The Drowning City: The Necromancer Chronicles Book One (18 page)

“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 pouch 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.

Z
hirin 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.