The Kingdoms of Dust (11 page)

T
he
Marid
sailed into Sherazad as the sun reached its zenith in a cloudless sky. Isyllt and Moth stood on the forecastle, passing a spyglass between them as the walls and towers of the city drew closer. The heat was fierce and promised to worsen; the sun pressed a heavy hand against the back of Isyllt’s head and shattered like glass knives on the waves.

“It’s so flat,” Moth said, frowning as she peered through the lens.

They were both used to Erisín’s high walls, its cliffs and hills. Isyllt had faded memories of the mountains and towering pines of Vallorn, too. Sherazad was built around the delta of the River Ash, amid the sweep of flat beach and ochre desert. The rocky outcroppings flanking the city sprawl were much too small to hold up the vast blue dome of sky. Isyllt found herself longing for walls.

The city obliged her. The
Marid
slowed, turning toward a channel of glittering buoys, and Isyllt lowered the glass from the distant sky as stone eclipsed her view. Waves broke and frothed around a rocky islet, and the tower seemed to spring straight from the sea.

No, Isyllt realized, looking up. Not a tower.

A statue rose from the water, high and higher still, taller than any Isyllt had ever seen. A woman, her right arm outstretched and lifting a great glass-walled lantern, her left cradling a book to her chest. Her robes were carved of creamy stone, her face and hands cast in bronze. Time and salt had smoothed the folds of her gown and pitted her hem and hood, but her arching nose and amused smile remained, if green-tinged now with age. Her eyes seemed to follow the ship as it neared the harbor; Isyllt startled as they flashed in the sun. Lifting the spyglass, she saw that the statue’s dark metal irises were set with mirrors.

Moth’s eyes widened; Isyllt whistled admiringly.

“The Prophet Aaliyah,” Siddir said, the click of his cane announcing him. “Lightbringer, and first saint of the Unconquered Sun. It’s said her lantern shines on every corner of the empire. While I can’t vouch for the hyperbole of that, ships can see the light for miles at sea.” Despite the wry humor in the words, his gaze was unusually serious as he stared up at the Prophet’s face. Then he grinned. “Also, she distracts ships from more immediate concerns.”

Following his pointing hand, Isyllt saw the towers along the seawall behind Aaliyah, battlements and narrow windows studded with cannon. Drops of red scattered against grey stone—soldiers manning the defenses.

Isyllt chuckled appreciatively, but her stomach was heavy with anticipation as they sailed under the saint’s outstretched arm. The city resolved from a dusty blur into buildings: pale brick and plaster, painted domes and gilded spires; square shops and houses stacked like children’s blocks; the curve of a commemorative arch; green trees vivid against dusty stone. The wind gusted hot and salty, drawing a copper veil of sand along the coast. The sound of noontide bells drifted across the water.

Siddir grinned and gestured grandly toward Sherazad and the land beyond. “Welcome to Assar.”

“Where’s the river?” Moth asked as they followed the porters off the skiff.

Isyllt had been wondering the same thing. The skiff had taken them from the
Marid
into a canal, one of a dozen neatly bricked waterways pouring into the harbor—nothing like what she’d expected of the Ash. The River Ash and its twin the Nilufer were described as the widest and longest in the known world.

“The channels here are half of it,” Siddir said, offering the girl a hand up the stone steps. “The rest splits south of the city and flows west into the Lantern Marsh.” He gestured vaguely west. “The distributary was drained and channeled when Sherazad outgrew her first walls.”

He answered lightly enough, but his eyes were restive and wary again. His happiness at landfall had been short-lived.

“Keep your gloves on,” he told Isyllt as they waited for their carriage. “You’ll have to take the white veil eventually, but for now I don’t want the attention.”

Isyllt flexed her hand in her pocket, the band of her ring pressing flesh. Erisín was built on bones, level after level of catacombs mazing beneath the streets, many of them ancient before the founding of Selafai. Without the necromancers of the Arcanost and the priests of Erishal to keep ghosts quiet, the dead would rule the living. In Assar death was proscribed; tombs stood outside the city walls, visited only on holy days, and anyone who touched a corpse performed ritual cleansing. Those who dealt with death for a living became untouchable.
Hadath
. Sivahra, though an imperial territory, had been distant enough to avoid such inconveniences—here she wouldn’t escape them.

