The Drowning City tnc-1

by Amanda Downum

  It wasn’t alone-at least half a dozen sinuous monsters moved in the water, dragging down other hapless celebrants. Black ribbons of blood twisted on the current.

  She kicked up, but the nakh recovered too quickly. Its wide hand closed on her ankle and jerked her down so hard that she nearly gasped. Air leaked from her nose and mouth and dark spots swirled across her eyes.

  A splash broke the water above them, a burst of silver bubbles as someone dove into the canal. Isyllt kicked at the nakh, slammed her heel against the side of its head and wished for heavy boots. It snapped at her and she barely jerked her foot away in time to keep all her toes.

  A voice carried through the water, clear and echoing with magic, though Isyllt didn’t understand the words. The nakh flinched and released her leg. Its kin let go of their prey as well. Another shout and they turned and glided down, vanishing into the darkness below.

  Isyllt’s light faltered and died; the current had her now, pulling her on. Then someone grabbed her hand and she began to swim, clawing the water in desperation.

  Her head broke the surface and she gasped a heartbeat too soon, swallowing a bitter mouthful. Someone else caught her, dragged her onto stone steps and let her collapse in a sodden, coughing heap.

  She raked her hair from her face, blinked grit from her eyes. Adam stood beside her, still mostly dry. The current had carried them away from the plaza, but she could still hear the screams and sobbing.

  “Who went into the water?” she asked.

  “Zhirin. She’s still in there.”

  As he spoke, the choppy surface of the canal bulged, and the girl rose, water and magic sluicing off her in shining streams. The water cradled her, carried her to the steps.

  Isyllt pushed herself up and winced; her ankle ached where the nakh had yanked on it. “How did you do that?”

  Zhirin smiled. “I am the river’s daughter.” For a moment her voice was changed-older, deeper. Isyllt shivered.

  “What happened to the nakh?”

  “I sent them away, back to the bay.” She shook her head, and the echo of the river vanished. “They should never have been here-the inner canals are warded.”

  “Not any longer, it seems. The Dai Tranh knows its business.”

  Footsteps approached, and she turned to see the fox running toward them. “Do explosions always attend you?” He lifted off his mask, revealing sweat-sheened tawny skin and tangled curls. The man from the fabric shop. Kohl smeared around his eyes, trailing black tears down his cheek.

  “Not usually. I think the city has a sense of humor.” As if in answer, the clouds opened with a sigh and warm rain misted down. At least the city wouldn’t burn.

  “If this keeps up, one might suspect a connection.”

  Isyllt’s eyes narrowed. “One might say the same to you.”

  His smile stretched, wry and crooked. “One might. I only wanted to make sure you didn’t drown.” He bowed, his coat glittering with bullion. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again, meliket.”

  “Will the city survive if we do?”

  “We’ll find out.” He turned into the shadow of an alley and was gone.

  They took a longer route back to Raintree-some streets were still clogged with frantic people and all the skiffs had vanished. Isyllt’s wet shoes rubbed a blister as she walked.

  “Do you know that man?” she asked Zhirin, cursing herself for not asking after the market.

  “No. I thought I saw his mask near one of the boxes, though. He may be from the Khas.”

  That would be all she needed, attracting the attention of yet another Khas agent.

  Lights burned in windows all down Campion Street-people up late celebrating, or worrying over the news? But Vasilios’s house was black and cold.

  Isyllt paused. She’d never seen the house without some sliver of light. “Could he have gone out?” she asked as they climbed the steps.

  Zhirin frowned as she found the key on her belt. “So late, in this weather-it would be odd.” Isyllt nearly stopped her as she slid the key home, but the lock turned with no burst of flame.

  But as they stepped across the threshold, Isyllt’s ring chilled. Her jaw tightened. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What?” Adam asked.

  “Someone’s dead.” She reached, listening, but heard nothing. Weak light spilled past her and she glanced down. No wet footprints marked the tile, no mud stained the rug but what clung to their shoes. “Adam?”

  “I can’t tell. It smells like it usually does.”

