fall. Only a few more yards and she could reach the street—and pray a dozen more false Dai Tranh weren’t waiting there.
The last assassin held her ground, pistol steady, not flinching as a ghost shrieked past her. Warded. She was veiled, but her graceful walk was familiar. Faraj’s pet killer had come out to play.
“Odd,” Isyllt said, “I’ve never seen a Dai Tranh with blue eyes before. Put down the pistol and I’ll put down the ghosts. Don’t tell me you don’t like to get your hands dirty.” She spread her arms, witchlight flickering around her fingers. Magic ached in her bones, a relentless, empty cold that reached deeper than the grave.
Jodiya’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh. Slowly, she lowered her pistol.
And flung the grenade she held in her other hand.
The fuse kindled in midair, burning unnaturally fast. No chance to outrun the explosion.
Instead, Isyllt caught it. She hissed at the pain in her left hand, at the precious fraction of fuse being consumed. As soon as iron touched her skin, her magic began to work. Rust blossomed across damp metal, corroding at preternatural speed. Within heartbeats the iron shell crumbled in her hands, black powder hissing to the ground. She turned her head just in time as the fuse caught the last of the gunpowder and sprayed her with sparks.
Her hands twisted with the pain of it, but she bared her teeth at Jodiya. “Again?”
The girl raised her pistol, but before she could fire the water rushing through the gutter rose, uncoiling like a snake charmer’s asp. The water serpent struck Jodiya hard enough to send her sprawling, then dissolved with a splash.
“Come on!” Zhirin called from the end of the alley.
Smoke poured from the ruin of the Storm God’s Bride, but Isyllt only spared it a glance. Someone shouted as they bolted across the street and down another alley, but she couldn’t tell if it was another assassin. No one appeared behind them as they ducked through Merrowgate’s back streets.
“Good timing,” Isyllt said as they crossed a canal.
“You’re lucky traffic wasn’t worse,” Zhirin gasped, her cheeks flushed dark. “I heard you call me and then you didn’t answer.” She slowed, pressing a hand against her side. “Who was that?”
“Khas assassins trying to pass themselves off as Dai Tranh.” Her lungs burned, one more little agony to join the chorus. “Where are we going?”
The girl paused, frowning. “Out of the city.”
In the wake of the attack, ferries stopped running from Merrowgate to the Northern Bank—no one wanted to be accused of helping Dai Tranh escape. Wrapped in spells of distraction, Zhirin and Isyllt fled to Jadewater, where they found a skiff willing to take them across. No simple charm could keep Isyllt from being memorable up close, though—pallid and sunken-eyed, with fierce red burns scattered across her cheek and singed hair frizzing around her face. She moved like an old woman, left arm cradled against her chest. Zhirin felt as though she should help her aboard the boat but couldn’t nerve herself to do it; she’d watched iron dissolve in the woman’s hands, and the bitter scent of the magic clung to her still.
The skiff had no top and they were rain-drenched and shivering by the time they reached the shore, docking at the closest jetty in Lhun lands. As they moored, Zhirin counted out coins—she had enough for the passage, but if she paid extra to keep the ferryman’s mouth shut she’d have little left. She should have refilled her purse while she was home.
“Let me,” Isyllt said as she dithered over the bribe, and scooped the coins out of her hand. Zhirin fought a flinch at the necromancer’s cold touch. Isyllt handed the money to the pilot with a whispered word. The man’s hands closed on the coins and his eyes dulled, mouth slackening.
“Hurry,” Isyllt said, climbing onto the dock. “It won’t last long.”
Zhirin glanced over her shoulder as they hastened away, saw the man stir and shake his head in confusion.
“Where now?” Isyllt asked. Rain dripped from her hair and her teeth had begun to chatter, which Zhirin didn’t like; it wasn’t that cold.
“We need to find Jabbor,” she said. “The Tigers can find us a safe place.” If she said it confidently enough, perhaps it would be true.
The sun climbed behind its veil of clouds as they walked to Xao Mae Lhun and the Tiger’s Tail. Morning chill gave way to tepid stickiness, but Isyllt didn’t stop shivering. Zhirin bought them hot tea doctored