The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [16]
They weren’t the only foreigners. Symir had a reputation as a haven for expatriates—separated from Assar and the northlands, it was a place to escape local trouble and live in exotic decadence. If you had the money for it.
They claimed a table on the balcony and Isyllt let the waiter recommend food and wine. Skiffs paddled in the canal below and evening crowds drifted across bridges and along the sidewalks. Xinai was out in the city somewhere—hopefully the mercenary would have better luck finding insurgents.
Their food arrived and inside the tavern musicians began to play, deep drums and a woman’s ululating voice. Blue lantern-light glittered on the cutlery and washed Adam’s face cold and gray.
“How did you meet Kiril?” Isyllt finally asked, picking at the arrangement of rice and fish on her plate. She should have asked sooner, but she’d spent too much time during the voyage hiding in her cabin. He studied her for a moment, head tilted. She found herself mimicking the gesture and distracted herself with a rice ball.
“I came to Erisín when I was young,” he said. “Just a stupid orphan brat—I thought I could make a living picking pockets, become as good a thief as Magpie Mai, or some nonsense like that.” He snorted and sipped his wine.
“I was damned lucky Kiril found me, or I’d have wound up in a cell, or the bottom of the Dis. He helped me find work I was better suited for.” He touched the hilt of his sword. “So I owe him.”
Isyllt’s mouth twisted. “He always did like taking in strays.” She glanced down and found her goblet empty. Condensation glistened on the curve of the flagon—chilled, but the wine burned going down and kindled a pleasant warmth in the stomach. She refilled her cup, let the sweet plum vintage ease the bitter taste in her mouth. Adam watched her, waiting.
The next cup emptied the pitcher and the waiter appeared to replace it. When he was gone, her bitterness began to leak.
“He found me when I was fifteen. Not thieving, but bad enough. Selling charms to pay for a tenement room with three other girls. I was too stubborn to ask the temple of Erishal to take me in.” She shook her head at half-forgotten pride. “But Kiril found me, offered me training without the temple vows. I’ve studied with him for twelve years.” She drained the last of her cup in a single swallow. It was enough of an answer, but she couldn’t stop the rest from spilling out.
“I don’t think he ever imagined I’d fall in love with him. Neither of us did.”
Adam blinked. “What happened?”
Her laugh was soft and ugly. But she might as well finish it now. “Three years ago I finally said something, when he realized I wasn’t a child anymore.” Though perhaps she’d been wrong about that. “And it worked. We were happy.”
Adam sipped more wine and speared a twisted creation of raw fish and seaweed, finishing it in two bites. “But not anymore?”
The quiet curiosity of the question nearly undid her. She’d grown used to the feigned grief and relentless probing of the court gossips, and her friends had learned not to ask. She glanced aside, stared at the canal lapping gently below them.
“Did he tell you what happened last summer?” she asked. Her cheeks were flushed, from wine or embarrassment she wasn’t sure. At least she wasn’t going to cry.
Adam shook his head. “I heard of the plague, but I was in the north that season. Kiril didn’t say anything about it.”
“The plague, yes.” Such a small word to hold so much horror and grief. “The bronze fever. It tore through the city, all the way to the palace. The queen fell sick. The king begged Kiril to save her, and he tried.” Her voice felt cold and dead in her mouth. “He tried until his heart gave out, but she died all the same. I thought he was dead too—”
Lanterns swayed in the breeze, rippling blue and