  She followed the chill upstairs to the study. A flutter of movement in the shadows made her tense, but it was only the curtains dancing in the damp breeze from an open window. The lamps were out and she conjured witchlight as they entered the room. Eyes flashed in the sudden glare and the cat hissed and vanished in a pale blur. Zhirin gasped.

  Vasilios lay sprawled facedown across the carpet beside his chair, one arm twisted behind his back, the other reaching for his throat.

  She moved closer to the corpse, the light floating in front of her. A length of silk circled his throat and his face was dark and swollen. Zhirin let out a choked sob.

  Isyllt willed the light closer. The silk was blue, familiar. “Black Mother,” she whispered, stiffening. Her scarf, that she’d worn their second night in the city; she’d forgotten she lost it.

  “Adam, check the house, and the back.”

  He nodded and vanished down the black hallway.

  Tugging her wet coat-skirts aside, she knelt beside Vasilios. No trace of a lingering ghost, of course-that would be too easy.

  “What are you doing?” Zhirin asked as she reached for his face.

  “Finding out what happened.”

  The vision came quickly: She sits in the chair, a book in her gnarled and spotted hands, reading by the steady golden glow of a witchlight. No sound of footsteps, but a breath of displaced air warns of a presence in the room. She looks up, too slowly.

  Only a flicker of darkness as the scarf loops over her head, then crushing pain as it draws tight. So strong-cutting off blood, crunching the windpipe. The light sputters and dies as she claws for her attacker. Or maybe that’s just her vision blacking…

  Isyllt jerked away with a gasp, one hand flying to her throat. Her light flickered with her speeding heart.

  As her pulse slowed, she realized Zhirin was gone. Then she heard the footsteps. Heavy booted feet rushing up the stairs. A lot of them. Lantern-light flooded the room as she spun.

  And found herself facing an eagle-headed jinn and a troupe of red-clad soldiers. In front of the procession, Zhirin hugged herself, her face sickly in the unsteady light.

  Asheris took off his mask and handed it to the closest soldier. He stared at Vasilios, then back at Isyllt.

  “I hoped,” he said softly, “that they were wrong. We’ve had enough unpleasantness tonight.”

  Isyllt rose, damp cloth peeling off her skin. “That who was wrong?”

  “The anonymous person who reported a disturbance at the Medeion house.”

  “And you came yourself? Aren’t you needed in the city right now?”

  “The city guards have things in hand, as much as they can. More must wait for morning. And if you were involved in any trouble, I thought it best to come myself.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You think I was part of this?”

  “I think someone wants me to believe you were.”

  “We just returned,” Zhirin said, fear a shrill edge in the words. “You can’t think-” Her voice broke and she rubbed a hasty hand over her face.

  “Forgive me, Miss Laii. This has been a very unhappy night, and it’s cruel of me to prolong it. I’ll arrange for an escort to take you home to your family. Until I learn who’s responsible for your master’s death, I don’t feel it safe to let you travel unaccompanied. Or you, Lady Iskaldur-you’ll be under my protection until this is resolved.”

  Trapped, as easy as that. “You’re too kind, my lord.”

 
“Where is your companion?”

  “We were separated at the festival. I’d expected him to return by now.” A cautious stretch of otherwise senses found Adam lurking in the garden below the open window. She pushed as hard as she dared, not taking her eyes off Asheris. Away, go!

  “I’ll leave men stationed here. When he returns, they’ll bring him along.”

  “What about our luggage?”

  “I’ll have that brought too, when we’re done searching the house. I trust you’ll forgive the inconvenience.”

  “Of course.”

  She accepted his offered arm and his hand closed on her, gentle and inexorable as shackles.

  From the shelter of a fern bank on the northern shore, Xinai watched the lights of the city. Lukewarm rain misted around her, whispering against the leaves, gleaming as it rolled off fern fronds.

  No point in watching, she knew. Even her night-charmed eyes couldn’t see so far, couldn’t watch what happened in the city’s heart. There would be no fires tonight, no plumes of smoke to mark their success. The scattered groups of Xian revolutionaries made offerings to the spirits tonight, but there would be no masks or dancing in the forest camps.

