her way to the far side. They hadn’t reached the next building when drums rolled nearby and half the crowd began to dance. Someone grabbed Isyllt’s hands and spun her around. She laughed in spite of herself, but by the time she slipped free she’d lost sight of Adam and Zhirin.
A new partner seized her, a man with a raptor’s wicked beak, his mask a glorious crown of red and gold feathers. Gold thread gleamed on fluttering sleeves and topaz and garnet chips rattled as he moved. Wings hung lovely and useless down his back, two pairs. A jinn.
He caught her hand and bowed over it, graceful even in the unwieldy mask. His magic crawled against her skin and she knew him.
“Lovely, my lady,” Asheris said. “But too plain. You should be hung all in opals.”
“We can’t all burn as bright as you, Lord al Seth.”
“No, I suppose not.” He twirled her and pulled her out of the flow of the crowd. Someone jostled her in passing and she steadied herself against his shoulder.
“I keep running into you,” she said, leaning close to his ear. “I might suspect you were following me.” Foolish to tease him, but the heat and energy of the dance stole away her caution.
His lips curled in the shadow of his beak. “This isn’t a night for suspicions.”
“Then why so many guards?”
“That, my lady, is caution, and sadly well-founded.”
She nodded, fighting the urge to pass on Xinai’s warning. But he knew as much as she did, doubtless, and she needed no more attention.
Before she could speak, Zhirin appeared, laying a light hand on Isyllt’s arm to keep them from drifting apart.
“My escort,” Isyllt said, nodding farewell to Asheris. “Perhaps I’ll see you again tonight.”
“I suspect you shall.” He bowed again and Isyllt let Zhirin lead her away. He was dangerous, she reminded herself. But that never stopped her as often as it should.
Wooden platforms covered most of the Floating Garden, firmly lashed together and to the banks. Some were stages for musicians, some dance floors, others bridges. Lanterns bobbed in a web of ropes overhead, their reflections like colored moons in the night-black water. Theater boxes had been erected around the plaza, raised and sheltered vantages from which to watch the revelry.
“Adam’s on the other side,” Zhirin said, pushing her way through.
Isyllt stepped onto the rocking boards, but a new song started and she was caught in another dance. She dodged reaching hands, balancing on the edge of the platform as dancers spun, trading partners as they twirled. Feathers and sequins littered the wood.
When she neared the far side, a man in a fox mask—copper and black instead of white—offered her a hand from the bank. As she reached for it, the barge trembled under her feet. A dancer stumbled drunkenly beside her and his companion giggled. Isyllt’s stomach tightened and she tensed to leap for the shore.
Too late. Her fingers brushed the man’s and the water erupted in a violent fountain, flinging flowers and candles into the air. The barge surged up, snapping its moorings as it capsized. Someone screamed, and then the water closed over Isyllt’s head.
All around she heard frantic splashing and muted shouts from above. Water seeped into her mouth, bitter with silt. Her coat weighed her down, fouled her legs as she tried to swim. A hand caught her arm, rescuer or fellow victim, and she reached for it.
But the flesh she touched was nothing human and whatever held her was dragging her deeper.
She ripped off her mask and summoned a sickly white ghostlight that glowed through the murk. Black eyes paled to pearl in the sudden glare and the creature bared needle teeth in a silent hiss. No seductive siren, this—webbed hands and sea-wrack hair, a mouth twice as wide as a man’s. A finned tail like a sea serpent’s lashed the water, coiling around Isyllt’s legs.
A nakh. She groped for her knife but found only wet silk and scales. Already her chest burned and she fought to keep her mouth shut. Claws scored her flesh. Just take a breath, she thought, wild and reckless. The river will take the pain.
She rallied her scattered wits, abandoned the knife in favor of better weapons. Her ring blazed through her glove, shards of light aimed at the creature’s eyes. It recoiled, letting go of Isyllt’s arm.
It wasn’t alone—at least half a dozen sinuous monsters moved in the water, dragging down other hapless celebrants. Black ribbons of blood twisted on the current.