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  “Whose house is this?” Isyllt asked.

  “The River Mother’s. The Mir’s.”

  They climbed the rain-slick steps and left their dripping umbrellas and mud-grimed shoes on a rack in the care of a young acolyte. The floor was cold underfoot.

  Inside was nearly as damp as the day without. Water dripped in shining streams from holes in the roof, sluicing over smooth-polished pillars and swirling into curving channels in the floor, filling the vaulted chamber with the music of rain and river. Flowering vines clung to the ceiling, shedding petals onto the water. People sat in silent prayer on benches that lined the room, or knelt beside the spirals of the water garden. Some lit candles and set them in floating bowls, while others waded quietly into a deep pool in the center of the room.

  “It’s meant as a place of peace,” Zhirin said, her voice soft. “Of solace. We give our pain and troubles to the river, and she washes us clean.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She was gawking like a child, but the place was worthy of it.

  An old woman passed them, smiling at Isyllt’s expression. She wore a scarf nearly identical to Marat’s, even to the pattern embroidered on the hem. Several others in the temple wore them too, mostly the elderly.

  “Those scarves, the gray, do they mean something?”

  “They mark the clanless. Those who’ve lost all their kin. To many Sivahri, it’s the worst thing that can befall someone.”

  “So Marat-”

  “Yes. Many of them end up as servants. It’s a sad thing, to have no one to look after you. I’m going to leave an offering, and light a candle. Afterward I’ll show you where the festival will take place.”

  The girl took a coin from her purse and walked toward a stand of votives. Isyllt stepped out of the way of the doors, moving into a green-shadowed corner. A place of solace indeed, and gentler than the sepulcher peace of the cathedrals in Erisín. No one built temples to the black river Dis, and that was likely for the best; it claimed enough sacrifices for itself.

  As she glanced around the room, she saw Anhai Xian-Mar hunched on a nearby prayer bench. She wasn’t going to interrupt, but the customs inspector looked up and met Isyllt’s eyes, trying to soothe her face.

  “Is something wrong?” Isyllt asked softly as she moved closer. “It isn’t Lilani, is it?”

  “No. No, Lia’s well, and my sister too.” She sighed. “It’s nothing serious, truly. Only an indignity.”

  Isyllt hesitated for a heartbeat. “May I ask?”

  “I have been suspended from my position.” Anhai’s lips twisted; the unhappy set of her shoulders made her look older. “The Khas arrested several members of the Xian family for involvement in the market bombing. The port authority suggested that I take time off until the matter has been settled.”

  “Surely they don’t suspect you?”

  “Not me personally. But as all know, in Sivahra family means more than anything.” The last words were so bitter Isyllt thought she might spit. Anhai glanced at Isyllt’s ring and ran a hand over her face. “Forgive me. You find me at unpleasant times.”

  She stood, tugging her coat smooth. “I seem unsuited for meditation today. Perhaps I should see if my sister has a place for me on her boat.”

  Across the room, Zhirin set her tiny flame adrift and rose, the knees of her trousers damp-darkened.

  “Would you like to have tea with us?” Isyllt asked. “We’re only sightseeing before the festival.”

  “Thank you, but I should go home. Lilani and Vienh will want to attend the Dance and I should find something to wear. Perhaps we’ll meet again on a happier day.” With a farewell nod she turned away.

  Xinai’s first mission with the Dai Tranh took her and Riuh into the city, where a Xian clansman poled them through the twisting back canals of Jadewater. They leaned together like young lovers, clasping hands and laughing. Sometimes her throat tightened when she met his eyes-black instead of green.

  Rain misted cool against her face, glistened in Riuh’s braids. A common sight, couples walking or boating in the rain, making wishes. An ancient custom adapted to the city, when once they might have walked through the forest or along the riverbank. Most couples today hoped only for a child or good business, not for the overthrow of the Assari.

  It’s only a job, she tried to tell herself when Riuh’s thumb stroked her knuckles. But that was a lie. It was a job, it was home, it was clan-ties and blood-ties and her mother’s fingers brushing her cheek, soft as memory. It was freedom and revenge and other memories hot as coals in her breast, and she couldn’t tell one from the other anymore, couldn’t tell where she stopped and everything else began.

