The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [82]
“And you think proof of this embezzlement would be enough to stop the Emperor?”
“Yes. Some of the senators are…willing to take steps.”
She pressed her tongue against her teeth, tasted ginger-sweet and treason. If he was lying, she couldn’t tell.
“Sivahra has a diamond mine. The Viceroy is smuggling the stones out in private ships.”
Across the room Vienh stiffened, lips parting. She subsided without speaking, though.
Siddir blinked. “Well. I’ve been underestimating Faraj, it seems, if he’s kept something like that a secret. I wonder where Rahal is selling them.” He shrugged the question aside. “We need proof.”
“I think I know where to look. I’ll need to speak to my contacts.”
He nodded. “I encourage haste. If the situation here continues to deteriorate, the Emperor will send troops, and everything will become more complicated.”
“I have another question for you, my lord, while we’re being so forthcoming. How well do you know Asheris al Seth?”
He didn’t blink, quite, but he stilled for a heartbeat. “Ah. Yes. Once, I knew him well. We went to the university together. We were friends.” The word came out too quickly, too blandly. “He had no designs to be an Imperial agent in those days. He was a middling mage at best—a lot of talent, but little dedication, more interested in carousing than serious study. His connection to the throne was too remote to concern anyone, and mostly he was left to his own devices.”
“But?”
“Seven years ago, something changed.” He frowned, smoothed his face again. “I still don’t know what it was. He joined an expedition into the desert—a spirit cataloging trip, very ordinary. Al Najid was with them as well. When they returned, no one heard from Asheris for several months, and when he finally emerged he was…different. More focused, more reserved. More powerful. It wasn’t long afterward that he began to rise in the Emperor’s confidences.”
Isyllt swallowed, her stomach cold. Seven years of feeding off a bound spirit. A spirit powerful enough to make a man immortal. Yes, that might change someone. Her left hand tightened before the pain stopped it. No doubt his fear of death was real enough, even if his distaste for bindings was a lie.
He would come after her. It was a secret worth protecting. He knew the taste of her magic—her magic and her skin. At least, she thought bitterly, no one could track her by her ring.
“How can I reach you?” she asked Siddir.
“I have a box at the Imperial Post. Leave word there, and I’ll get it within the day.” He started to rise, glanced at Adam to make sure the way was free of blades before he finished. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Thank me when this is over and I’m still alive. I’ll leave a message when I know more.”
When Siddir and Vienh had gone and Isyllt had arranged to send word to Zhirin, she sat down to finish her cold dinner. There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t hurt between her forehead and feet, and her stitches itched. It wasn’t safe to sleep, but she couldn’t fight it much longer.
“Sleep,” Adam said. “I’ll keep watch.”
“To hell with it,” she muttered, sitting heavily on the bed. “I’m not running anywhere else today.”
Slats creaked as she lay down. The mattress smelled of mildew and old sweat; she wondered about fleas. By the time her eyes closed, she’d stopped caring.
The alarm bells began at three-quarters past noon, shattering the stretched-thin peace that filled the Laii parlor. Zhirin stumbled over a line of verse, dropped the book she’d been reading from. Fei Minh’s cup rattled against her saucer.
Zhirin cursed her cowardice—she should have attended the execution, though the thought had turned her stomach. But her mother disdained public bloodshed, and Zhirin had allowed herself to be convinced to stay home, to speak of nothing and read poetry aloud when neither of them had the nerve to voice their accusations and concerns.
Zhirin stood, and Fei Minh followed.
“No,” her mother said as Zhirin turned toward the door. “Don’t even think