The Drowning City Read online

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?”

  He frowned, dipping a slice of bread into the hummus. “The structural damage isn’t too bad—a few canal walls fractured, but nothing sinking. So far we’ve found eighteen dead in the canals, drowned or killed by nakh. More are still missing.”

  Isyllt took a bite of pastry, honey melting across her tongue. Yesterday’s breakfast seemed years past. “Do you think the people responsible are the ones who murdered Vasilios?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Or do you think I killed him?”

  “I don’t,” he said after a moment’s pause. “But someone wants me to think you did. The simplest of spells will link the scarf that killed him to a gown in your luggage.” He sipped his coffee. “Do you know why anyone would want to implicate you?”

  She met his eyes over the rim of her cup. “A foreigner—a necromancer, no less—who’s already been seen snooping around? I imagine it was too much to pass up. I’m told the natives aren’t fond of my sort of magic.”

  “No.” He glanced toward her ring. “It’s quite anathema.” She finished the last bite of pastry and he pressed a saucer of eggs and meat on her.

  “But why kill Vasilios at all?” she asked, salting the eggs.

  “That I don’t know. And that’s why I’d prefer you stay here until I find out. What do you think has happened to your bodyguard?”

  She swallowed carefully. “I don’t know. I hope he’s not one of those missing in the canals. But he is a mercenary—perhaps he decided I’m not worth the trouble. How long should I plan on staying here?”

  “We’ll make every effort to find those responsible. Of course, if you’d prefer to leave immediately, I could find you passage on an Imperial ship…”

  “You’re too kind. But no, I’d rather stay and learn who’s responsible. My master wouldn’t wish me to leave with an old friend’s death unsolved.”

  “Of course. You may explore the grounds as you wish—the guards can direct you. The gardens are quite lovely—” Even as he spoke, the light dimmed and grayed and rain rattled the leaves. Asheris glanced at the fat raindrops rolling down the windowpane and sighed. “But perhaps not this morning. We’re having a ball tonight, however, safely indoors. I’d be delighted if you would attend.”

  “A ball? After what happened?”

  He shrugged. “The Khas always holds one to celebrate the rains. I imagine it will be more subdued than usual this year. Will you come?”

  “If my luggage arrives.” She tugged at one too-short sleeve. “I’m not very presentable like this.”

  “I’m sure we can find you something.”

  The pigs were a long time in dying.

  Of all the sounds of Sivahra, that was one Xinai hadn’t missed. She lay curled on the floor of a hunter’s blind, trying to concentrate on the snores of her companions and the rain on the roof, while pigs died shrieking in the valley below.

  Cay Xian had emptied overnight; elders and children and women too pregnant to fight slipped away to neighboring towns, while warriors scattered into the forest. By now the village stood empty as Cay Lin.

  Selei slept beside her, snoring softly, and Riuh drowsed on the far side of the room. He hadn’t spoken about last night, thank all the small gods. Shaiyung hadn’t spoken of it either, hadn’t spoken at all, though Xinai occasionally felt the cool draft of her presence.

  Bad enough trying to keep your living mother from meddling in relationships, let alone a ghost.

  A birdcall sounded in the trees outside, was answered a moment later. No real birds, but Xian warriors keeping watch.

  One high squealing shriek faded and another began. Xinai winced and tugged her blanket tighter around her shoulders. As a child, she’d wondered if men screamed like that as they died. Funny how inured she’d become to the sounds of a battlefield, but animals being slaughtered could still upset her so.

  As the sky paled to a gray ceiling behind the lattice of leaves, Xinai gave up on sleep. She slipped outside to relieve herself, and when she returned Selei was awake and folding their blankets.

  “What’s the plan?” Xinai asked.

  “I’m going to talk to the village. We need food and supplies, safe houses. But I have another task for you two.” She gestured them closer, tsking when she looked at Xinai. “I hoped you’d at least get a good night’s sleep before I sent you off.”

  Xinai and Riuh sat beside Selei, their knees not quite touching, both carefully not looking at each other.

  “We thought people were disappearing in the ruby mines,” Selei said, “that the Khas was lying about accidents and deaths. It’s worse than that.” She pulled a po
uch from her pocket, unwrapped it carefully. A stone lay on the cloth, rough and pale. It glittered in the light, color sparking in its heart.

  “What is it?” Riuh asked.

  “A diamond. They’re mining diamonds somewhere in Sivahra, using our people to harvest their soul-stones.”

  Xinai reached out a hand, pulled it back again. “Where?”

  “We don’t know. They’ve kept the secret well. We might never have known, but we found this stone in a raid on a government warehouse.”

