up, but the nakh recovered too quickly. Its wide hand closed on her ankle and jerked her down so hard that she nearly gasped. Air leaked from her nose and mouth and dark spots swirled across her eyes.
A splash broke the water above them, a burst of silver bubbles as someone dove into the canal. Isyllt kicked at the nakh, slammed her heel against the side of its head and wished for heavy boots. It snapped at her and she barely jerked her foot away in time to keep all her toes.
A voice carried through the water, clear and echoing with magic, though Isyllt didn’t understand the words. The nakh flinched and released her leg. Its kin let go of their prey as well. Another shout and they turned and glided down, vanishing into the darkness below.
Isyllt’s light faltered and died; the current had her now, pulling her on. Then someone grabbed her hand and she began to swim, clawing the water in desperation.
Her head broke the surface and she gasped a heartbeat too soon, swallowing a bitter mouthful. Someone else caught her, dragged her onto stone steps and let her collapse in a sodden, coughing heap.
She raked her hair from her face, blinked grit from her eyes. Adam stood beside her, still mostly dry. The current had carried them away from the plaza, but she could still hear the screams and sobbing.
“Who went into the water?” she asked.
“Zhirin. She’s still in there.”
As he spoke, the choppy surface of the canal bulged, and the girl rose, water and magic sluicing off her in shining streams. The water cradled her, carried her to the steps.
Isyllt pushed herself up and winced; her ankle ached where the nakh had yanked on it. “How did you do that?”
Zhirin smiled. “I am the river’s daughter.” For a moment her voice was changed—older, deeper. Isyllt shivered.
“What happened to the nakh?”
“I sent them away, back to the bay.” She shook her head, and the echo of the river vanished. “They should never have been here—the inner canals are warded.”
“Not any longer, it seems. The Dai Tranh knows its business.”
Footsteps approached, and she turned to see the fox running toward them. “Do explosions always attend you?” He lifted off his mask, revealing sweat-sheened tawny skin and tangled curls. The man from the fabric shop. Kohl smeared around his eyes, trailing black tears down his cheek.
“Not usually. I think the city has a sense of humor.” As if in answer, the clouds opened with a sigh and warm rain misted down. At least the city wouldn’t burn.
“If this keeps up, one might suspect a connection.”
Isyllt’s eyes narrowed. “One might say the same to you.”
His smile stretched, wry and crooked. “One might. I only wanted to make sure you didn’t drown.” He bowed, his coat glittering with bullion. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again, meliket.”
“Will the city survive if we do?”
“We’ll find out.” He turned into the shadow of an alley and was gone.
They took a longer route back to Raintree—some streets were still clogged with frantic people and all the skiffs had vanished. Isyllt’s wet shoes rubbed a blister as she walked.
“Do you know that man?” she asked Zhirin, cursing herself for not asking after the market.
“No. I thought I saw his mask near one of the boxes, though. He may be from the Khas.”
That would be all she needed, attracting the attention of yet another Khas agent.
Lights burned in windows all down Campion Street—people up late celebrating, or worrying over the news? But Vasilios’s house was black and cold.
Isyllt paused. She’d never seen the house without some sliver of light. “Could he have gone out?” she asked as they climbed the steps.
Zhirin frowned as she found the key on her belt. “So late, in this weather—it would be odd.” Isyllt nearly stopped her as she slid the key home, but the lock turned with no burst of flame.
But as they stepped across the threshold, Isyllt’s ring chilled. Her jaw tightened. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?” Adam asked.
“Someone’s dead.” She reached, listening, but heard nothing. Weak light spilled past her and she glanced down. No wet footprints marked the tile, no mud stained the rug but what clung to their shoes. “Adam?”
“I can’t tell. It smells like it usually does.”
She followed the chill upstairs to the study. A flutter of movement in the shadows made her tense, but it was only the curtains dancing in the damp breeze from an open window. The lamps were out and she conjured witchlight as they