She glanced at Adam and met his narrowed gaze. He understood the situation—if he and Moth remained in her employ, they would become pariahs as well. A servant might make do with only a white armband and obsessive hand washing. A lover…

The arrival of their carriage saved her from that thought. She drew her scarf over her head, blaming the sudden warmth in her cheeks on the sun.

They settled in the Azure Lily, an expensive inn whose namesake flowers carpeted courtyard pools and floated in bowls in all the rooms. The motif continued to the tiles of the deep bathtub; at least the soap wasn’t lotus-scented.

After a bath, they lingered over an afternoon meal. Isyllt and Moth wanted to explore the city, but Siddir kept them inside.

“Only mad dogs and foreigners go out in this heat,” he said, sipping chilled wine.

That point she had to concede. Shade and the breeze off the fountains cooled the courtyard where they took their meal, but she could still feel the relentless sun. The streets had been noisy when they arrived, but now the din of voices and wheels and animals died and a dusty stupor settled over the city. Behind a screen, an oud played sleepy songs. Potted ferns and carven screens granted them the illusion of privacy from the few other patrons lounging in the heat.

Isyllt had nearly succumbed to the wine and warmth and growing urge to nap when bells shattered the stillness. Not the temple bells they’d heard as they arrived, but a wild tintinnabulation. Siddir’s chair scraped back as he startled; around the courtyard, other patrons rose as well.

“What is it?” Isyllt asked, hands braced on her own chair.

“Weather bells. We would have seen a storm at sea. That means—” His throat worked as he swallowed, and his face greyed. “Not again.”

A cry rose up from the street. Some guests hurried for shelter, but others—Moth and Isyllt among them—ran to see what was happening.

“Get inside,” Siddir said, grabbing at her arm, but Isyllt twisted away. The bells continued and shouts carried from blocks away. People leaned out windows, and Isyllt wished for a higher vantage point.

“What is it?” Adam asked.

“Al-shebaraya,” Siddir said, brushing a warding gesture over his eyes.

Isyllt had never heard the word before but she could parse the Assari roots: the ghost wind. A question rose on her lips, and died as the light dimmed.

A cloud rose over the rooftops, darkening the sky. No, not a cloud—a sand pillar. A whirling tower of dust as tall as a cathedral spire, bearing down on Sherazad. It twisted through the streets, dodging buildings with a dancer’s grace, till it turned onto the broad avenue in front of the Azure Lily.

The hollow rush drowned the shouts of onlookers. Hot wind streamed past Isyllt, ripping her hair free of its braid to blind her. Her scalp prickled at the wind’s touch and the hair on her arms stood on end. Her magic stirred, too—not the chill of death, but something deeper, darker. The space beneath her heart grew heavy, the hollow place that held her entropomancy. The sudden pressure forced the air from her lungs.

She heard her name as if from a great distance, felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder, but she couldn’t tell who called her. The world receded, streaming away till she was alone with the roaring wind. It, too, was calling her, the sound of her name rising and falling on the hissing dust.

What would happen if she answered?

A blow to the side of her head settled the question. She staggered sideways and the siren call of the wind vanished under the ringing in her right ear. A weight bounced off her shoulder onto the ground. A fish.

Another followed, then another, falling like silver hail. Minnows and small perch and whiskered bottom-feeders, landing all around her a nauseous
splat-splat-splat
. Most were dead when they struck the ground, but some still writhed, gills gaping, rainbows sliding down their scales as they choked on air.

She might have stood there dumbfounded, staring at fish till the dust storm swallowed her, but Adam grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shelter of the courtyard.

The storm died before it reached the inn, disintegrating in a fine haze of dust and a last splatter of fish. They stood in breathless silence while the echo of the wind faded.

“I think,” Siddir said at last, “I preferred it when explosions followed you.”

Moth made a choked noise. Tears streaked her face. Isyllt reached for her, but the girl flinched away. She hugged her arms across her chest and wept, watching fish thrash and die in the dirt.

They went to their rooms at sunset, exhausted from travel and the enervating touch of the storm. Isyllt paused beside Adam’s door as he turned the key. His green eyes were inscrutable as ever, but in his posture she read the same hesitance and curiosity that tugged at her. Her magic stirred as it always did when he was near; death loved a killer. It was a complication, though, and she had less love for those.

