The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [45]
“Here,” Jabbor said, pointing to a building that rose on stilts at the water’s edge. A tavern, from the smell.
A few people sat quietly inside; when they saw Jabbor they either vanished quickly or drew closer. They claimed a table in the back and Isyllt sat gratefully. A girl brought them a pitcher of beer and clay mugs and left without a word. Half a dozen other men and women sat down around them.
“Now, Lady Iskaldur,” Jabbor said, filling their cups. “Tell me what it is you propose.”
Her cup was empty by the time she finished, and her mouth was dry again. Silence settled over the table, broken only by the pop and sizzle of a gnat flying too near a lamp.
“She isn’t lying,” one of the women said at last.
A murmur circled the table and died. Jabbor frowned, full lips twisting. She couldn’t read his slanting dark eyes.
“You want our blood to buy your freedom.”
Isyllt shrugged. “If you’re going to bleed anyway…” Someone muttered behind her; Adam tensed. “You wear a yoke. We can help you remove it. If you want idealistic fervor instead of practicality, then I’m sorry—I have none. But I do have gold.”
After a moment, Jabbor nodded. “Fair enough.”
Isyllt reached for the pitcher, refilled her cup. “Zhirin says you don’t want bloodshed.”
Someone laughed, but a glance from Jabbor silenced him. “Zhirin has all the idealism you lack. And of course we don’t want bloodshed—we’re not madmen like the Dai Tranh. But we want our freedom, or at the very least the equality the Empire claims to offer to all its citizens. And if that takes a war, then so be it.”
She sipped enough spiced beer to wet her tongue. “The Dai Tranh. Those responsible for the attack in the market?”
“Yes. The Khas calls us all radicals and murderers, but only the Dai Tranh goes to such extremes.”
“You don’t ally yourselves with them?”
“They wouldn’t have me.” He raised one dark hand. “I’m not pure enough for their cause. Though my father was Isethi, and that country has forgotten more Assari oppression than Sivahra has ever known.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t approve of the Dai Tranh’s methods.”
“Do we have an arrangement, then?”
Jabbor looked around the room—none of his people spoke. “It seems we do.”
She held out a hand to Adam, who pulled a purse from inside his shirt. The bag chimed and rattled softly as she took it. “A gesture of good faith. More will follow.”
Jabbor opened the pouch, poured coins and gems carefully into his hand. Unstamped gold and silver, garnets and amethysts—not mage stones, but still expensive.
“I could only carry so much, but I can have a ship sent. Gold, weapons, medicines—tell me what you need and I can arrange it.”
“Good luck,” he said with a humorless snort. “Perhaps you noticed the new port tariffs? Only foreign goods,” he went on when she nodded, “because everything we need we can get from Assar. It’s also a convenient excuse to search foreign ships, or the ships of merchants who don’t toe the Khas’s line.”
She nodded. “I understand. Let me worry about that.”
“And what happens if you’re discovered? Zhirin says you’ve already drawn the attention of the Emperor’s pet mage.”
Isyllt smiled. “If the Empire captures me, my master will disavow me and I’ll be left to the mercies of the Khas’s soldiers. It would be some time before he could send another agent, if at all.”
“Then I’ll give you advice, since you’re worth more to us alive. Walk carefully around that mage, no matter how charming he seems. And stay away from the Dai Tranh. They have no love for foreigners, even ones bearing gifts.”
She nodded. “We will.”
Jabbor stood, ending the meeting. Chairs scraped the floor as the other Tigers rose as well. “Follow the river—it joins the Mir by the ferry dock.” He offered her a hand to clasp. “We’ll speak again soon, Lady Iskaldur.”
When they finally reached Vasilios’s house, Isyllt indulged in a long bath, but not yet in sleep. Instead she pulled on a robe and combed her wet hair, then removed the shroud of black silk from