Amanda Downum - The Drowning City

“Go!”

Adam and Vienh bolted. A heartbeat later Isyllt stepped into the rain. Two of the killers broke and fled at the sight of the raging dead. One vanished toward the street, but a ghost caught the second and he fell, screams turning to choking gasps.

Deadly as they were, ghosts couldn’t stop bullets, but animating took more concentration than she cared to spend, and she wasn’t skilled enough to make her corpse-puppet truly dangerous. Isyllt let him 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 with brandy and paid the bartender to take a message to the Jade Tigers. For all of Jabbor’s promises, she wondered what his reaction would be when she came penniless with a hunted foreign spy at her side. Only days ago such doubt would have been unthinkable.

They waited in a dim corner of the bar. Isyllt drowsed, her face splotched and damp, and Zhirin chewed her lip. This was a terrible time to pass out, especially since her own eyes ached and she wanted so badly to lay her head down. The bartender shot her pointed glances every so often, but she couldn’t afford much more to drink and it would only have gone to waste anyway.

The noon bells died before the door opened and a familiar shadow stepped inside. Zhirin kicked Isyllt under the table as she rose, trying to keep the desperate relief off her face. She held herself straight, even when Jabbor grabbed her shoulders.

“What happened?”

“Isyllt was attacked. We need to get out of the city. Does your offer still stand?”

“Of course it does.” But his eyes narrowed as he glanced at Isyllt. “She’s sick.”

“All the more reason to get us to a safe place quickly.”

He sighed and nodded. “Let’s go. Can you walk?” he asked Isyllt.

“Of course.” But her hand was white-knuckled and trembling on the back of her chair as she rose, and Zhirin wondered how much farther she could go.

A pair of Tigers she didn’t know waited outside, flanking them as they moved through the village. Rivulets of mud ran down the narrow path, twisting and eddying around stones.

They headed northwest toward the sloping mountain road, but by the time they reached the outskirts of the village Jabbor was frowning. “We’re being followed.” He turned a fierce glare at Isyllt, and Zhirin flushed.

Turning, she found three hooded figures closing on them. Jabbor shoved her behind him, hand on his knife-hilt, but their assailants already had pistols drawn. The middlemost pulled aside her veil, baring long brown hair.

“You’re right,” Jodiya said, gun pointed at Isyllt. “I do like to get my hands dirty. But I like getting the job done even more. And now you’ve made this even more convenient. Lucky for me Asheris is soft.”

“And lucky for me you talk too much.”

Jodiya spun, but her companions kept their guns steady. Zhirin’s lips parted in shock.

“Mother?” she gasped, before she could stop herself.

Fei Minh stepped closer, a pistol in her manicured hand. “Really, dear. Did you think I was going to let you run off like that without someone to keep an eye on you?” Her escort fanned around her, weapons drawn. Zhirin gaped more when she recognized Mau among them.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jodiya said. “You’re Faraj’s creature.”

Fei Minh’s eyebrows rose in the shadow of her hood. “I’m a politician and a merchant-you think I don’t know when to hedge my bets? And you might consider a milder tongue, under the circumstances.”