  All she could do was smile back and try not to think of Adam.

  The skiff drifted close to the canal bank, where flowers overflowed their window boxes. The water had already risen, but not all the way. The low waterline bared wards carved in the stone.

  Riuh leaned close to shield her movements as Xinai drew a slender chisel from her sleeve. She tensed as his lips brushed her shoulder, but managed a giggle. With one careful motion she dragged the blade across the stone, gouging through crusted moss and grime to mar the sigil beneath, then palmed the chisel and reached up to pluck a violet blossom from the vine. She barely felt the shiver as the ward-spell broke. With an aching smile, she threaded the flower into Riuh’s hair.

  Something splashed softly beside them. Xinai looked down, and found herself staring into the flat face of a nakh. She stiffened; she’d never been so close to one before. Skin pale as a snake’s belly, hair a weed-tangled cloud. Black eyes blinked, flashing white as pearlescent membranes slid sideways. Xinai’s hand dropped to her knife.

  The nakh grinned, baring rows of bone-needle teeth, and lifted one webbed hand from the water. A ruby glistened blood-black in its palm. It hissed softly, then sank beneath the surface.

  Riuh touched a charm-bag at his throat. “Ancestors,” he whispered. “I hope my grandmother knows what she’s doing.”

  “So do I.” The nakh had no love for the warded city, or the invader mages who had driven them out of their delta, but they weren’t allies Xinai would have sought out. Gold skin or brown made no difference once someone was at the bottom of the river.

  The steersman pushed farther into the city. They’d finished their section of canals and now there was nothing to do but wait for the others, and for the nakh.

  The skiff neared the Floating Garden, which was full of barges and workers swarming to set up platforms and hang lanterns. As Xinai watched the construction, movement on the far bank caught her eye. A flash of white skin and a familiar cloaked shape. Adam and the witch. Her stomach tightened painfully and she swallowed. She brushed a charm, vision honing, and watched the Laii girl lead them toward the temples.

  “Let me off here,” she said, before she could think better of it.

  “What is it?” Riuh asked.

  “Something I need to take care of. Wait for me behind the temples.”

  The steersman pulled up to the nearest steps. Riuh reached for her arm as she rose, but she dodged easily. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long.”

  She waited for Adam in an alley beside the canal. Rain dappled the murky green water, and low clouds cast an early twilight between the walls. Marks covered the stone, children’s pictures drawn in charcoal and chalk, scrawled names and vows of love. A handprint stood out in the midst of the smeared scribbles, red brick dust not yet streaked by the rain-another of the Dai Tranh had already been here.

  Rain dripped cold against her face and hair, warmed as it trickled down her neck. She didn’t have to wait long, as she’d known she wouldn’t. Adam could always find her. He’d thrown his hood back and tendrils of hair clung to his cheeks. He grinned when he saw her, but her own face was stiff and numb.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Her control slipped, brows pulling together. Nothing was easy now that she faced him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Xin? What is it?” He glanc
ed around, hand dropping to his sword hilt. Afraid of an ambush, and that left a bruised feeling in her chest. Voices drifted from the temple yard and rain pattered against the water. He moved closer, laid his hands on her shoulders. She fought a flinch, but his eyes narrowed and she knew she’d failed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m staying here.” A clean break was always best.

  “Here?”

  “In Sivahra. I won’t become a pirate with you after all.” Her mouth twisted.

  “I’ll stay with you-”

  She shook her head, short and sharp, and shrugged off his touch. “No, you can’t. I’m sorry.” The words fell like stones from her mouth, but she kept on. “Please, stay away from the festival tonight. I don’t want you hurt.”

  Wariness diluted the pain on his face. “What’s going to happen?”

  She didn’t answer, only reached up and unhooked a heavy silver hoop from her ear. “It’s been…good.” She pressed the earring into his palm, the metal warm as flesh, and let her hand linger against his for a heartbeat. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

  She leaned up and kissed him, tasted rain and salt. Then she turned and fled toward the canal. The red handprint dripped down the wall.

