The Drowning City: The Necromancer Chronicles Book One (7 page)

She pulled a leather pouch from a pocket in her skirts. Inside the silk-lined wallet lay a narrow surgeon’s blade, a palm-sized
mirror, a sack of salt, incense, and a silver chain. An exorcist’s kit—years of habit had trained her to carry it always.
They were past the stage for incense and cajoling. Instead she removed the knife.

The blade was well-honed. She didn’t feel the cut until blood pooled in her left hand, feathering across the fine lines of
her palm. The pain came a moment later, hot and sharp.

Isyllt crouched at the foot of the bed and stretched out her bleeding hand. “Deilin. Come out and talk to me.”

Lilani tossed; Adam’s hands tightened on her shoulders.

“What do you want with this child?”

The darkness surged inside the girl, drowning Lilani’s own colors. Isyllt blew across her hand, stinging the wound and wafting
the smell of fresh blood into the girl’s face. Lilani moaned and licked her lips.

“Deilin Xian!”

Isyllt’s voice cracked like a lash, and the child stiffened. Chapped lips parted and a rough, hollow voice let loose a stream
of angry Sivahran.

“Let me guess,” Isyllt muttered, “none of that is polite either?”

Adam chuckled. “
Kaixe
means ‘frail,’ if that gives you an idea.”

“Charming woman.” She met Lilani’s eyes, and the wraith’s lightless gaze behind them. Deilin’s control was strong if blood
wouldn’t tempt her out. “Leave the child alone, Deilin. It won’t work.”

More cursing. Lilani twitched and writhed, but Adam held her fast.

Isyllt rolled her eyes. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” She reached out, pressed her bloody hand against Lilani’s
chest. Flesh stopped flesh, but cold
otherwise
fingers stretched further, clenched in tangling souls.

“Lilani,” she whispered, praying the girl could hear her over the ghost’s invective, “hold on.”

And she wrenched the ghost free.

Lilani screamed. Someone in the hallway screamed. Deilin lunged against Isyllt, icy dead fingers clawing for her throat. Just
a pale shadow to Isyllt’s blurring eyes, but strong with anger and desperation. The ghost fell against her, nearly as solid
as flesh, and both women tumbled off the end of the bed.

The salt circle caught them like a wall of fire, and Isyllt twisted in time to keep from breaking it. Her arm was numb, breath
a shuddering plume in the frosty air.

Deilin was strong, but Isyllt was a trained necromancer, student of the finest sorcerer in Erisín. She drew a breath, focused,
and pinned the ghost flat to the floor. Her ring spat opalescent fire, burning with the presence of death.

Anhai trembled at the threshold, held back by her sister’s arm.

“I can make sure she never does this again, to anyone.” Isyllt’s voice rasped through her frozen throat. “Will you give me
leave?”

Anhai gasped, pressed a hand over her mouth. Vienh’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Do it,” she spat. Anhai made a choked sound
and turned her face away.

Isyllt stood, the ghost twisting in her grip like a cat made of gossamer ice.

“Deilin Xian.” The spirit trembled, eyes wide now with fear, the madness leaving her. Too late. “By your name and your soul,
you are mine.”

The diamond blazed, bright enough to bring tears to Isyllt’s eyes. Deilin screamed and screamed as the fire burned her, froze
her, swallowed her whole. Then she was gone and the lack of sound echoed through the room. The screams lingered in Isyllt’s
head as the ghost pounded against the flawless adamant curves of her new home. Then the other ghosts who dwelled in the diamond
found her, and there was only silence.

Lilani sobbed, clinging to Adam. At Isyllt’s nod of invitation Anhai and Vienh rushed into the room, breaking the circle and
snatching the child into their arms.

Isyllt leaned against a bedpost as the room spiraled queasily around her. Lamplight lanced through her head, sharp as a blade,
and as the numbness receded pain rushed up her arm. Sweat and sickness clogged her nose and her stomach lurched as she stumbled
into the hall. Adam caught up with her in a few strides, holding her against him when she would have fallen.

She barely pulled free in time to vomit.

Isyllt accepted Anhai’s tearful offer of tea, if only because she feared Adam would have to carry her back to the Silver Phoenix
otherwise. The old serving woman boiled water while Anhai found bandages for Isyllt’s hand. Afterward, she sat on a low couch,
dignity and corset stays keeping her upright when she wanted to melt, and let hot spices wash away the taste of bile and wine
and ease the lingering chill in her bones.

