“Mira, I’m home-”
The door swung open, and she froze as she recognized the man sitting across from her mother. “Oh!” She dipped a hasty bow. “Your Excellency, excuse me.”
Fei Minh rose, setting aside her teacup. “Zhirin!”
Faraj al Ghassan, Viceroy of Symir, stood a heartbeat after his hostess, a chuckle erasing the startlement on his face.
“I’m sorry, Mira,” Zhirin said as her mother kissed her stinging cheek. “I didn’t realize-”
“Don’t worry, Miss Laii,” Faraj said. “I should be going anyway. Thank you for the tea, Fei Minh, and for your help.”
He inclined his head to Zhirin, and it was all she could do to smile and nod. Her face burned as though her crimes were branded there for him to read. Rebel. Traitor. But he only turned away to clasp hands with her mother.
“It’s my pleasure,” Fei Minh said, following him down the stairs. “You must visit again soon. Bring Shamina and Murai.”
“After the festival, perhaps.” He stepped into his slippers and bowed again, silk coat whispering. “Good evening, ladies.”
“What are you doing home?” Fei Minh asked as she shot the bolt behind him.
“Vasilios is staying in the city for the festival, and I thought I’d visit.”
“About time you thought of that.” She smiled to take the sting from the words, one cheek dimpling. Delicate lines fanned from her eyes and framed her mouth, but Fei Minh’s skin was still soft as almond-milk and honey. “You picked a bad night for it, I’m afraid. Your father and Sungjin are visiting on the South Bank for a few days.”
That was no surprise; her father and brother had started spending most of their time at Cay Laii when Fei Minh began her first term on the Khas thirteen years ago. Only propriety and habit kept him coming home at all, Zhirin suspected. And since her mother’s last term had ended a year ago, she knew how bored and restless Fei Minh had been.
Zhirin’s brow creased as she eyed her mother’s hair, unbraided and held up loosely with sandalwood sticks. Absent servants, late visits…“Mother, are you having an affair?”
Fei Minh blinked, then began to laugh. “Oh, darling. With Faraj? Wouldn’t that be a scandal?” She wiped delicately at one eye. “No, dear, I’m afraid not.”
“What are you helping him with, then?”
“Just business. He’s using some of our ships for a private investment.” She took Zhirin by the elbow and steered her toward the kitchen. Her perfume was still jasmine and citrus; the scent was as much home to Zhirin as the smell of the river. “You missed dinner, but I’ll make tea. And since you’re here, perhaps you can look at the fountain-it’s not flowing properly, and your father will rip it out and rearrange the whole garden if I give him half an excuse.”
“You paid quite an apprentice-price for me to become a plumber.”
Fei Minh snorted softly. “Think of it as part of your repayment-I want to see some return on my investment. Now, sit down and tell me about your lessons.”
Zhirin woke to midnight bells, the bedside candle a puddle of cold wax in its bowl. She ran a hand over her face, knuckled gritty eyes. She’d only meant to lie down, but feather beds and the whisper of the canal had lulled her under. Jabbor had promised to meet her, after-
The bells kept ringing and Zhirin’s stomach curdled. Not the solemn night bells after all, but brazen clashing chimes.
An alarm.
A few neighbors stood on their front steps, listening to the clamor. Blessedly distant-not Heronmark’s watchtower but one farther west. Merrowgate, perhaps.
“What’s happened?” Fei Minh called to the next house.
“We don’t know. There’ve been no criers yet.”
Zhirin descended the steps to the canal, stones cool and slick beneath her feet. Water soaked her trousers as she knelt and laid a palm on the surface. One breath, then another, and her heart began to slow as the river’s rhythm filled her, deep and inexorable. She raised her hand, scattering ripples.
And the lapping water showed her colors, red and gray, gold and orange, dancing and twisting against the black. It took her a heartbeat to make sense of the distorted reflection.
Fire.
“Something’s burning,” she said as she rose, scrubbing her wet hand on her trousers.
“Ancestors,” her mother whispered. “Not the docks.”
The Laiis had been a southern clan once, tenders of marshy rice fields. But these days their money came from the sea, from swift trading ships and goods piled in dockside warehouses.
“I’m going to see what’s happened,” Zhirin said.
“No-”
“I’ll be careful, Mira.” She darted up the steps to kiss her mother’s cheek. Before Fei Minh could protest more, she unmoored the household skiff and pushed off.
She whispered to the river and soon the current caught her, swifter and more graceful than she could have rowed. But even with the water’s help, she didn’t want to risk the skiff dockside. She moored at the far edge of Jadewater and ran the rest of the way.
Her side ached by the time she reached Merrowgate’s warehouse district and her breath ripped her chest like gravel and broken shells. Her feet throbbed, likely bleeding, and she chided herself for not putting on shoes. A sullen orange glow lined the rooftops, and bells and voices rang loud and raucous.
The crowd led her to the fire, and she skirted the edges till she could see. The street was mud-slick and cold despite the waves of heat. Rats and insects scurried for safety; Zhirin shuddered as a finger-long cockroach crawled over her foot. City guards surrounded the building, passing buckets down a line.
It wasn’t enough. A canal ran behind the building, and a wide street in front, but only alleys separated it from its neighbors, narrow enough that even she could have jumped them. The wind off the bay was gentle, but enough to blow flames onto the next rooftop; already it had begun to smoke.
The whole district could be gone by morning.
The bucket lines moved faster, water glowing gold as it splashed the cobbles. Zhirin wanted to join them, but it was no use. She couldn’t call a flood. Not even the Mother’s temple could, since the river had been dammed. For all her tricks, she was useless against this.
Gongs echoed from the waterfront, warning ships to lift anchor before the docks caught. That would take a while, at least, unless the wind shifted.
Another section of roof collapsed with a groan and roar and a flurry of sparks rode the wind like orange fireflies. Someone screamed as flames burst through the gap. Mirrors dangling from nearby roofs threw back the firelight in angry flashes.
A moment later she realized what the burning building had been. A government warehouse. She pressed a hand over her mouth and swallowed the taste of char.
She should run home, warn her mother since she was no use here, but she could only stare. Guards appeared on the neighboring warehouse’s roof, splashing wood and plaster and tiles in a futile bid to keep the flames at bay. A shout rose from the back of the crowd, and she scrambled to keep out of the press as the mass of people parted to admit a man.
His face was a mask of flame and shadow, but Zhirin recognized the curve of his bare head. Her stomach tightened. She’d thought Asheris was sleeping at the Kurun Tam tonight; his rumpled clothes looked as though he’d only just woken. But he was here. He waved the guards away and kept walking, so close his skin must be crisping. If the building fell now it would crush him.
Pain spread down Zhirin’s arm; she’d bitten her knuckle hard enough to break the skin.
Asheris extended a hand toward the fire, palm up. Flames flickered toward him, though the wind didn’t change. Fire lapped his fingers like a curious hound, then twisted up his arm in a glowing spiral.