A scuffing footstep broke the deepening silence. Down the hall, Moth lingered at the door of the room she and Isyllt shared. She tilted her head before vanishing inside. Not quite a summons, but eloquent all the same.

Isyllt’s cheeks prickled. “I should—”

Adam nodded. “Yes.” He smiled wryly. “Good night.”

Isyllt sighed as the door shut behind him. Complications.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she said as she latched her own door. Curtains fluttered in the breeze—a normal breeze now, cooling fast as night came on and fragrant with city smells. Dust lay in serpentine drifts beneath the casement. No one had kindled a lamp, and blue dusk filled the room.

Moth sat cross-legged on the far bed—if reed mats and cushions could properly be called a bed—walking a silver coin across her knuckles. She looked up when Isyllt spoke and arched her eyebrows. She’d washed her face, but her eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy.

“Does Siddir know?” she asked. “He might be jealous—he looks at Adam the way you do.”

Isyllt flushed, though it was ridiculous to think that Moth—or anyone else on the ship—hadn’t noticed. “Siddir has enough to keep him busy. And yes, I’m sure he knows. He’s trained to observe.” She leaned beside the doorway. “Did you only want to tease me?”

The lightness in Moth’s tone vanished. “We haven’t talked much lately.”

Isyllt opened her mouth and shut it again. “You’re right.” She moved into the room, forcing her arms to her sides. Moth might not have a spy’s training, but she could spot a defensive posture.

“It would be easier if I thought it was just Adam.” Silver flashed as the coin continued its circuit over and under her hand. “But it’s older than that. Before we reached Kehribar.”

Isyllt drew back the netting and sank onto the foot of her own mat. Sand grated unpleasantly in the folds of her clothes. The bedding was softer than she’d imagined, certainly no worse than her bunk on the
Marid
, but she’d miss northern feather mattresses. Even the cushions were embroidered with blue lotuses.

“After Thesme—” The words stuck in her throat.

Moth’s coin flashed as it fell. It rolled across the tiles with a silver chime, rattled and lay still. The girl tensed, leaning forward, but didn’t rise. “You dealt with the man in Thesme. It won’t happen again. And if it does, I’ll be the one to deal with it.”

Isyllt blinked. The would-be panderer she’d killed wasn’t what she’d meant. What troubled her was the night her walls had broken and she’d sobbed herself to sleep while Moth stroked her hair. It had left her hollow and vulnerable, and she’d been careful to rebuild her defenses. The dead man was easier to talk about.

“I promised Mekaran I’d take care of you.” Moth’s old guardian had been less than happy about letting his ward leave Erisín with a necromancer. Isyllt had just killed a sorceress who’d preyed on the Garden, however—that and Moth’s insistence had worn down his arguments.

Moth snorted. “I was taking care of myself before Meka took me in.” She looked up, blue-grey eyes narrow. “Do you regret apprenticing me?”

Shadows deepened before Isyllt answered. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “Not because you don’t have potential,” she said quickly, seeing the hurt in the girl’s face, the walls rising to cover it. “But because I did it for the wrong reasons.”

“Pity?” Moth’s voice was cold enough to frost the windows.

“Yes. But not for you—for me.”

That silenced whatever scathing comment the girl had been about to make. “Oh.”

“I was lonely and scared.” Isyllt’s neck ached as she forced herself to look Moth in the face—a pale oval in the twilit gloom. “Sick with grief and terrified at the thought of leaving behind everything, everyone. But I couldn’t stay in Erisín, either. With you I wouldn’t be alone, but I thought—” Her jaw tightened, but she forced the words out. “I thought you wouldn’t remind me of Kiril. I thought you’d be safe.”

“Did it work?”

“No. Everything reminds me of him.”

The thump of hooves rose from the street, followed by the glow of a kindled streetlamp. The light lined Moth’s head and shoulders in amber and cast her face in shadow.

“What would have been the right reason?” the girl asked, as the lamplighter’s cart rattled away.

“I don’t know. Kiril—” Would she ever be able to say his name without flinching? “He wanted to use me. I always knew that. He saw a mage with no family, nowhere to go, and he knew he could turn me into a tool. And I wanted it, wanted to be something useful. Something dangerous.” Not to be scared and alone anymore—she nearly laughed at how well that had turned out. “And then I fell in love with him, and everything was…complicated.”