Anhai picked up her cup, but her hands trembled so badly she set it down again. “That you had to save my niece from her own
blood…” She shook her head. “My family is in your debt, Lady Iskaldur, more than I can say.”

“Isyllt, please.”

“Then you must call me Anhai—”

“Iskaldur?” Vienh interrupted, coming into the room. “Isyllt Iskaldur?” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Isyllt.

“That’s right.”

“Mother’s bones!” The woman shook her head, undoing the hasty knot that held up her hair. “I’m first mate on the
Rain Dog
. I’ll see that Izzy gives your money back.”

Isyllt swallowed a chuckle, glanced at Anhai. The woman caught the look and smiled.

“Don’t worry. I’m well aware of what my sister does on that boat of hers. But silence is the very least you may ask of me,
La—Isyllt. After what you did for Lia, I would help you load a smuggling ship myself.”

Isyllt nodded thanks. “Keep the money,” she said to Vienh. “Just don’t let him sail off in the night.”

Vienh grinned wearily. “I’ll flense him myself if he tries.”

“Do you know why your grandmother was so angry? More than a lack of proper funeral rites, surely.”

The sisters exchanged a glance, kinship plain in otherwise dissimilar faces. Vienh broke the silence first. “The rites would
be bad enough for many Sivahri, but Grandmother—In her generation the Xians were rebels, fighting the Assari however they
could. Deilin died in an ambush gone wrong—the Empire’s soldiers got the upper hand. They left the bodies in the jungle for
beasts.”

“Things were less bloody by our time,” Anhai said. “But for Grandmother, trapped in death, watching…The witch on the Street
of Salt called me a filthy collaborator dog, and that is—was—Deilin’s opinion as well.” She pushed her hair back. “That a
foreigner came to our aid when our own people would not is a shameful thing for Sivahra.”

Silence welled in the room, until Isyllt heard the creak of leather as Adam shifted his weight behind her. Fatigue lapped
over her, forcing out a yawn that she barely caught with the back of her hand. “Forgive me.” Sivahri politeness must be contagious.
Adam pressed a surreptitious hand against her shoulder, keeping her upright. “Thank you for the tea, but we should be going.”

“Of course.” Anhai rose, graceful in spite of her tangled hair and wrinkled clothes. “You have our blessings.”

“Find a physician for Lilani, to be safe. Possession will drain her worse than any fever.”

Anhai nodded and escorted Isyllt and Adam to the door. “If you need anything in Symir, anything at all…”

“Thank you.”

The door closed, cutting off the light, and a lock clicked. Adam’s hand lingered on her arm and Isyllt allowed herself to
lean on him for a weary instant.

“You’re not going to be sick again, are you?”

She snorted and pulled away. “I hope not.” She rubbed her hands against her arms—her scarf must be somewhere in Lilani’s bedroom.
“Thank you for helping in there.”

He shrugged it aside. “That was good work. The old man taught you well enough.”

She was too tired for the thought to even ache. “He did.”

They returned to the Phoenix in silence. By the time they reached the inn, the night had dissolved into a blur of shadows
and lamplight and Isyllt’s blood echoed in her ears. The wind gusted and Adam stiffened, raising his face.

Isyllt wrinkled her nose. “Smoke?”

“In the north. Something big is burning.”

“Should we see—” But a yawn caught her mid-question, popping her jaw with its force. Adam chuckled.

“In the morning. I’ll wake you if the city burns down.”

The last thing she remembered before darkness took her was Adam catching her as she stumbled and carrying her to bed.

Xinai slipped in long after the midnight bells had sounded; the door squeaked as she closed it and Adam stirred. By the dim
light through the window she saw him grope for his sword and fall back when he recognized her.

She kicked off her boots and unbuckled her belt. The smell of alcohol mingled with his sweat was familiar, but as she moved
closer to the bed she caught another scent and frowned. Magic, cold and dark.

“You smell like death,” she said, standing at the foot of the bed. He’d fallen asleep still dressed. Waiting for her—it made
her smile, even after so many years. “Death and wine.”

“The wine came before the death,” he muttered, kicking off his boots.

