entered the room. Eyes flashed in the sudden glare and the cat hissed and vanished in a pale blur. Zhirin gasped.
Vasilios lay sprawled facedown across the carpet beside his chair, one arm twisted behind his back, the other reaching for his throat.
She moved closer to the corpse, the light floating in front of her. A length of silk circled his throat and his face was dark and swollen. Zhirin let out a choked sob.
Isyllt willed the light closer. The silk was blue, familiar. “Black Mother,” she whispered, stiffening. Her scarf, that she’d worn their second night in the city; she’d forgotten she lost it.
“Adam, check the house, and the back.”
He nodded and vanished down the black hallway.
Tugging her wet coat-skirts aside, she knelt beside Vasilios. No trace of a lingering ghost, of course—that would be too easy.
“What are you doing?” Zhirin asked as she reached for his face.
“Finding out what happened.”
The vision came quickly: She sits in the chair, a book in her gnarled and spotted hands, reading by the steady golden glow of a witchlight. No sound of footsteps, but a breath of displaced air warns of a presence in the room. She looks up, too slowly.
Only a flicker of darkness as the scarf loops over her head, then crushing pain as it draws tight. So strong—cutting off blood, crunching the windpipe. The light sputters and dies as she claws for her attacker. Or maybe that’s just her vision blacking…
Isyllt jerked away with a gasp, one hand flying to her throat. Her light flickered with her speeding heart.
As her pulse slowed, she realized Zhirin was gone. Then she heard the footsteps. Heavy booted feet rushing up the stairs. A lot of them. Lantern-light flooded the room as she spun.
And found herself facing an eagle-headed jinn and a troupe of red-clad soldiers. In front of the procession, Zhirin hugged herself, her face sickly in the unsteady light.
Asheris took off his mask and handed it to the closest soldier. He stared at Vasilios, then back at Isyllt.
“I hoped,” he said softly, “that they were wrong. We’ve had enough unpleasantness tonight.”
Isyllt rose, damp cloth peeling off her skin. “That who was wrong?”
“The anonymous person who reported a disturbance at the Medeion house.”
“And you came yourself? Aren’t you needed in the city right now?”
“The city guards have things in hand, as much as they can. More must wait for morning. And if you were involved in any trouble, I thought it best to come myself.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You think I was part of this?”
“I think someone wants me to believe you were.”
“We just returned,” Zhirin said, fear a shrill edge in the words. “You can’t think—” Her voice broke and she rubbed a hasty hand over her face.
“Forgive me, Miss Laii. This has been a very unhappy night, and it’s cruel of me to prolong it. I’ll arrange for an escort to take you home to your family. Until I learn who’s responsible for your master’s death, I don’t feel it safe to let you travel unaccompanied. Or you, Lady Iskaldur—you’ll be under my protection until this is resolved.”
Trapped, as easy as that. “You’re too kind, my lord.”
“Where is your companion?”
“We were separated at the festival. I’d expected him to return by now.” A cautious stretch of otherwise senses found Adam lurking in the garden below the open window. She pushed as hard as she dared, not taking her eyes off Asheris. Away, go!
“I’ll leave men stationed here. When he returns, they’ll bring him along.”
“What about our luggage?”
“I’ll have that brought too, when we’re done searching the house. I trust you’ll forgive the inconvenience.”
“Of course.”
She accepted his offered arm and his hand closed on her, gentle and inexorable as shackles.
From the shelter of a fern bank on the northern shore, Xinai watched the lights of the city. Lukewarm rain misted around her, whispering against the leaves, gleaming as it rolled off fern fronds.
No point in watching, she knew. Even her night-charmed eyes couldn’t see so far, couldn’t watch what happened in the city’s heart. There would be no fires tonight, no plumes of smoke to mark their success. The scattered groups of Xian revolutionaries made offerings to the spirits tonight, but there would be no masks or dancing in the forest camps.
This was not the kind of death one should celebrate, even if it was necessary. It left her stomach cold, and she wasn’t sure why. She’d witnessed crueler things. She’d done crueler things.
The air chilled and her skin crawled with gooseflesh