrated on swimming quietly and following the tug of the stone, trying to ignore the blackness all around her, the memory of the nakh’s cold touch.

She whispered spells of silence but winced each time her arms broke the surface too loudly. Her breath rasped in her ears, and she didn’t know how anyone could fail to hear them coming. Even Adam’s stealthy grace deserted him in the water. She forced herself to swim with both arms, though instinct wanted to cradle her injured hand against her chest; the real damage was bad enough, without letting the working muscles stiffen. Her hand throbbed and the stitches burned, but numbness would cost her precious reaction time.

She felt her diamond clearly now. Its presence shivered sharp and cold in her head-someone was using it.

The boat’s lights came into view-lanterns hooded and shutters drawn, but drips and scraps still escaped. A low wide-bottomed craft, the deck mostly enclosed. Figures moved in the shadows of the eaves.

“How many?” Adam asked, treading water beside her.

She listened for heartbeats, felt several. The effort of keeping her head above water distracted her too much for an accurate count.

“At least seven, but probably more.” He swore softly. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me that you’ve faced worse odds before,” she whispered.

Adam snorted. “I have, and usually ended up half-dead.”

“As long as it’s only half.”

Vienh swam closer. “The sentries aren’t patrolling, just standing on the deck. Whoever’s in charge should flog them. If you can be quiet, we’ll go up the anchor chain.”

“You’ve done this before,” Adam said.

“Of course not.” Vienh’s grin flashed in the darkness. “I’m an honest smuggler.” She glided toward the ship, and Isyllt and Adam followed as quietly as they could.

They found the anchor on the far side of the boat-Isyllt could never remember port from starboard-its chain descending from a gap in the railing. The rail was only a yard or so above the water, but the slick, curving hull would be nearly impossible to climb without being heard.

With barely a splash, Vienh hauled herself up the chain and eased over the rail. When no one raised the alarm, Adam followed. Isyllt hooked bare toes into the links, keeping her weight on her legs and steadying herself with her good hand. Rust scraped her palm, tore a fingernail; the chain pinched an already blistered toe and she grimaced. She nearly lost her balance at the top, but Adam caught her arm and heaved her over the railing.

They crouched in the shadows for a moment to catch their breath and listen. The walls were tightly woven wicker on wooden frames, the roof thatched. Shards of light glowed in a golden filigree. Without the distraction of the water, Isyllt felt the sentries nearby, and the cold pulse of her ring. And the bitter chill of the dead.

“Three guards on each side,” she said, “and at least three others inside. And ghosts.”

The diamond throbbed against her chest, tugging gently sideways. After a heartbeat Isyllt realized her ring wasn’t moving, but a new diamond had entered the range of her spell. Another mage was coming.

“Hurry,” she whispered. “We’ll have company soon.”

Something cold brushed her cheek and she started, but it was only a drop of water. A moment later the clouds opened and rain sighed down, rattling against the roof.

“At least we’re already wet,” Adam muttered.

“Somebody’s coming,” hissed Vienh an instant later.

Isyllt wrapped them in shadows just as a man stepped around the corner, humming softly to himself. It didn’t seem these Dai Tranh expected trouble.

Adam’s knife gleamed as it left its sheath and Isyllt caught his wrist. “Don’t kill.” If whoever had her ring knew how to use it, death would alert them immediately.

He nodded, uncoiled from his crouch as the guard turned away. Three strides and he crossed the deck, reversing the knife as he brought it down. The pommel struck the man’s skull with a dull thump and his knees buckled. Adam caught him as he fell, dragged him against the rail.

They slid down the wall facing the bay. The drumming rain covered the slap of wet cloth against flesh. The sentry at the far end of the deck didn’t notice as they slipped inside the first unlocked door. It led to the helm and an open sitting room.

“The cabins will be in the back,” Vienh said, nodding toward the hall on the right. She drew her knife and took a lantern off its hook.