  Adam returned as they left the temple. Isyllt frowned at the grim lines of his expression, and Zhirin flinched.

  “What’s wrong?” Isyllt asked in Selafaïn. Zhirin drew back to give them privacy.

  “I found Xinai. She’s left us, left the job.” Left me, she read in the unhappy set of his shoulders. “She’s joined the rebels.”

  “The Dai Tranh?”

  “Looks that way. She warned me away from the festival.”

  Isyllt’s eyes narrowed. “Lovely. So we’ll get a better show than masks and lanterns tonight. So much for our day off. We need to know this part of the city by tonight,” she said to Zhirin, repeating it in Assari after the girl gave her a blank stare.

  As they followed Zhirin toward the far side of the plaza, Isyllt slowed and laid a hand on his arm.

  “Are you all right?”

  He shook his head, scattering raindrops. “Just stupid.” He tried to smile-or maybe it was a grimace. “I won’t let it interfere with the job.”

  She nodded wry acknowledgment. “If you don’t want to go tonight, I understand.” He turned away from the sympathy in her voice.

  “And let you get killed?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “You’ve forgotten the part where Kiril skins me if you get hurt. It’s the job-I’ve got your back.”

  She smiled. “Good. I bought you a mask.”

  Chapter 10

  I’ll be half-blind in this thing,” Adam said, glaring at the mask in his hands.

  Isyllt chuckled as she unwrapped her own costume. “But very menacing.”

  He snorted, running a finger over the black molded leather. A jackal’s head, stylized like paintings of the ghulim that haunted the Assari deserts. Gold paint outlined wide slanted eyes and tall pointed ears.

  “You pay me to be effective, not just menacing.”

  “Tonight I’m paying you to be both.”

  He looked the part at least, all in black, sleek northern clothes instead of the billowing southern styles. He’d make a charming counterpoint to her own white silk.

  Her costume was simple, loose trousers and a long Sivahri coat that fit snug to the waist and belled from hip to calf. The fabric made it beautiful, rippling with lustrous rainbows, opalescent as moonlight and fog. The mask was white as well, a sharply pointed oval with slanting eyes and fur-lined ears. Her hair hung loose down her back and between the mask, the high-collared coat, and her soft white gloves, the only skin that showed was her eyelids.

  The sky had deepened from ash to slate by the time she finished dressing, and already shouts and music drifted down the street. Zhirin waited for them in the front hall. Her mask was a simple domino, but the rest of her costume made up for it. Green and silver ribbons threaded her hair and iridescent scales gleamed on her skirt and vest. Blue-green malachite dust shimmered on her bare arms and throat, over the soft curve of her stomach.

  When she saw Isyllt, the girl’s mouth gaped and she brushed a hand across her left eye in a warding gesture. “Lady…It suits you.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “Are you sure you want to stay, master?” Zhirin asked Vasilios as he walked them to the door.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m getting too old for drunken revelry.” His limp was more pronounced and he rubbed his swollen hands. “And without Marat here to force meals on me, perhaps I’ll get some work done. Have fun. Be careful.” He patted Zhirin’s shoulder fondly and shooed them out.

  The night was bright with music and lanterns, thick with the smell of wine and incense. A few mask-sellers still cried their wares, but nearly every face they passed was already covered. Herons and owls, lions and hounds, sea monsters and spirits, all dancing and laughing in the streets. The rain had paused, as if in encouragement, but clouds still rode the rooftops and Isyllt’s face was soon damp and sticky beneath her mask.

  The guards were out in force as well; red uniforms marked nearly every street corner, stood like pillars adorning alleyways. None wore masks.

  They followed the crowd toward the water plaza. Banners and garlands hung from roofs and bridges, and candles bobbed like fireflies in every canal. The crowd thickened when they reached the streets around the Floating Garden, till they couldn’t move without brushing arms and shoulders or tangling in someone’s costume.

