of spices downstairs to the kitchen. All the houses in Symir seemed to follow the same pattern—tall and narrow, with the family’s rooms on top and only the ground floor open to strangers.
Isyllt frowned as she watched Adam descend the stairs. “You’re limping.”
He glanced down, flexed his right leg. “An old wound. I landed on it badly during the mess at the market.” He caught the question in her eyes. “I’ll be fine by tonight. What about you?”
She ran a hand over her frizzing hair, wincing as her fingers brushed her tender cheek. “No worse than a sunburn. Did you have any luck today?”
He shrugged. “Xin will do better than me. Vienh Xian-Lunh might be helpful, though—within reason. She has no love for the Dai Tranh.”
“Zealots are easier to use than to love. But maybe the Tigers will be use enough for us.” In spite of the cold practicality she tried to summon, she couldn’t be rid of the images of Lilani Xian’s fevered face or the corpses in the market. Practicality could only excuse so much.
Covered plates sat on the kitchen table, and a sweating carafe of ginger beer. Marat arranged more food on a tray as they came in.
“I know what it means when he locks himself in his study that way,” she said. “I’m amazed any of you sorcerers live so long, if this is how you take care of yourselves.” She shot a narrow-eyed glance at Isyllt.
Isyllt waved Adam into a chair and served them both. “Where’s Zhirin?” Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled, beer splashing too loudly into their cups. Now that she wasn’t distracted with spellcraft, she could feel the strain and hunger stealing over her.
“Sleeping.” Marat snorted. “At least someone in this house lets herself rest.” She lifted the tray, balancing it easily on one hand; muscles shifted in her forearm as her sleeve fell back. “I’m going to force something down the master’s throat now. If you need anything later, just ring.”
“Will you be all right by tonight?” Adam asked as Isyllt slid a plate of bread and goat curry in front of him.
The sky outside was orange fading to gray; still hours left before it would be safe to return to Market Street. “Of course.” She nudged his foot with her toe. “Let me see your leg.”
He stretched out the injured limb and she crouched beside him, laying light hands on his knee. Closing her eyes, she sent tendrils of power lapping curiously through his skin. Nothing serious, but she felt the strain in the muscle, the tenderness in the surrounding flesh. The rest of him was healthy, save for the subtle-sweet song of decay that sang in all living flesh. Her magic rubbed against him like a friendly cat; death always recognized a killer.
“You’re a healer?”
She chuckled at the skepticism in his voice. “Not at all. My magic is the absence of life.” She glanced up at him through her lashes, smiled to see him blanch. “But you learn to work around the limitations.”
She summoned cold, let it radiate from her hands into his flesh. He shuddered but didn’t jerk away. Then he sighed as the chill soothed the inflamed tissues in his knee.
“Be careful,” she said, uncoiling from her crouch. “It’s pain I’m easing, not damage. Don’t try any acrobatics for a while.”
“Thanks.” He flexed his leg carefully, shot her a curious glance.
She waved it aside and sat down to eat.
Chapter 6
Isyllt and Adam returned to Market Street late that night, after the guards and gawkers had left. The damaged shop had been hastily reinforced with spells and wooden beams to keep the roof intact. Isyllt lingered in the shadows across the street and watched the burnt ruin with otherwise eyes.
The street was silent, windows shuttered and dark, but she doubted she was the only one watching. Moonlight fell in pale stripes between buildings, shining on clean cobbles; death still echoed here, in spite of the fresh-scrubbed stones.
Adam crept up beside her, only the warmth of his flesh giving him away. “It’s clear as far as I can see.” His whisper ruffled the fine hairs above her ear.
“Wait for me,” she whispered back, their faces so close she could taste his salt-musky sweat.
She slipped across the cobbles and into the shadow of the ruined shop. Red ropes were strung across the door and broken wall to keep intruders out. Isyllt paused when she felt the spell woven into the cord. Subtle magic, well-cast, meant to snare or