The floor swayed gently beneath them as the wind gusted. Vienh went first, Adam watching their backs. Vasilios’s diamond all but hummed as they drew nearer to its sister-stone. This close, Isyllt could feel the ghosts in her ring moving restlessly in their prison. And another ghost, free of the stone. Deilin.

“Be careful,” she murmured to Vienh. “Your grandmother is here.”

The smuggler cursed under her breath.

Light spilled from under a cabin door, along with a woman’s voice. Vienh’s shoulders stiffened.

“It’s Kaeru.”

The woman spoke in Sivahran, too low for Isyllt to follow. It sounded like a one-sided argument; then she heard Deilin’s death-hollowed voice answer.

“What are they saying?” she asked.

“Kaeru’s talking about a girl, and about how they need someone. Whoever she’s talking to. I can’t hear the response.”

Beyond the door, Isyllt felt the old woman’s heart, still strong, and Deilin’s icy presence. And someone else, alive but not strong.

The voices rose. “It’s not right,” Deilin said.

“You must. We need you.”

“She’s a child-” She broke off, and Isyllt sensed the dead woman’s attention turning toward them.

Isyllt’s jaw tightened. “Murai’s in there. Let’s go.”

Vienh nodded, passing the lantern to Isyllt as she drew back. The door cracked under the force of her kick, flying inward and rebounding against the wall. The smuggler caught it as she stepped inside.

The scene was all too familiar. Murai lay still, wan and feverish, and Deilin stood at the foot of the bed. Kaeru sprang back as the door opened, the black diamond gleaming on her gnarled hand.

“It was you all along, wasn’t it?” Vienh said. Lamplight rippled along the length of her blade. “You let her through the wards. You let her take my daughter.”

“Better than wasting Xian blood in another generation of collaborators and mongrels.”

“We took you in!” Vienh gasped, sagging against the door, one hand rising to her throat. The ring glowed in Kaeru’s hand.

“Don’t-” Deilin said, but the old woman ignored her.

Isyllt pushed Vienh aside, forced her way into the cabin.

“Company’s coming,” Adam called from the hall.

The lantern kept her from reaching her knife, so Isyllt swung it instead. Distracted by her magic, Kaeru didn’t dodge fast enough; the lamp struck her jaw with a wet crack and slipped from Isyllt’s hand to shatter on the floor. Tendrils of burning oil licked across the wood.

The old woman fell, clutching her face. Vienh coughed and moaned; someone shouted in the corridor. Isyllt crouched, prying Kaeru’s hand away from her bloody mouth and twisting the ring off her finger. Deilin lunged just in time to vanish into the stone.

Isyllt fumbled her ring onto her right hand, sighing as its comforting chill swept through her. Fire crackled at the walls, singed the bottom of the bedsheet. Murai tossed but didn’t wake.

“So the child is a Xian as well?”

“Her mother was, before she became an Assari whore.” The words came out ugly and slurred and Kaeru spat blood. Her jaw was already swelling. A knife flickered into her hand as she sat up and Isyllt rocked backward. “We won’t let them take any more of our children.”

Vienh’s boot caught the woman’s wrist, sent the knife spinning.

“No. I won’t let you take any more of ours.” The smuggler’s blade sank into Kaeru’s throat. With a twist, she pulled it free. A crimson bubble burst on the old woman’s lips as she sank to the floor.

Steel clashed in the hallway. “Can I kill them yet?” Adam shouted.

“As many as you like.” Isyllt pushed herself up; the swaying of the deck rippled her stomach uneasily.

Vienh wiped her blade on her wet trousers and sheathed it. Dodging around the spreading flames, she scooped Murai into her arms. “Bastards,” she hissed. “They dosed her with laudanum.” She glanced at the door, where Adam fought someone in the narrow corridor, then nodded toward the shuttered window. “That way.”

Isyllt ripped the shutters open and tore aside the net curtains. The stink of scorched blood filled the air as the flames spread toward Kaeru’s body. Clumsy and cursing, she clambered out the window, conjuring witchlight against the dark. Vienh passed Murai’s limp form through, then turned to help Adam. By the time both of them scrambled out, the flames were high enough to hold the Dai Tranh at bay.