  This was not the kind of death one should celebrate, even if it was necessary. It left her stomach cold, and she wasn’t sure why. She’d witnessed crueler things. She’d done crueler things.

  The air chilled and her skin crawled with gooseflesh as Shaiyung appeared beside her. “Don’t mourn them, gaia. They made their choices, as we made ours.”

  Xinai nodded, shuddering as her mother draped an icy arm across her shoulders. The ghost was clearer now, her touch stronger.

  “I’ve waited so long for this,” Shaiyung whispered. “Soon we’ll have what we’ve dreamed of, what we’ve bled for.” She raised a pale hand to the wound in her neck; Xinai nearly mimicked the gesture.

  “What will you do then? Will you go on?”

  “And leave you again? I want to see the land remade, cleansed. I want to see my grandchildren. All their whips and knives won’t take that from me again. Your children will rebuild Cay Lin.”

  “Ch-children.” Xinai drew her knees close against her chest, tried to rub warmth into her hands. “I’ve never thought of that. Of a family.” A mercenary camp was no place for a baby, and neither she nor Adam had ever wanted to settle down.

  “I’ve seen the way Riuh looks at you,” Shaiyung said with a smile.

  “Ancestors!” Her teeth chattered as she laughed. “No need to matchmake yet, Mira. Let’s win the war first.”

  “We will.” Shaiyung pulled her closer, and the familiarity of the embrace made Xinai’s eyes sting. “They bound the mountain and the river, but they can’t bind us.”

  Leaves rustled nearby, almost quiet enough to be the wind’s work. Shaiyung vanished, leaving Xinai shivering in the damp. She reached for a blade, but it was only Riuh.

  “How did you find me?” she asked as he crouched outside her shelter.

  He grinned crookedly. “You walk softly, but not so soft that I can’t find your trail.” He ducked under dripping fronds and knelt beside her.

  “I’ll have to practice.” The warmth of his flesh lapped at her, feverishly hot after Shaiyung’s embrace.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked after a moment’s silence. “It’s not just what we did today, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Was it the man you met in the city?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You followed me?”

  He shrugged. “I see how much my grandmother cares about you. I’m not going to let something happen to you out of carelessness.”

  “Or courtesy?”

  “That either.”

  She snorted. “He was my partner for years. I thought I’d never come home again. It’s hard to leave a life behind, even for a better one.”

  “What was it like, the north?”

  “Strange, at first. Different. Mountains sharp as tiger’s teeth. Seasons so cold everything freezes, even your breath. People pale as ghosts. The forests taste different.”

  Riuh shook his head. “I don’t think I would have been so brave. The elders used to rail at me for being wild, traditionless, but I don’t know if I could have left Sivahra.”

  “I had nothing here. Aren’t you wild anymore?”

  “Sometimes.” He grinned again, but it faded quickly. “But it’s not the same. I never cared much about the Dai Tranh, about the cause. I ran with the prides in the city, stayed away from Cay Xian.”

  “What happened?”

  “My father was arrested after a raid. They said he would be sent to the mines, a three-year sentence. Grandmother tried to find him-she knows people everywhere-but he wasn’t there. He was just gone. No body, no rites, no songs. We’ve never discovered what happened.”

  Xinai laid a hand on his; he squeezed her fingers and frowned. “You’re freezing.” He shifted closer, his warmth burning against her shoulder, and pressed her hand between his. “It hit Kovi hardest of all, but even I couldn’t ignore that. We can’t let the Khas keep doing this to us.”

  “No,” she whispered. Her head spun and she closed her eyes. Riuh’s arm settled over her shoulders, warm and solid. He touched the short hair at the nape of her neck and she shivered.

  “Not very traditional, I know,” she said with a wry smile.

  “I like it. We can do with a few less traditions.”

  This was wrong. The smell of his skin, the fit of his hand around hers. She needed time…But she was so cold, a northern winter gnawing at her bones. He could make her warm again.

  Riuh’s calloused fingers brushed her cheek, tilted her head toward his. His thumb traced her lower lip and her pulse throbbed like surf in her ears. She should say no, but his lips brushed hers, soft and tentative, and she couldn’t speak. Her hand rose to his shoulder-her body felt like a stranger’s. Like a puppet.

