for support instead of guidance. Xinai hid a frown as the old woman’s bird-fragile weight settled on her. “Come, child. Tonight we feed the ghosts.”
Chapter 7
Isyllt stands in the shop again, clutching a lamp, unable to move as shoppers swirl around her. The light streams gray and metallic through the window, like a storm threatens.
A man brushes past her. Kiril. She tries to call to him, but her tongue is numb. Her master pauses and stares down at her, his dark eyes tired and sad. He opens his hands to show her a ruby. It pulses against his palms like a heart, light scattering off faceted edges. The stone is flawed deep, and the crack spreads even as she watches.
Kiril shakes his head and the dream explodes.
And Isyllt woke gasping in the dark, the smell of smoke and charred flesh thick in her nose. She raised a hand to her face; her cheek was smooth, unburnt, damp.
Trees rustled outside her window, rippled moonlight and shadow across the floor. She sat huddled in the dark, weeping silently until sleep stole over her again.
She rose early the next day and joined the others for a hasty, silent meal before the trek to the Kurun Tam. No one looked like they’d slept well—Vasilios moved as though all his bones ached and dark circles branded Zhirin’s eyes.
Wind blew sharp and salty off the bay, ruffling the canals and swirling dust and leaves. Everywhere they passed people hung colored lanterns and garlands, erected awnings along the streets. The rains were coming soon.
And everywhere they went Isyllt saw green-clad guards and soldiers red as poppies patrolling the streets and watching the ferry crossings. An uneasy hush hung over the city.
Thin white clouds veiled the sun but couldn’t stop the heat, and the humidity was worse than ever. By the time they neared the Kurun Tam, Isyllt dripped sweat and the backs of her hands were baked pink. She sighed happily as they stepped into the spell-cooled walls of the hall and stopped to rinse the dirt off her face. In the courtyard, Zhirin helped Vasilios down from the carriage. Isyllt watched the old man lean on his apprentice’s arm and swallowed the taste of dust. There but for the whims of fate…
A shadow fell across the stones at her feet and she turned to see Asheris.
“Good morning,” he said with a bow. He wore riding clothes today, shades of rust and ocher that would hide dust. “I hope you slept well.”
“Hello, Lord al Seth.” Her smile felt too sharp and she tried to school her expression. “I’d thought the investigation might keep you in the city today.”
“I had a previous engagement, but I have good people keeping their eyes on things. I’m glad you’re here,” he went on. “We’re going to the mountain. You must join us—this may be the last chance before the rains come.”
“Thank you, but I intended to study with Vasilios today.”
“Bah.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Study tomorrow. I promise the mountain is far lovelier than the library.” He turned to Vasilios as the older mage entered the courtyard. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you, if I steal your companion for the day?”
Vasilios snorted, leaning on his walking stick. “I know I can’t compete with your charms, Asheris. Just don’t expect my bones to endure such a trek.” Behind him, Zhirin stiffened but kept her face pleasantly blank.
Asheris turned back to Isyllt and his smile was beautiful and implacable. “Come, Lady.”
“As you wish.” She shot Zhirin a quick glance, praying the girl understood, and that she could contact Jabbor. It would take at least an hour to reach the mountain—who knew how long the meeting would be delayed.
A crowd assembled in the courtyard, including a great many soldiers. At Asheris’s word, a stablehand brought Isyllt a fresh horse. Her thighs ached just looking at the saddle.
“Let me introduce you to our companions on this expedition.” Asheris took her elbow and steered her toward the center of the knot of horses, where a mounted woman and young girl spoke to a man on the ground.
“This is Faraj al Ghassan, Viceroy of Symir. His wife, the Vicereine Shamina, and their daughter, Murai. Your Excellency, this is Isyllt Iskaldur, of Erisín, who was gracious enough to assist with my investigation last night.”
Isyllt dropped a low curtsy, awkward though it was in trousers. “Your Excellency.” A short man, with golden-brown skin and a hooked nose too large for his face. His wife was a tiny Sivahri woman,