  “Part of the tithe?”

  “I don’t think so. They were stored with the flawed stones, the ones the Khas sells. I don’t know what game al Ghassan is playing, but I mean to find out.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Xinai asked.

  “Find the mine. From the routes we’ve seen the soldiers take, we guess it’s somewhere to the west, between the mountain and the mines. I’ve charmed this stone as best I can to seek out others of its kind. Just be careful it doesn’t lead you straight to a Kurun Tam mage.” She wrapped the diamond again and handed the pouch to Xinai, who slipped it carefully around her neck. It hung quiet among her other charms.

  Selei’s joints creaked as she rose and Riuh steadied her. “You need a proper bed,” he said.

  She snorted. “In what house? The jungle is the safest place we have now.”

  Xinai hesitated, but Riuh was right—the old woman looked exhausted and moved stiffly. “You could use Cay Lin.” She waited for Shaiyung to offer protest, but none came. “It has walls, if nothing else,” she went on. “Even a few roofs.”

  Riuh made a warding gesture. “But the ghosts—”

  “I’m not afraid of ghosts,” Selei said. “But the Khas soldiers are, and everyone knows the ruins are haunted. A good idea.”

  Xinai tried to ignore the warm rush of pride. It was sacrilege, but she doubted any of the Lin ancestors would begrudge their allies a little succor.

  They rolled the blankets into their packs, took rations of salt pork, cassava root, and fruit leather from the blind’s stores, and descended the hill to the village. Xao Par Khan, Selei had named it, one of the dozens of tiny communities that dotted the forest, away from clan-seats. The Khans, like the Lhuns, had lost lands to the Empire, but had never been slaughtered wholesale like the Lins and Yeohs.

  Xao Par sat in one of the myriad narrow valleys that fanned away from the mountain, a collection of simple wood-and-thatch buildings beside a rain-swollen stream. Children were already out tending plots of yams and lentils. The pigs had finished dying by the time they reached the outskirts. Dogs barked as they approached, rusty brindled beasts the same color as the mud. Soon some of the villagers leaned out their doors.

  “We’ve come from Cay Xian,” Selei called. “I need to speak with your elders.”

  A few moments later an old man emerged, leaning on a young woman’s arm as he descended the steps of his house.

  “Xians.” He glanced at Riuh’s kris-knife, at Xinai’s daggers. “You’re the ones calling yourselves the Hand of Freedom, aren’t you?”

  “We are. The Khas’s soldiers have driven us from Cay Xian.”

  The old man cocked his head, eyes glittering beneath sagging lids. “And you’ve come here for help.”

  “That’s right. We need food, shelter. If any of your warriors wish to join us, we would welcome them.”

  “There are no warriors here. Only farmers and woodsmen. And certainly not murderers.” He lifted a curt hand when Selei tried to speak. “I know what it is your people do.”

  Selei lifted her chin. “We fight for Sivahra. A free Sivahra.”

  “A Sivahra watered in blood. We want no part of your cause, and we won’t harbor murderers. The Khas leaves us in peace here, and we intend to keep it that way.”

  “How long do you think that will last? How long before they decide they need your land, or need your children in the mines?”

  “They’ll decide that much sooner if they find you here. Go on—take yourselves back to Xian lands. We want none of you.”

  Selei’s eyes narrowed. “As you wish.” She turned, shoulders stiff, and waved Xinai and Riuh toward the jungle. When Riuh would have protested, she cut him off.

  “No. It’s their decision.”

  As they walked, she glanced over her shoulder and whispered something Xinai couldn’t hear.

  “Go on,” Selei said. “The sooner you find that mine, the better. I wish I could go with you, but I’d only slow you. I’ll wait for you in Cay Lin.”

  Riuh stooped to kiss her cheek. “We won’t let you down, Grandmother.”

  The air chilled, prickling the back of Xinai’s neck. She looked for Shaiyung, but saw nothing except a light mist curling across the ground.

  “Selei, what’s happening?” Tendrils of fog writhed toward the village.

  “They made their choice, child. You should go. Don’t turn back, whatever you hear.”

  “But what—”

  “Go. There’s nothing left here you need to see.”

  Xinai hesitated, but Riuh caught her elbow and steered her gently toward the path. Gooseflesh roughened her arms and legs as the cold intensified. They were deep into the jungle when she heard the first scream. Riuh stiffened but kept moving. She tried to pretend it was only another pig.

  Chapter 12

  Zhirin paced. Her head was still achy and muddled from crying, and movement didn’t help, but she couldn’t sit still. Every time she did, the images caught up with her: blood in the water, drowning screams, Vasilios’s black and swollen face. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes as fresh tears welled.

