I could get them. All this destruction, and I still don’t have the evidence I need.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Asheris’s smile was slow and predatory. “I anticipate changes in the Court of Lions very soon. My employment with the Emperor is over,” he added to Siddir’s raised brows.
“We should go,” Vienh said. “The mountain isn’t finished. We’ll take you all as far as Khejuan, and you can find your own ways from there.”
Asheris nodded. “Thank you, but I’ll go my own way here. Will you take her, though?” he asked, nodding toward Murai.
The smuggler frowned but extended her arms for the child.
Isyllt looked at Adam and found him scanning the ruined streets, a frown twisting his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He shook his head, snorting sharply. “No. I thought I smelled her. Damn this filthy air.”
“Are you sure?”
In answer, he took a step toward a rubble-strewn alley, then another. Isyllt reached for his arm, but he broke into a loping run before she touched him. Her ring sparked fitfully on her outstretched hand. She exchanged a glance with Asheris, then hurried after Adam.
The diamond burned brighter as she crossed into the shadow of the alley. Not just death—a ghost. She heard the wet rustle of cloth as Asheris followed her. The cold thickened as they turned a corner, scrambling over a fall of brick and beams. The chill, the hunger in the air, reminded her of Par Khan.
On the other side of the collapsed wall she saw Adam, a slender shape beside him. It took her a heartbeat to recognize Xinai—filth crusted her skin and clothes, flattened her hair to her skull. Beneath the mud and blood her face was sickly pale, eyes wide and black. One arm hung limp at her side; the other reached for Adam.
He knew—Isyllt could see it on his stricken face. He knew the woman in front of him wasn’t his partner. Maybe he even knew what she wanted. He clutched his sword-hilt, tendons sharp-etched with tension, but he didn’t draw, didn’t pull away from the touch that would suck out his strength.
“Adam!”
They both turned. Adam shook himself like a dog and staggered back. “Xin—”
“No,” Isyllt said, climbing clumsily over the pile of brick. “It’s not. Who are you?”
“Her mother.” The voice was ghastly, rough and hollow and cold as shattered glass—a wonder it didn’t draw blood.
Isyllt laughed. “Does every ghost in this country want to eat their children?”
Xinai’s lips peeled back from her teeth. “She would have died if not for me. She needs me.”
“She needs rest and a surgeon. Not a leech.” She un-focused her eyes, looked otherwise. Xinai’s life was faint, nearly overshadowed by the darkness. If she died possessed, the demon would have her. Something pulsed an ugly red against her chest—one of her charm bags, its colors woven into woman and ghost.
“You don’t know what she needs, necromancer.”
Isyllt drew a deep breath and stepped closer. “Maybe not, but I know what you need. Adam.”
And thank the saints, he understood. The ghost turned, still clumsy in her meat-puppet, but he was already on her, pinning her arms and holding her while she shrieked like a scalded cat. He gasped, blanching as she began to suck the heat from his flesh.
Isyllt lunged toward them, off-balance with only one arm. She stumbled, scraped her palm on the wall as she caught herself. Clumsy and cursing, she fumbled through the charms around Xinai’s neck till she found the one that stung like ice. The ghost screamed and writhed as she ripped it free; for an instant Isyllt saw the shadow of a knife-gash bleeding down her throat.
She couldn’t bind the ghost, not without her name, but she could break the connection to Xinai. Her diamond blazed, a cold light that sliced through the shadows but didn’t lessen them. Her bones ached as she called on the abyss again. Her fingers cramped around the pouch.
This spell was nothing compared to the diamond collar. Leather stiffened and cracked. Thread rotted. A lump of rust-stained wood splintered, till nothing was left but a pile of silver dust on her palm. She tilted her hand and that too was gone.
Xinai slumped in Adam’s arms and he staggered, both of them sinking to the ground. The ghost remained, bloody and wild-eyed, flinching away from the nothing that Isyllt wielded, the darkness that swallowed even the dead.
For a moment she contemplated it, reaching out for the ghost, unraveling all the skeins of memory and madness and desire that held wraiths