Bone Palace, The - Amanda Downum Page 0,106

Ros, and Sophia had reached the rank of high priestess through cunning and connections, not mystical acumen.

Nikos noticed his father’s unease, if not the witchery behind it; more than once he tried to catch Kiril’s eye, but Kiril busied himself with papers and gave no response. The prince had proved himself more than capable in his father’s absence, and Kiril had no quarrel with him, but neither would he lead him on with promises of aid. His service to House Alexios was over and done.

So why are you here, old man?

He knew the answer, much as it pained him. He had come because even now he was waiting for Mathiros to change his mind. To apologize, to make some gesture toward mending their split.

It was as ever a vain hope. The king ignored him as he had for years. Kiril was no more than a shadow in his chair for all the heed Mathiros paid him. The other counselors had long followed the king’s example. Some still came to him in private, of course.

The argument broadened to include the treasurer and Secretary of State, and to encompass the matter of military spending. Kiril kept his face and body still when he wanted to bolt from the room. He shouldn’t have come—no matter how this ended, he would get no satisfaction from the outcome.

The city was in too much clamor to venture out that day. Instead Isyllt buried her frustrations by teaching Dahlia the basics of magic theory, though she could give the task only a fraction of the attention it deserved.

When dusk rinsed the sky with violet, she realized what she should have done days ago. Shame stung her cheeks—it was too easy for even a necromancer to forget the dead. She stopped in the middle of a restless circuit.

“Forsythia.”

The diamond sparked and the ghost materialized with a pale flicker of witchlight. She turned slowly, inspecting her new surroundings. Her skin and gown were shades of smoke and moonlight, her hair a watery gold; the grain of the paneling was visible through her slender form. Her throat, at least, was unmarred. She fixed her lightless eyes on Isyllt. “Hello, necromancer.”

“How are you feeling?”

The ghost gave the question serious consideration. “Better,” she said at last. “Clearer. The others have talked to me, explained things.”

The other ghosts in the diamond, she meant. Isyllt nodded. “Good. Do you mind answering some more questions?”

Forsythia smiled wryly; Isyllt wished she could have seen the expression in life. “I have nothing but time, don’t I?”

“Sit down.” Isyllt nodded toward a chair and turned to fetch incense and the last of a bottle of her favorite Chassut red. She lit sticks of sandalwood and olibanum in a brazier, and poured wine for herself and Forsythia, and after some consideration for Dahlia too. The ghost looked askance at the goblet Isyllt set beside her chair, but her outline was clearer already.

“Did you know what Whisper gave you?” Isyllt asked, sitting in the opposite chair. Dahlia drew closer, crouching unobtrusively on the floor.

“The ring, you mean?” Forsythia fingered the neckline of her gown again. “I knew it was a precious thing, something the likes of us don’t come by honestly. I knew better than to wear it or show it to anyone. But it was beautiful, and a gift, so I couldn’t bear to part with it.” The hollows of her eyes turned to Isyllt. “If I had, would you even be here?”

Isyllt had no answer for that, and sipped her wine to rinse the bitter taste away.

“Have you seen Whisper?” Forsythia asked.

“Yes.” The bitterness was inescapable. “He’s dead too.”

Forsythia made a noise between a choke and a sob, one pale fist pressing against her chest. Grey coils of smoke drifted toward her, into her, solidifying her and filling in details; the ragged lace at the neck of her dress was visible now. “Was it you?”

“No.” She didn’t see the need to explain more about her involvement. “He was… half-mad with grief for you. He wanted to find your killer. He was going to tell me why he robbed a royal tomb, but didn’t get the chance. Did he tell you?”

“He told me lots of things. He liked to talk, after.” She crossed her legs, and Isyllt almost mimicked the gesture. “Most of what he said I didn’t understand—he talked about the tunnels, about how strange the city was to him, how he missed the wind and the rain. He brought me other gifts, sometimes, bits of jewelry or