The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [81]
Dusk bells tolled slow and sonorous as they ate, and Vienh lit the room’s single lamp. Isyllt was halfway through a carton of rice and lentils when Adam tensed again. A heartbeat later someone else knocked. Isyllt swallowed a mouthful and glanced at Vienh—the smuggler shook her head sharply.
“I wasn’t followed, I swear,” she whisper-hissed when Adam glared at her.
He stood, easing a dagger from his boot as he edged toward the door; the quarters were too close for swords. Isyllt thought of her knife safely packed across the city and swore under her breath even as she edged out of the door’s line of sight.
“Please let me in,” a familiar voice asked softly. “I’ll attract more attention standing out here.”
Vienh drew her knife and moved behind the door. Adam glanced at Isyllt. “Only one,” he mouthed. She nodded slowly, and he reached for the latch.
Siddir slipped in—cautiously, when he saw Adam’s blade. The mercenary checked the hall quickly and shut the door. Siddir pulled a scarf away from his tousled curls. Isyllt tensed, waiting for soldiers’ footsteps, for the brush of hot magic, but none came.
Siddir smiled at her expression and bowed, stopping when Adam’s knife drew closer to his throat.
“They’ll charge more if you make a mess in the room, you know,” he said.
Isyllt started to cross her arms, but thought better of it. “How did you find me?”
Siddir cocked an eyebrow. “I am a spy, after all. I wanted to talk to you without the whole Khas looking on.”
She gestured toward the hard wooden chair. “So sit and talk.”
His gaze slid along her bandaged arms. “Did that happen at the execution?”
“Yes. You were there?”
“I was, but I didn’t feel the need to be in the thick of things. Luckily for me.”
“What happened? Is the Khas looking for me?”
“The Khas is a bit preoccupied at the moment. Nineteen people are dead, not counting the Dai Tranh—three councillors, the rest bureaucrats, servants, and soldiers. And it turns out the attack may have only been a distraction.”
Isyllt retrieved her food, nodding for him to continue.
“While all the shooting and dying was happening, more rebels kidnapped the Viceroy’s daughter. Lady Shamina was injured in the fight. Faraj is…distraught. I’m afraid recovering you won’t be the first thing on his mind.”
Isyllt swallowed and blinked. The man fleeing with a child—Murai. “Have they made demands for her return?”
“We’ve heard nothing.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “We?”
Siddir smiled. “A figure of speech. As I told you, my loyalty is not to the Khas.”
“Where is it, exactly?”
“To the Empire.” His smile stretched at her expression. “To the Empire, but not to Rahal.”
She set the curry down again. The pressure in her head had become a stabbing pain above one eye. She rubbed her temple, wincing as the movement tugged stitches.
“Would you please just tell me what the hell is going on?”
One brown cheek dimpled as he nodded. “The Emperor’s dreams of expansion are no secret in Ta’ashlan, but not all the Senate supports him. The Senate has consistently refused to increase taxes for military spending. But that doesn’t seem to be stopping Rahal. The money keeps coming in—never fast enough to be conspicuous, but enough that some senators have become suspicious.”
Isyllt reached for her cup of ginger beer and wished it were something stronger. “And they think it’s coming from Symir.”
“I’m almost certain of it. But we’re not sure where. At first we thought he was skimming from the tithes, but the Khas’s records balance—far too neatly, for a known hive of graft and corruption. Something’s happening off the books, but I don’t know what.”
It was Isyllt’s turn to smile. “I do. But,” she continued as Siddir cocked his head, “how will this be of any use to me? Giving the Empire a legitimate source of wealth will do nothing to keep Assari armies away from Selafaïn shores.”
“Expansion is not the will of the people in Assar. Rahal has supporters amongst the generals and the arms-makers, of course, but too many families still mourn those who died in the Ninayan campaign, or in Iseth, or here.