The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [83]
Her spine stiffened at Fei Minh’s tone, but Zhirin had never been much good at rebelling. And it was no use running anywhere if she didn’t know what was happening. Instead she nodded and hurried toward the bathroom.
Water splashed into the basin, rising quickly to the brim. She stilled the surface with a pass of her hand and pushed her nerves away. “Jabbor,” she whispered to her rippling reflection.
No image came. He was beyond the river’s sight. Isyllt’s name brought no response either, nor did Faraj’s. Zhirin bit back an angry hiss, rinsed her hands in ritual ablution before unplugging the drain and sending the water back to the river. She dried her hands and returned to the parlor, and the volume of Laii clan poetry.
The criers started an hour later. Zhirin and her mother stood on the front step and listened to story after story—the Dai Tranh had attacked the Khas; the Tigers had stormed the execution; the Viceroy had been shot; Asheris had been shot; the Vicereine had been attacked; the Vicereine’s daughter had been attacked. Zhirin’s stomach twisted tighter and tighter at each new rumor—no matter how wild, all agreed that the Tigers had been at the execution. But no one could agree on who was truly dead.
The rain drove them inside before the dusk bells, and Fei Minh helped Mau with supper while Zhirin paced the front hall. Someone knocked at the door as they laid out dishes. Zhirin hurried to answer it, fingers knotting in the hem of her shirt. Surely the Khas would send a message to her mother. Surely Jabbor would let her know what had happened—
A young mehti girl stood on the doorstep, rain dripping off the hood of her oilcloak.
“I’ve a message for Zhirin Laii.”
She swallowed. “I’m Zhirin.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed as she glanced through the open door. “Isyllt wants to meet you.”
At least someone was alive. “When? Where?”
“At dawn, at the Bridge of Splinters.”
Zhirin tightened her jaw to keep her mouth from falling open. If Isyllt had left the Khas—“Do you know what happened today?”
The girl shook her head. “Only rumors. What answer should I give her?”
“I’ll be there. Wait a moment.” She ducked into the tradesman’s parlor, fished a few pennies out of the tip-box. The girl palmed them neatly and they vanished into a pocket. “Thank you. And tell her…Never mind. Just tell her I’ll be there.”
The girl nodded and hurried down the steps.
“What is it?” Fei Minh asked as Zhirin shut and bolted the door.
“Only Vasilios’s housekeeper sending a message.” Her voice caught on his name, but at least she had reason enough for that. “She wants me to help dispose of the house tomorrow.” Fei Minh might not be swayed by sentiment, but the proper disposition of wealth would move her.
Her mother frowned, and for an instant Zhirin thought she would argue. But all she said was, “Dinner’s ready,” and turned back to the kitchen.
Zhirin followed her to the table, hoping food would clear away the taste of lies.
Zhirin woke with a start, darkness pressed tight against her window. She’d told Mau to wake her well before dawn, but she was alone, her door latched.
She jumped as a pebble rattled against the shutter, then let out a breath. She threw off the covers, wincing as she caught her toe on the edge of a rug, and hurried to the window. Easing the latch open, she waited a few heartbeats to be sure no more rocks were inbound before she leaned out.
Jabbor crouched on the wall between her house and their neighbor’s. For an instant relief was so sharp in her chest she thought she’d cry. Shaking it off, she closed the window and pulled on clothes. She paused in the hallway, listening carefully, but her mother still slept. Sleep charms, at least, were easy to manage.
The garden was a walled-in square behind the house, shaded by a pair of spice-fragrant cassia trees. In the center a fountain welled—or hiccuped, now; she’d never gotten around to fixing it. Dwarf kheymen slept beside the water, their bodies barely as long as her hand, tails sharp as whips. Their eyes flashed gold and green