“Company,” Vienh said, pointing toward the bay, where ship lights approached. “The Khas?”

“Probably.”

The smuggler slipped over the side, surfacing to take Murai. As she dropped into the water, Isyllt prayed that Zhirin had taken care of the nakh.

The ship burned slowly in the rain, but it burned. By the time they neared the shore, the flames scattered gold and orange across the bay. Isyllt stumbled through the root-choked shallows, stubbing toes and scraping ankles as she hunted for her shirt and shoes.

“Here.”

Light flared and Isyllt threw up a hand. Through her fingers, she saw Zhirin holding the lantern. The girl hooded it again quickly.

“Someone’s coming.” She nodded toward the innermost end of the inlet, where light flickered amid the trees.

Both diamonds shivered, and Isyllt clenched her hand around her ring. A mage was coming, and she could guess which one.

“Is she all right?” Zhirin asked as Vienh emerged, Murai in her arms.

“She will be, I think, but she needs to be warm and dry.”

“Let’s go,” Isyllt said, tugging on her shoes. Lights shone nearer now, and footsteps rustled the weeds.

They hurried into the trees, but they’d gone only a few yards when Isyllt stopped with a gasp. Pressure like an iron band circled her chest, tightening as she tried to move. It eased as she stumbled back a pace.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asked.

“A spell.” She swallowed when she wanted to spit. Something this strong needed a physical component, but doubtless she’d left enough stray hairs on pillows at the Khas. “I can fight it, but I’ll slow you down. Easier to go back and face the caster. Go on.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Lousy time to get yourself killed.”

Isyllt ignored him and turned around, drawing in a grateful breath as the tightness in her chest eased. Vasilios’s diamond thrummed against her chest, then lay still as she banished the finding with a thought. Cold rushed through her as she drew power from her ring, leeching strength from the trapped dead. The night became sharp-edged and clear, all her aches and blisters fading away.

Asheris waited at the far end of the inlet, golden witchlights hovering around him like a second entourage. The first wore Khas uniforms and aimed their weapons at her.

“Is that your doing?” he asked, gesturing toward the burning boat. “You’ve saved us some work, then. Though I’d have liked more survivors to question.” His spell closed around her and she couldn’t move as he crossed the muddy ground and caught her arm. His hand burned her bare skin and his diamond glowed against the dark like a captive star. Maybe it was. “Where’s Murai?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“Not like you,” she said, lips curling.

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

She wanted to slap the look of honest confusion off his face. Instead she focused her power, preparing to strike at him. But if she broke free, could she dodge the soldiers’ bullets? “When you said you didn’t believe in binding spirits. I actually thought it was true.”

His grip tightened and she couldn’t stop a squeak of pain. “What makes you think,” he whispered, “that I was the one who did the binding?”

Light gleamed in his eyes like flame behind crystal, and a shadow flared around him, black and burning. The strength of it nearly staggered her.

“What are you?”

The light dimmed until only the man remained, rain-drenched and regretful. “Not free. I’m sorry-this is not my choice.”

Isyllt rallied her wits and her magic, but before she could strike a voice carried through the damp air.

“Asheris!”

His grip didn’t loosen, but he turned toward Zhirin. The girl paused at the edge of the light, Murai cradled in her arms.

“Which do you want more-Isyllt, or your master’s daughter? She’s drugged and half-drowned. She needs help.”

His chest hitched sharply. His magelights flickered, and shadows twisted across his face. Isyllt gasped as he let go.

“You keep dangerous company, Miss Laii. Set the girl down and get out of here. Let them go,” he told the soldiers. The compulsion on Isyllt crumbled and she stumbled away, clutching her scalded arm to her chest.

“How-”

“I’ve run out of leash,” he said softly. “If I find you again, I must kill you or return you to the Khas. Try not to be found.”

The look on his face brought a sharp lump of pity to her throat. She swallowed it down and fled into the swamp.