  “No-” she whispered against his mouth. He pulled back, and she shuddered with the absence of heat. Clumsily she jerked away, hand slipping in mud as she landed on her hip. Her chattering teeth closed on her tongue and the taste of pain and blood filled her mouth.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, scrambling to her feet; her flesh was her own again, but she couldn’t stop shaking. “No,” she said again, more to her mother than to Riuh, but she couldn’t explain that to him. Instead she turned and fled into the night and the rain. He didn’t follow.

  Chapter 11

  The room was pleasant enough, but still a prison, no matter how decorative the bars on the window. Isyllt paced a quick circuit after Asheris and the guards left-a bedchamber and a bath, all the amenities courtesy dictated, but nothing that might easily become a weapon. Nothing resembling a mirror.

  She paused in mid-pace as the weight of her kit swayed against her thigh. At least that wasn’t at the bottom of the canal. She slipped it out of her coat pocket; the leather hadn’t taken well to water and the silk wrappings were sodden, the salt dissolved, but her tools were still intact. The mirror lay cold and quiescent in her palm as she wiped off water spots with a corner of the coverlet.

  The black surface showed her pale and weary face, her hair hanging in knots over her shoulders. At least no spirits waited on the other side-she was in no shape to fend off anything deadlier than a gnat.

  “Adam,” she whispered, leaning close to the glass. But the mirror remained still. Wherever he was, she couldn’t reach him through the reflected world.

  Isyllt sighed and wrapped the mirror in its soggy silk. She was too tired for clever plans. The best she could hope was that no one killed her in the night and quietly sank her body into a canal. One more missing spy. She stripped off her damp and soiled clothing, tucked her kit beneath the pillow, and crawled into the feather bed.

  The bed, at least, was soft. She didn’t dream.

  The creak of the door woke her. Isyllt blinked sticky eyes as a woman dressed in servant’s clothes slipped in. Apricot dawnlight trickled
through the leaves and puddled over the casement.

  The woman dipped a curtsy and laid clothing on top of the dresser. “Good morning, Lady. Lord al Seth has requested that you join him for breakfast at your convenience.” She stepped into the bathroom and water gurgled and splashed into the tub. “And he says the rest of your luggage should arrive later today. Do you need any assistance?”

  “No, thank you. Tell Lord al Seth I’ll be with him soon.”

  The maid nodded and ducked out the door, giving Isyllt a glimpse of the armed guard standing in the hall.

  For her own protection, of course.

  She washed her hair twice and combed it with oil, and still had to rip out several knots. The dusty-sweet scent of lavender soap clung to her in a cloud, like a stranger leaning over her shoulder. She pinned up the damp length of her hair and dressed in the trousers and long blouse the maid had left. They were too short, but at least clean and dry. The slippers were hopeless and she wore her own, wincing as they pinched the fluid-filled blister on her right foot.

  The guard led her down a long corridor. Mostly other living quarters, she guessed, perhaps guest rooms; the floor was quiet, and she felt no one else nearby. The third-story windows looked over rain-soaked grounds and gardens, the rooftops of Lioncourt blurry beyond the Khas’s walls.

  The guard waited outside Asheris’s suite as the mage led her into his sitting room. Light filled the northeastern windows, cool and gray. The air smelled of food, but also of disuse, and dustcloths draped some of the furniture.

  “Excuse the mess,” he said as he waved her toward a chair and poured coffee. “I hadn’t planned to return so soon. How are you feeling?” Plates covered a low table, bread and hummus, honeyed nutcakes, sliced boiled eggs, and cold poultry with fruit preserves. She usually had little appetite so early, but her mouth began to water at the sight of food.

  “Well enough, considering.” Brocade rustled as she sat, and she nearly sighed as her weight left her feet. Nothing like weeping blisters to slow an escape attempt. She accepted a cup of coffee, inhaling the rich, bitter steam happily; Assar taxed the beans heavily and the drink was rare and costly in the north. “How is the city?”