The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [3]
Invaders the Assari might be, but they had built a beautiful city. Isyllt tried to imagine the sky dark with smoke, the water running red. The city would be less lovely if her mission succeeded.
She’d heard stories from other agents of how the job crept into everything, reduced buildings and cities to exits and escape routes, defenses and weaknesses to be exploited. Till you couldn’t look at anything—or anyone—without imagining how to infiltrate or corrupt or overthrow. She wondered how long it would take to happen to her. If she would even notice when it did.
Anhai followed Isyllt’s gaze to the water level—slime crusted the stone several feet above the surface of the canal. “The rains will come soon and the river will rise. You’re in time for the Dance of Masks.”
The skiff drew up against a set of stairs and the oarsmen secured the boat and helped Adam and Xinai unload the luggage. A tall building rose above them, decorated with Selafaïn pillars. A carven phoenix spread its wings over the doors and polished horn panes gleamed ruddy in the dying light.
Anhai bowed farewell. “If you need anything at all, meliket, you can find me at the port authority office.”
“Shakera.” Isyllt offered her hand, and the silver griffin she held. She never saw where Anhai tucked the coin.
The she stepped from the skiff to the slime-slick stairs and set foot in the Drowning City.
The Phoenix was as decadent as Xinai had promised. Isyllt floated in the wide tub, her hair drifting around her in a black cloud. Oils shimmered on the water, filled the room with poppy and myrrh. Lamplight gleamed on blue and green tiles and rippled over the cool marble arch of the ceiling. She was nearly dozing when someone knocked lightly on the chamber door.
“Don’t drown,” Adam said, his voice muffled by wood.
“Not yet. What is it?”
“Dinner.”
Her stomach growled in response and she shivered in water grown uncomfortably cold. She stood, hair clinging to her arms and back like sea wrack, and reached for a towel and robe.
The bedroom smelled of wine and curry and her stomach rumbled louder. The Mariah’s mess had been good enough, as sea rations went, but she was happy to reacquaint herself with real food.
Adam lit one of the scented-oil lamps and sneezed as the smell of eucalyptus filled the room. The city stank of it at night—like mint, but harsher, rawer. Linen mesh curtained the windows and tented the bed. The furniture and colorful rugs were Assari, but black silk covered the mirror, true Selafaïn fashion.
Adam sat, keeping the windows and doors in sight as he helped himself to food from the platter on the table. He’d traded his ship’s clothes for sleek black, and the shadows in the corner swallowed him.
“Where’s Xinai?” Isyllt asked, glancing at the door that led to the adjoining room.
“Scouting. Seeing how things have changed. The curry’s good.”
She tightened the towel around her hair and sat across from him. The bowls smelled of garlic and ginger and other spices she couldn’t name. Curries and yogurt, served with rice instead of flat bread, and a bowl of sliced fruit.
“We should find our captain tonight.” She stirred rice into a green sauce. “The Kurun Tam may take all day tomorrow.”
The Black Mariah’s legitimate business would keep her in port at least half a decad, but Isyllt wanted to make sure their alternate transportation was resolved before anything unexpected arose. She scooped up a mouthful of curry and nearly gasped at the sweet green fire. A pepper burst between her teeth, igniting her nose and throat.
The sounds of the city drifted through the window, lapping water and distant harbor bells. Night birds sang and cats called to one another from nearby roofs. Footsteps and voices, but no hooves or rattling carriage