“It usually does.” The bed creaked under her weight. She leaned over him, wrinkled her nose at a trace of bittersweet perfume.
“You smell like the witch too.” She arched an eyebrow, though he probably couldn’t see it. “I didn’t know she was your type.”

He chuckled and laid his hands on her waist. “If her magic didn’t kill me, her hip bones would. No, we had an adventure.”

Better than spending hour after hour in smoky bars, listening to disgruntled laborers mutter into their beer. Liquor might
stir their tongues against the Empire, but in the morning they’d curse their hangovers and go about their lives without a
thought of doing anything more. Even those who’d gathered to protest at the docks yesterday weren’t likely to do more than
shout. She needed warriors, not angry tradesmen and merchants. The stink of beer and smoke and other people’s sweat still
clung to her skin, and she had only a handful of names that might be of use. At least the fire in the dockyard had been a
pretty distraction.

She forced her disappointment aside. “A story,” she said, straddling Adam’s hips and helping him undo his belt and shirt laces.
“Tell me.”

He pulled her down beside him, leaning his head on her shoulder as he recounted the trip to Straylight. A hollow feeling grew
in Xinai’s stomach as he told of the exorcism and the binding of the Xian ghost.

“How horrible,” she whispered when he finished. “To die like that, unburned. To watch your family become collaborators.” She
might have died a hundred times in the north, and no one would have known the rites and songs. It had never worried her much
then, when she thought she’d never see home again. Now the thought tightened her stomach with queasy dread.

Adam snorted softly and she stiffened. But it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t know.

“Trying to steal your great-granddaughter’s body is still a bit much.”

“Yes.” Just a child. A warrior’s body would be more use. They lay in silence for a while and she felt Adam start to drowse.
“I wonder how many of them are left,” she mused aloud. “The rebel ghosts.”

“We’re only concerned with the live ones.” He slid his arm around her waist and pressed his face against the crook of her
neck. “Do you have any stories to tell? I smelled a fire.”

“Yes, a warehouse by the docks.” His breathing had already begun to roughen and she kissed his forehead, soothing a hand over
his tangled hair. “I’ll tell you in the morning. Rest.”

A moment later he was snoring softly, but a long time passed before Xinai followed him into the dark.

I
syllt woke to a hot swath of sunlight creeping across the bed and corset stays gouging her ribs and breasts. Dreams of ghosts
and ice clotted her mind, cobweb-sticky, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, or why.

Then she sat up and clarity returned, gilding the spike of pain that stabbed her between the eyes. Bile burned the back of
her throat, and for a nervous instant she thought she would retch. She swallowed it down, closed her eyes, and waited to make
an uneasy truce with her stomach.

A truce that lasted until she staggered out of bed and breathed in the canal’s stench through the open window. She reached
the water closet just in time.

She’d lied, it seemed—drinking herself stupid qualified as letting personal feelings interfere with the job. She couldn’t
afford to do that again.

After a long bath and clean clothes she joined the mercenaries for breakfast, where she managed to sip lassi and nibble bread.
She closed her eyes against the wicked sunlight and listened to Xinai talk about insurgent groups and warehouse fires. At
the moment all she cared about was letting the words sink into her ears—she’d try to make sense of them when her head cleared.

“Wait,” Adam interrupted in the midst of the report. Isyllt opened one eye and winced as light shattered off the table settings.
“What was that name?”

“Jabbor Lhun?” Isyllt replied. At least her memory still worked, even if the rest of her body contemplated mutiny.

“He’s the leader of a rebel group,” Xinai said again. “The Jade Tigers. They’re one of the public ones, at least.”

“Is he Assari?” Adam asked.

“Half, or so I heard.” She raised black eyebrows. “Why?”

He grinned. “I think I saw our rebel leader yesterday. Trysting with an apprentice at the Kurun Tam.”

Afternoon settled hot and lazy before they left the Phoenix. A few criers still shouted the news of the fire, but most had
fled the heat. The wind from the north smelled of ashes and char.

A skiff carried them to the eastern side of the city, through wide canals and water gardens. The steersman pointed out landmarks,
including the shining walls and gates of the Khas Maram. The House of the People, in Assari, the name of both the domed council
building and the elected officials who gathered there. The councillors were native Sivahri, meant to balance the imperially
appointed Viceroy. In theory, at least—Isyllt doubted anyone not a wealthy loyalist sat in the people’s house.