The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [57]
The bed, at least, was soft. She didn’t dream.
The creak of the door woke her. Isyllt blinked sticky eyes as a woman dressed in servant’s clothes slipped in. Apricot dawnlight trickled through the leaves and puddled over the casement.
The woman dipped a curtsy and laid clothing on top of the dresser. “Good morning, Lady. Lord al Seth has requested that you join him for breakfast at your convenience.” She stepped into the bathroom and water gurgled and splashed into the tub. “And he says the rest of your luggage should arrive later today. Do you need any assistance?”
“No, thank you. Tell Lord al Seth I’ll be with him soon.”
The maid nodded and ducked out the door, giving Isyllt a glimpse of the armed guard standing in the hall.
For her own protection, of course.
She washed her hair twice and combed it with oil, and still had to rip out several knots. The dusty-sweet scent of lavender soap clung to her in a cloud, like a stranger leaning over her shoulder. She pinned up the damp length of her hair and dressed in the trousers and long blouse the maid had left. They were too short, but at least clean and dry. The slippers were hopeless and she wore her own, wincing as they pinched the fluid-filled blister on her right foot.
The guard led her down a long corridor. Mostly other living quarters, she guessed, perhaps guest rooms; the floor was quiet, and she felt no one else nearby. The third-story windows looked over rain-soaked grounds and gardens, the rooftops of Lioncourt blurry beyond the Khas’s walls.
The guard waited outside Asheris’s suite as the mage led her into his sitting room. Light filled the northeastern windows, cool and gray. The air smelled of food, but also of disuse, and dustcloths draped some of the furniture.
“Excuse the mess,” he said as he waved her toward a chair and poured coffee. “I hadn’t planned to return so soon. How are you feeling?” Plates covered a low table, bread and hummus, honeyed nutcakes, sliced boiled eggs, and cold poultry with fruit preserves. She usually had little appetite so early, but her mouth began to water at the sight of food.
“Well enough, considering.” Brocade rustled as she sat, and she nearly sighed as her weight left her feet. Nothing like weeping blisters to slow an escape attempt. She accepted a cup of coffee, inhaling the rich, bitter steam happily; Assar taxed the beans heavily and the drink was rare and costly in the north. “How is the city?”
He frowned, dipping a slice of bread into the hummus. “The structural damage isn’t too bad—a few canal walls fractured, but nothing sinking. So far we’ve found eighteen dead in the canals, drowned or killed by nakh. More are still missing.”
Isyllt took a bite of pastry, honey melting across her tongue. Yesterday’s breakfast seemed years past. “Do you think the people responsible are the ones who murdered Vasilios?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Or do you think I killed him?”
“I don’t,” he said after a moment’s pause. “But someone wants me to think you did. The simplest of spells will link the scarf that killed him to a gown in your luggage.” He sipped his coffee. “Do you know why anyone would want to implicate you?”
She met his eyes over the rim of her cup. “A foreigner—a necromancer, no less—who’s already been seen snooping around? I imagine it was too much to pass up. I’m told the natives aren’t fond of my sort of magic.”
“No.” He glanced toward her ring. “It’s quite anathema.” She finished the last bite of pastry and he pressed a saucer of eggs and meat on her.
“But why kill Vasilios at all?” she asked, salting the eggs.
“That I don’t know. And that’s why I’d prefer you stay here until I find out. What do you think has happened to your bodyguard?”
She swallowed carefully. “I don’t know. I hope he’s not one of those missing in the canals. But he is a mercenary—perhaps he decided I’m not worth the trouble. How long should I plan on staying here?”
“We’ll make every effort to find those responsible. Of course, if you’d prefer to leave immediately, I could find