in Xinai’s stomach as he told of the exorcism and the binding of the Xian ghost.
“How horrible,” she whispered when he finished. “To die like that, unburned. To watch your family become collaborators.” She might have died a hundred times in the north, and no one would have known the rites and songs. It had never worried her much then, when she thought she’d never see home again. Now the thought tightened her stomach with queasy dread.
Adam snorted softly and she stiffened. But it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t know.
“Trying to steal your great-granddaughter’s body is still a bit much.”
“Yes.” Just a child. A warrior’s body would be more use. They lay in silence for a while and she felt Adam start to drowse. “I wonder how many of them are left,” she mused aloud. “The rebel ghosts.”
“We’re only concerned with the live ones.” He slid his arm around her waist and pressed his face against the crook of her neck. “Do you have any stories to tell? I smelled a fire.”
“Yes, a warehouse by the docks.” His breathing had already begun to roughen and she kissed his forehead, soothing a hand over his tangled hair. “I’ll tell you in the morning. Rest.”
A moment later he was snoring softly, but a long time passed before Xinai followed him into the dark.
Chapter 4
Isyllt woke to a hot swath of sunlight creeping across the bed and corset stays gouging her ribs and breasts. Dreams of ghosts and ice clotted her mind, cobweb-sticky, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, or why.
Then she sat up and clarity returned, gilding the spike of pain that stabbed her between the eyes. Bile burned the back of her throat, and for a nervous instant she thought she would retch. She swallowed it down, closed her eyes, and waited to make an uneasy truce with her stomach.
A truce that lasted until she staggered out of bed and breathed in the canal’s stench through the open window. She reached the water closet just in time.
She’d lied, it seemed—drinking herself stupid qualified as letting personal feelings interfere with the job. She couldn’t afford to do that again.
After a long bath and clean clothes she joined the mercenaries for breakfast, where she managed to sip lassi and nibble bread. She closed her eyes against the wicked sunlight and listened to Xinai talk about insurgent groups and warehouse fires. At the moment all she cared about was letting the words sink into her ears—she’d try to make sense of them when her head cleared.
“Wait,” Adam interrupted in the midst of the report. Isyllt opened one eye and winced as light shattered off the table settings. “What was that name?”
“Jabbor Lhun?” Isyllt replied. At least her memory still worked, even if the rest of her body contemplated mutiny.
“He’s the leader of a rebel group,” Xinai said again. “The Jade Tigers. They’re one of the public ones, at least.”
“Is he Assari?” Adam asked.
“Half, or so I heard.” She raised black eyebrows. “Why?”
He grinned. “I think I saw our rebel leader yesterday. Trysting with an apprentice at the Kurun Tam.”
Afternoon settled hot and lazy before they left the Phoenix. A few criers still shouted the news of the fire, but most had fled the heat. The wind from the north smelled of ashes and char.
A skiff carried them to the eastern side of the city, through wide canals and water gardens. The steersman pointed out landmarks, including the shining walls and gates of the Khas Maram. The House of the People, in Assari, the name of both the domed council building and the elected officials who gathered there. The councillors were native Sivahri, meant to balance the imperially appointed Viceroy. In theory, at least—Isyllt doubted anyone not a wealthy loyalist sat in the people’s house.
The emerald shade of the canals spared them the worst of the heat, but the long sleeves Isyllt wore to cover her bruised and salt-burned arms were no help. Insects buzzed loudly through fragrant balcony gardens and upper windows glittered in the sun; reflected light rippled liquid across the undersides of eaves. Raintree was a wealthier neighborhood than Jadewater or Saltlace, with fewer shops to ruin the line of expensive houses. No broken streets or sinking buildings here—police patrolled these streets, not gangs, and she doubted anyone slept in these alleys.
The skiff let them off at the circular tree-lined court where Vasilios lived, and Adam tipped the steersman. As they climbed the steps, Isyllt reached for the