  “This is madness,” Adam said, their masks bumping as he leaned in. “We have to get out of this. If something happens-”

  She nodded and tried to push her way to the far side. They hadn’t reached the next building when drums rolled nearby and half the crowd began to dance. Someone grabbed Isyllt’s hands and spun her around. She laughed in spite of herself, but by the time she slipped free she’d lost sight of Adam and Zhirin.

  A new partner seized her, a man with a raptor’s wicked beak, his mask a glorious crown of red and gold feathers. Gold thread gleamed on fluttering sleeves and topaz and garnet chips rattled as he moved. Wings hung lovely and useless down his back, two pairs. A jinn.

  He caught her hand and bowed over it, graceful even in the unwieldy mask. His magic crawled against her skin and she knew him.

  “Lovely, my lady,” Asheris said. “But too plain. You should be hung all in opals.”

  “We can’t all burn as bright as you, Lord al Seth.”

  “No, I suppose not.” He twirled her and pulled her out of the flow of the crowd. Someone jostled her in passing and she steadied herself against his shoulder.

  “I keep running into you,” she said, leaning close to his ear. “I might suspect you were following me.” Foolish to tease him, but the heat and energy of the dance stole away her caution.

  His lips curled in the shadow of his beak. “This isn’t a night for suspicions.”

  “Then why so many guards?”

  “That, my lady, is caution, and sadly well-founded.”

  She nodded, fighting the urge to pass on Xinai’s warning. But he knew as much as she did, doubtless, and she needed no more attention.

  Before she could speak, Zhirin appeared, laying a light hand on Isyllt’s arm to keep them from drifting apart.

  “My escort,” Isyllt said, nodding farewell to Asheris. “Perhaps I’ll see you again tonight.”

  “I suspect you shall.” He bowed again and Isyllt let Zhirin lead her away. He was dangerous, she reminded herself. But that never stopped her as often as it should.

  Wooden platforms covered most of the Floating Garden, firmly lashed together and to the banks. Some were stages for musicians, some dance floors, others bridges. Lanterns bobbed in a web of ropes overhead, their reflections like colored moons in the night-black water. Theater boxes had been erected around the plaza, raised and sheltered vantages from which to watch the revelry.

  “Ad
am’s on the other side,” Zhirin said, pushing her way through.

  Isyllt stepped onto the rocking boards, but a new song started and she was caught in another dance. She dodged reaching hands, balancing on the edge of the platform as dancers spun, trading partners as they twirled. Feathers and sequins littered the wood.

  When she neared the far side, a man in a fox mask-copper and black instead of white-offered her a hand from the bank. As she reached for it, the barge trembled under her feet. A dancer stumbled drunkenly beside her and his companion giggled. Isyllt’s stomach tightened and she tensed to leap for the shore.

  Too late. Her fingers brushed the man’s and the water erupted in a violent fountain, flinging flowers and candles into the air. The barge surged up, snapping its moorings as it capsized. Someone screamed, and then the water closed over Isyllt’s head.

  All around she heard frantic splashing and muted shouts from above. Water seeped into her mouth, bitter with silt. Her coat weighed her down, fouled her legs as she tried to swim. A hand caught her arm, rescuer or fellow victim, and she reached for it.

  But the flesh she touched was nothing human and whatever held her was dragging her deeper.

  She ripped off her mask and summoned a sickly white ghostlight that glowed through the murk. Black eyes paled to pearl in the sudden glare and the creature bared needle teeth in a silent hiss. No seductive siren, this-webbed hands and sea-wrack hair, a mouth twice as wide as a man’s. A finned tail like a sea serpent’s lashed the water, coiling around Isyllt’s legs.

  A nakh. She groped for her knife but found only wet silk and scales. Already her chest burned and she fought to keep her mouth shut. Claws scored her flesh. Just take a breath, she thought, wild and reckless. The river will take the pain.

  She rallied her scattered wits, abandoned the knife in favor of better weapons. Her ring blazed through her glove, shards of light aimed at the creature’s eyes. It recoiled, letting go of Isyllt’s arm.