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
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.
