Her chest felt too tight. Years of partnership, of friendship. It would hurt him. But she only hesitated a moment; she was home.
“I will.”
“There’s one thing I must ask of you first.”
Xinai waited; there was always a test, a cost.
“Shaiyung is bound to this place, to the tree. You’re the only one who can set her free.”
She swallowed. “What do I need to do?”
“Bleed. Shed Lin blood for the tree and take a piece of its wood in return. Shaiyung will be able to leave the walls, and to find you if you’re ever in need.”
“All right.” Xinai drew her knife, tested the edge with her thumb; it wanted honing but would serve for the moment. She touched a young tendril that hadn’t reached the ground and glanced a question at Selei. The old woman nodded.
“That will do.”
She pushed back her sleeve and nicked the smaller vein running down her left thumb-the first mercenary witch she’d met in the north had laughed her out of the habit of taking blood from her palm. Pressure, then the flash of pain, then beads of blood welling black in the darkness. She tilted her arm, let the drops trace a dark rivulet into her palm.
Harder to pierce the tree’s skin, and by the time she’d sawed through the tendril tip the last of the edge was gone from her blade. Sap smeared sticky on steel. She pressed her palm against the root, mingling her blood with the tree’s.
Shaiyung sighed like wind in the reeds.
“Is that all?” Xinai’s bloody hand tightened around the sliver of banyan root.
Selei smiled. “Welcome to the Ki Dai, child.”
Part II Downpour
Chapter 9
On her eighth day in Symir, Isyllt woke in the ash-gray dawn to thunder and the hiss and rattle of rain on the leaves.
That morning the normally quiet neighborhood echoed with splashes and laughter as children scrambled outside to play in the puddles. Adults showed more restraint, but many descended their steps and lifted their faces to the rain. Marat’s gray scarf was spotted with damp as she laid out breakfast dishes.
After the meal Zhirin went to the temple district for her devotions and Isyllt and Adam went with her. They’d spent the last two days sorting out arrangements for the supply ship; Isyllt thought they’d earned another day’s vacation. Vasilios-whose discomfort in the increased damp was plain to see-retired to his study.
The sky hung low and dark over the city, the rain gentle but steady. Despite the umbrella she carried, the hems of Isyllt’s trousers were sopping by the time they crossed the first bridge, and the back of her shirt damp. The canals had already risen, flowing faster and cleaner. Tiny wooden boats and garlands of flowers rushed toward the bay, the blossoms filling the air with their bruised-wet sweetness. Mask-sellers hawked their wares in the streets, cheap last-minute choices nothing like the elaborate creations she’d seen in shops.
The temple district was in the southern half of Jadewater, facing Lioncourt across the wide expanse of water called the Floating Garden. Today the Garden swarmed with barges and workers. The smell of incense mingled with the rain, and coils of smoke rose from the domed and pillared churches.
Adam lifted his head as they neared the temples, nostrils flaring in the shadow of his hood. “Xinai is here,” he said when she cocked a brow. “I’m going to look for her. I’m not feeling especially pious today anyway.”
Isyllt nodded and he melted into the eddying crowds. Zhirin watched him go out of the corner of her eye.
“Is he as dangerous as he looks?” the girl asked quietly.
“I hope so. It’s what I’m paying him for.” She tilted her head. “Are you fond of dangerous men?”
Zhirin blushed. “Only Jabbor. And it’s not the danger, so much as his…”
Isyllt swallowed several teasing responses. “His passion? His conviction?”
“Yes. Ever since I met him I’ve wanted to be…more. Cleverer, more useful. I want to help. Do you know what I mean?”
“All too well.” She smiled and shook her head at Zhirin’s curious glance. “But that’s over now,” she lied. She looked away, turned her eyes toward the churches instead.
A half-dozen or so temples stood in a wide horseshoe around a fountained courtyard. Some she recognized- the Ninayan sea lady Mariah, the Assari Sun King, Selafai’s dreaming saint Serebus-others not. In the center of the half-circle rose a tall, domed cathedral of blue-green marble. Vines trailed from high eyelet windows, spreading wild and green across the walls. Water flowed down either side of the wide steps and disappeared below them, perhaps back into the canals from which it came. It was toward this temple that Zhirin led them.
“Whose house is this?” Isyllt asked.
“The River Mother’s. The Mir’s.”
They climbed the rain-slick steps and left their dripping umbrellas and mud-grimed shoes on a rack in the care of a young acolyte. The floor was cold underfoot.
Inside was nearly as damp as the day without. Water dripped in shining streams from holes in the roof, sluicing over smooth-polished pillars and swirling into curving channels in the floor, filling the vaulted chamber with the music of rain and river. Flowering vines clung to the ceiling, shedding petals onto the water. People sat in silent prayer on benches that lined the room, or knelt beside the spirals of the water garden. Some lit candles and set them in floating bowls, while others waded quietly into a deep pool in the center of the room.
“It’s meant as a place of peace,” Zhirin said, her voice soft. “Of solace. We give our pain and troubles to the river, and she washes us clean.”
“It’s beautiful.” She was gawking like a child, but the place was worthy of it.
An old woman passed them, smiling at Isyllt’s expression. She wore a scarf nearly identical to Marat’s, even to the pattern embroidered on the hem. Several others in the temple wore them too, mostly the elderly.
“Those scarves, the gray, do they mean something?”
“They mark the clanless. Those who’ve lost all their kin. To many Sivahri, it’s the worst thing that can befall someone.”
“So Marat-”
“Yes. Many of them end up as servants. It’s a sad thing, to have no one to look after you. I’m going to leave an offering, and light a candle. Afterward I’ll show you where the festival will take place.”
The girl took a coin from her purse and walked toward a stand of votives. Isyllt stepped out of the way of the doors, moving into a green-shadowed corner. A place of solace indeed, and gentler than the sepulcher peace of the cathedrals in Erisin. No one built temples to the black river Dis, and that was likely for the best; it claimed enough sacrifices for itself.
As she glanced around the room, she saw Anhai Xian-Mar hunched on a nearby prayer bench. She wasn’t going to interrupt, but the customs inspector looked up and met Isyllt’s eyes, trying to soothe her face.
“Is something wrong?” Isyllt asked softly as she moved closer. “It isn’t Lilani, is it?”
“No. No, Lia’s well, and my sister too.” She sighed. “It’s nothing serious, truly. Only an indignity.”
Isyllt hesitated for a heartbeat. “May I ask?”
“I have been suspended from my position.” Anhai’s lips twisted; the unhappy set of her shoulders made her look older. “The Khas arrested several members of the Xian family for involvement in the market bombing. The port authority suggested that I take time off until the matter has been settled.”
“Surely they don’t suspect you?”
“Not me personally. But as all know, in Sivahra family means more than anything.” The last words were so bitter Isyllt thought she might spit. Anhai glanced at Isyllt’s ring and ran a hand over her face. “Forgive me. You find me at unpleasant times.”
