The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [99]
“What happened?”
“Isyllt was attacked. We need to get out of the city. Does your offer still stand?”
“Of course it does.” But his eyes narrowed as he glanced at Isyllt. “She’s sick.”
“All the more reason to get us to a safe place quickly.”
He sighed and nodded. “Let’s go. Can you walk?” he asked Isyllt.
“Of course.” But her hand was white-knuckled and trembling on the back of her chair as she rose, and Zhirin wondered how much farther she could go.
A pair of Tigers she didn’t know waited outside, flanking them as they moved through the village. Rivulets of mud ran down the narrow path, twisting and eddying around stones.
They headed northwest toward the sloping mountain road, but by the time they reached the outskirts of the village Jabbor was frowning. “We’re being followed.” He turned a fierce glare at Isyllt, and Zhirin flushed.
Turning, she found three hooded figures closing on them. Jabbor shoved her behind him, hand on his knife-hilt, but their assailants already had pistols drawn. The middlemost pulled aside her veil, baring long brown hair.
“You’re right,” Jodiya said, gun pointed at Isyllt. “I do like to get my hands dirty. But I like getting the job done even more. And now you’ve made this even more convenient. Lucky for me Asheris is soft.”
“And lucky for me you talk too much.”
Jodiya spun, but her companions kept their guns steady. Zhirin’s lips parted in shock.
“Mother?” she gasped, before she could stop herself.
Fei Minh stepped closer, a pistol in her manicured hand. “Really, dear. Did you think I was going to let you run off like that without someone to keep an eye on you?” Her escort fanned around her, weapons drawn. Zhirin gaped more when she recognized Mau among them.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Jodiya said. “You’re Faraj’s creature.”
Fei Minh’s eyebrows rose in the shadow of her hood. “I’m a politician and a merchant—you think I don’t know when to hedge my bets? And you might consider a milder tongue, under the circumstances.”
Jodiya’s lips twisted and she whistled once, high and sharp. Zhirin tensed and Jabbor’s arm stiffened under her hand, but Fei Minh only laughed.
“I’m sorry, but the rest of your men won’t be coming.”
Jodiya’s jaw clenched; a raindrop trickled down her cheek and dripped from her chin. “What next, then? Shall we stand here until all our guns are too damp to fire?”
“Or perhaps you should put yours down. You’re outnumbered.”
“Yes, but you or your daughter might die with us if you shoot. Will you risk that?”
Zhirin’s fingers tightened on Jabbor’s sleeve, and she felt leather beneath the cloth. She loosened her grip, holding her breath as a knife dropped silently into his hand. Beside her, Isyllt shifted her weight. One of Jodiya’s companions began to tremble faintly.
Fei Minh drew a breath, perhaps to answer. Zhirin felt a prickle of gathering magic and tensed just as a shrill, icy shriek cut the air.
Guns thundered and Jabbor pushed her down as he launched himself at the closer assassin. Zhirin slipped and hit the ground with a splatter of mud. Someone shouted; someone else fell. She scrabbled out of the road, hands skidding across wet grass—water everywhere, but too scattered to answer her. She looked back to see smoke fade into the rain and the last assassin fall as Jabbor broke his knee with a kick. The knife flashed as the man went down, and he didn’t rise again.
Stories spoke of heroes fighting from dawn to dusk, but in truth it happened so fast she could scarcely follow. Four bodies sprawled in the mud—Jodiya, her men, and one of the Tigers whose name she’d never learned.
“Idiot girl,” Fei Minh muttered. Zhirin wasn’t sure if she meant her daughter or Jodiya. She tucked her pistol inside her coat and picked her way around puddles till she reached Zhirin.
“What are you going to tell Faraj?” she asked, taking her mother’s hand.
“I’ll think of something. Or perhaps nothing at all—murder is an ugly business, after all, and one can hardly be surprised when an assassin finally makes