“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.
Chapter 4
Isyllt 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.
The emerald shade of the canals spared them the worst of the heat, but the long sleeves Isyllt wore to cover her bruised and salt-burned arms were no help. Insects buzzed loudly through fragrant balcony gardens and upper windows glittered in the sun; reflected light rippled liquid across the undersides of eaves. Raintree was a wealthier neighborhood than Jadewater or Saltlace, with fewer shops to ruin the line of expensive houses. No broken streets or sinking buildings here-police patrolled these streets, not gangs, and she doubted anyone slept in these alleys.
The skiff let them off at the circular tree-lined court where Vasilios lived, and Adam tipped the steersman. As they climbed the steps, Isyllt reached for the power stored in her ring, teasing out just enough to numb her aches and clear her head. No safer a remedy than a drunkard’s morning wine, but this was the job and she couldn’t muddle through it. The world snapped into crystalline focus and she swallowed a sigh.
Zhirin greeted them at the door, looking nearly as tired as Isyllt felt, and led them to an upstairs study. The windows stood open to the garden breeze and treetops swayed against the casement, framed by flowering trellises. A fat cream-colored cat napped in a stripe of sunlight, sparing the visitors only an amber-eyed glance.
Vasilios rose to greet them, setting aside a book. He must have noticed the reek of magic hanging on Isyllt; his eyes narrowed as he clasped her hand, but he said nothing.
“Good afternoon.” He waved them toward chairs, settling back into his own. Isyllt winced as his knees cracked.
“This is nothing,” he said wryly, catching the look. “When the rains come, all my bones try to catch the next fast ship for Assar.” He glanced at the window, at the cascade of vines and flowers beyond it. “But I can’t seem to leave Symir, no matter what old bones would like.”
Zhirin returned laden with an elaborate brass tea set, and Isyllt smiled-brewing countless pots of tea was part of any apprenticeship she’d ever known. They waited in silence as tea was poured and pastries passed around. The rattle of saucers drew the cat, who threw himself against ankles indiscriminately until Vasilios shared a honey cake with him.
“It’s pleasant to have new company,” the old man said when everyone was served, “but I suspect you wish to speak of the real reasons behind your visit.”
Zhirin glanced toward the door, but Vasilios waved her back. “Stay, my dear. This very much concerns you.” The girl settled on a cushioned bench beside his chair, hands clasped in her lap. “In fact, why don’t you explain to Zhirin exactly what you’re doing here?”
The girl’s face paled a shade, but she sat still and waited. Soft and pretty and demure, and brewed strong tea-prized qualities in apprentices the world over. Revolution would be a tempting hobby after a few years of that.
Isyllt took a sip of tea to drown her amusement; the heat stung the cut on her left hand. “Rumors of rebellion brewing in Symir have reached the court in Erisin. My master, who serves the king, sent me here to investigate those rumors.”
“Why?” Zhirin asked. She flinched, then continued. “How does Symir concern Selafai?”
One corner of Isyllt’s mouth curled. “The Emperor’s eye turns north. If he does attempt to invade Selafai, Sivahra’s wealth will finance it. Selafai has no desire to be subsumed by the Empire.”
Zhirin’s hazel eyes narrowed. “And Symir has no desire to be handed off to another master like a piece on a game board.” She flushed, as if surprised by the vehemence in her voice.
“Not a piece. A power.” Isyllt leaned forward. “The king of Selafai doesn’t want to rule an empire any more than he wants to be part of one. All he cares about is keeping his kingdom secure.”
In truth the king of Selafai was too distracted by grief over his wife to care about much else, even a year after her death. It was Kiril who saw the eyes of the Empire turning north, and Kiril who chose to act sooner rather than later.
“What does this mean for Symir?” Zhirin asked.
“It means that I’m here to find this rumored rebellion, to treat with its leaders. If there is a faction strong enough to take back Sivahra and hold it, Selafai would be willing to offer aid.”
The girl’s jaw tightened and she sucked in a breath through her nose. “Why are you telling me this? I’m just an apprentice-a collaborator, no less.” She glanced at Vasilios with a rueful half-smile.
Vasilios’s laugh broke the thickening tension. “Forgive me, Zhirin. But do you really think I don’t know who you’re with, all those times you’re late for lunch or lessons?”
“Oh.” And her brown cheeks burned crimson.
“The empire isn’t the worst of it,” Zhirin said later, after she’d stopped blushing and stammering. She paced in front of the window, despite her still-aching feet; at least the carpets were soft. The cat followed her circuit with slitted eyes, tail-tip twitching. “Not really.”
