pulled on a robe and combed her wet hair, then removed the shroud of black silk from the tall mirror in her chambers. An old one-the tarnished silver backing mottled her reflection, made her a wraith by shadows and candlelight.
The night was late in Erisin as well, though not quite so late as here, but she doubted Kiril would be asleep. She hesitated for a moment, then laid her left palm against the glass and whispered his name.
The mirror clouded, darkened till it matched her diamond, and she fought not to sway as the spell leeched strength from her. Perhaps she should have waited for morning after all; the distance made it difficult, and the vast salt-thick ocean between them didn’t help. But she tightened her jaw and held on.
At last the mist cleared, revealing a room she knew as well as her own. Lamplight and gloom, a worn brocade chair and a desk cluttered with books and quills and empty teacups. Atop a stack of papers lay a pair of spectacles that would never leave the room-magecraft could hone the senses keen as a beast’s for a short while, but couldn’t undo time. No matter how much anyone prayed otherwise.
“Kiril.”
A moment later he appeared, sinking into the chair and turning to face the glass. “Isyllt.” Heartbeats slipped by as they watched each other. “You look well,” he finally said.
“You look tired. You should rest.” His hair had been streaked with gray as long as she’d known him, but now it was paler still, and white peppered his auburn-black beard. The shadows beneath his dark eyes had become permanent in the last year, the seams around his mouth starker.
He smiled, spiderweb wrinkles deepening around his eyes. “Maybe later.” An old argument, more a joke by now. Isyllt swallowed. “But how are you? How goes the trip?”
“I’ve spoken to the people I needed to, and made arrangements.”
“Wonderful. I knew you would.”
She admonished herself for the warm rush of pride in her chest. “Vasilios and Adam send their regards.”
“How are they?”
“Well. Adam’s upset that he hasn’t got to kill anything yet.”
Kiril chuckled. “Likely better if he doesn’t. I’ll find him bloodier work when you get back. How long do you plan to stay?”
“We need to make arrangements for supplies, and a fast ship with a clever captain. I’ll stay until the ship arrives. I’ll contact you when I know where it should put in to port.”
He nodded. One long, ink-stained hand twitched, as though he meant to raise it to the glass. “Just be sure to bring yourself safely home.”
She swallowed all the things she might have said, only nodded instead. Before she could change her mind, she pulled her hand away and let the vision fade. The glass showed her own face again, pale and stiff as a mask. She draped the mirror and turned away, praying for a dreamless night.
The night was full of ghosts and spirits. Xinai leaned against the crumbling doorway and listened to their fluting whispers and soft animal noises. She had no salt, but the firelight kept them away for now. Or perhaps they were afraid of Shaiyung; her mother lingered in the shadows of the room, watching with sunken eyes.
Not their family’s house-Xinai hadn’t the heart to find it yet-but another small clay building, one that had best survived the years and the banyan tree’s stretching roots. Phailin dozed by the fire, her breath rough with pain.
Xinai wasn’t sure how long it had been since Riuh had gone; it seemed hours, but she couldn’t see the stars. She turned away from the night, leaned against the wall and watched the fire instead.
Heat and jungle noises lulled her. She woke with a start and berated herself for drowsing. Phailin still slept, but the spirits had quieted. Xinai drew her daggers and listened through broken shutters. Footsteps, stealthy through the brush. Then Riuh whistled their all-clear signal, and she sighed.
He stepped into the light, Selei and a handful of warriors with him. Xinai sheathed her blades.
“I feared-” She paused, and Selei smiled.
“You feared I’d be no match for soldiers.” The woman knelt beside the fire and kindled a lantern. “Don’t worry, child, I’m neither toothless nor helpless quite yet.” She drew Xinai aside as Phailin’s relatives entered the room. “Let them tend her. I need to speak with you.” Her milky eye flickered toward Shaiyung. “Both of you.”
They followed Selei into the thicket of the banyan tree, and the light cast their shadows wild and writhing amid the branches. Shaiyung stood close to Xinai, a line of cold down her left side.
“You can see her?”
Selei snorted. “I’ve been speaking to ghosts since before your mother first propositioned your father, girl.”
“You knew she was here.”
“Yes. We’ve talked, Shai and I.” She smiled at the ghost. “She’s been waiting for you.”
“I’ll do the rites, if you’ll teach me. I’ll sing her on-”
Shaiyung shook her head, twisting the gash in her throat wider. “No,” she hissed.
“That isn’t what she’s been waiting for.”
Xinai crossed her arms against the chill. “What, then?”
“She’s been waiting for you to come and free her, so she can join our cause.”
Shaiyung nodded.
“A ghost?”
“She’s not the only one in these woods.” Selei brushed dry fingertips over Xinai’s eyes. “Do you see?”
And there, pale in the darkness, stood half a dozen ghosts, lurking among the tree roots. Xinai sucked a breath through her teeth. Most looked more substantial than her mother, but still gray and hollow-eyed, bearing the marks of their deaths.
“You haven’t sung them on?”
“And lose allies? This is their war too, and they’ve already paid a higher price than any of us.”
“But they should rest.”
“We’ll rest when the land is free again,” one of the ghosts whispered, nearly lost beneath the distant song of crickets.
Shaiyung nodded again. “There aren’t many us of us,” she whispered. “It’s hard, hard to stay awake, to stay sane in the Night Forest. So many have faded or wandered on, or been trapped in their bones.”
“You’re a good omen,” Selei said. “The last Lin child returned. Hope for the clan again. Maybe other clans might live again too.”
Xinai didn’t know what to say to that-bad enough when the living pinned their hopes to her, let alone the dead. “Does everyone know of this? Riuh and Phailin and the rest?”
“Phailin does,” Selei said. “But not everyone knows of the Ki Dai.”
The White Hand. Xinai’s eyes widened. “Rebel ghosts.”
“Ghosts and witches, yes. Not all our warriors can see or hear the dead, and some wouldn’t understand why we don’t sing them on. The Dai Tranh works in the land of the living-the Ki Dai works in the twilight lands as well.”
“So Deilin Xian-”
“Was one of us, yes. We tried to keep her away from that child, but the madness took her.” Selei’s eyes narrowed. “You know what happened, then? What your companions did to her?”
She nodded. “I heard.”
“Can we free her?”
Xinai heard the rest of the question and swallowed. “I don’t know. But the necromancer wants to treat with you, with the Dai Tranh.”
“We fight for a free Sivahra, not to trade one master for another. We won’t be snared in webs of foreign gold. Nor can we barter for Deilin like a fish in a market. She would understand.”
Xinai’s shoulders sagged. “So it was all for nothing.”
Selei clucked her tongue. “We won’t treat with foreigners, girl. You’re kin. If you want to fight with us, we welcome you.”
She glanced from Selei to Shaiyung. The ghost nodded. “Stay,” she whispered.
“What about my partner? He’s saved my life more times than I can count. We’re…close.”
Selei shook her head. “He may be a good man, but he has no place with us. If you care, send him away. Will you stay?”