  But she couldn’t hide in her room forever either. Her mother had knocked three times already and eventually she’d demand Zhirin answer.

  She paused beside her window, leaned her forehead against the cool glass. Raindrops trickled down the pane, fat beads of rain darkening the stone and trickling through the gutters before eventually joining the river. Zhirin wished she could lose herself in the water so easily. Already the current rolled on, washing away the blood and corpses, easing the shock of shattered stone; the river took all the pain.

  She straightened, wiping the oily smudge of her skin off the expensive glass. Nearly noon—she had to go downstairs sooner or later. She rubbed her eyes again and opened her wardrobe, wafting the fragrance of imported cedar into the air. It had been a long time since she’d worn her mourning clothes, but they were still tucked inside, gray trousers and long blouse. Her mother would never let her leave the house with ashes in her hair.

  After dressing and twisting her tangled hair up in sticks, Zhirin eased open her bedroom door. The third floor was quiet, no lamps burning against the rainy gloom. Rain-streaked windows cast rippling shadows over the tiles at the end of the hall.

  On the second floor she heard soft voices from her mother’s study. She shook her head at the familiarity of it—had it been only seven days since she’d last come home? This time, she paused outside the door and listened.

  “When will your next shipment be ready?” Fei Minh asked.

  “At this rate, who knows?” Porcelain clinked and Faraj sighed; Zhirin was becoming far too familiar with the sound of his muffled voice.

  “I can’t just order my ships to sit in harbor all season. People will talk. Not to mention the money I’d lose.”

  “We’ll lose more than money if this fails. And we only need one ship.”

  Zhirin swallowed; the pit of her stomach chilled, but she was too tired for true shock. Oh, Mira. Not you too.

  “The Yhan Ti,” Fei Minh said after a moment. “She’s dry-docked anyway. I’ll tell the captain to take her time with the repairs.” A cup rattled against a saucer. “You have to do something about these terrorists, Faraj. My daughter could have been killed.”

  The fierce protectiveness in her mother’s voice made Zhirin’s eyes sting again. She pressed a hand over her trembling mouth to stifle a sob. Swallowing tears, she knocked on the door and pushed it open.<
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  Her mother rose, and Faraj set aside his cup.

  “Darling—” Fei Minh raised a hand, let it fall again.

  “Do you know yet?” she asked Faraj. “Who murdered Vasilios?”

  “No. Asheris is investigating. Do you know anything that might help him?”

  “They asked me that last night. No. He was…a good mage. A good master. An old man.” Her voice sounded hollow; she was hollow. No blushing now, no stammering. Was this how Isyllt did it? Scrape out everything that mattered, leave nothing but the cold?

  “I’m sorry,” Faraj said, not meeting her eyes. He rose, straightening his coat. “Will you come to the ball tonight?” he asked Fei Minh.

  Zhirin’s brow creased. “You’re still having a ball?” The festival usually lasted for days, but after last night she couldn’t imagine anyone celebrating.

  He spread his hands and shrugged. “It’s a victory for them if we don’t. We can’t let them grind us down so easily.”

  She swallowed half a dozen answers, pressed her lips tight.

  “I don’t know yet,” Fei Minh said, carefully not glancing at her daughter.

  “I understand. Again, Miss Laii, I’m sorry for your loss.” He waved Fei Minh back as she stepped toward the door. “I can see myself out.”

  Zhirin waited till she heard the front door close to pour herself a cup of tea from the cooling pot. Fei Minh watched her carefully—afraid she’d start crying again, perhaps. Tea washed away the taste of tears, bitter replacing salt; leaves clung to the sides of the cup, swirled lazily in the dregs.

  “Your business with Faraj,” she said at last, “your personal investment. It’s stones, isn’t it? It’s diamonds.” A tea leaf stuck in her throat and she fought a cough.

  Fei Minh blinked, dark lashes brushing her delicately powdered cheeks. Pale as any pure-blooded mountain clan, and she had always taken care to show it, instead of counterfeiting bronzen Assari skin as some tried.

  “How—” She smiled fleetingly. “My daughter.”

  “Diamonds, Mira! Soul-stones. How can you have any part of that?”

  Her mother’s jaw tightened. “Now you sound like your father. Aren’t mages supposed to know better than foolish superstition? As for how—” She sat again, crossing her legs and straightening the seam of one trouser-leg. “Those diamonds are the reason Faraj is Viceroy, and not some politician from Ta’ashlan. Those diamonds are the reason I sat on the council, and that all the other clans have their representatives.”