The Neon Court (54 page)

The sun burned away the dawn mist, embroidered the mountain’s green skirts in gold and amber. Summer heat left leaves curled and drooping, baked the roads cracked and dusty and withered the ferns that grew in the shade.

Ward-posts lined the road, simple charms to keep pred ators away and something else, a spell to hold the stones steady if the earth shook. Isyllt wasn’t sure she understood the intricacies of it, but the implication was unsettling. Far above the canopy, white smoke leaked from Haroun’s summit. Liquid fire still bubbled in the mountain, but it hadn’t erupted in the hundred and fifty years of Assari occupation. The mages of the Kurun Tam expressed noth ing but confidence in their ability to keep the mountain quiet—since they’d be the first to burn if Haroun stirred, Isyllt tried to take comfort in their assurances.

The trail turned sharply and she saw the sluggish wa ters of the
Mir below them, and the broader, gentler slope of Mount Ashaya on the far side of the river. The South Bank was home to politicians and merchant moguls, mansions and plantations. Whatever native families had lived there were long gone, driven out or bought off and their lands divided up for gifts to those who pleased the Emperor. The North Bank was poorer, home to Sivahri who couldn’t afford to live in the city proper. From the ferry she’d seen clay and brick buildings, thatched roofs and packed-earth roads.

And between the two banks and the bay, Symir shone in the morning light, all colorful roofs and gardens and glittering webs of water.

Isyllt swallowed bitter dust and the smell of horse. This assignment was one others would have vied for, exotic and expensive. And important.

They’d lost three agents in Assar—clever, well-trained spies. Two had simply vanished from their posts, and the body of the third was found dumped near the Selafaïn embassy in Ta’ashlan. And in Erisín, Kiril had caught two Assari agents already—one trying to seduce a Selafaïn inventor whose clever designs would make wonderful in struments of war, and the other worming his way into the palace bureaucracy. The latter had fallen on a blade be fore Kiril could question him, but his presence was story enough—the Emperor was growing bolder.

In the five hundred years since refugees fleeing the al Sund dynasty’s armies had crossed the sea and founded Selafai, several Assari emperors had tried to take the younger kingdom. Assar had never established a solid presence on the northern continent, and every other gen eration some general-prince with dreams of fortune and glory thought to be the first to do so. And now Rahal al Seth sat the Lion Throne, young and greedy and itching to match his grandfather’s conquests—and backed by gener als canny and greedy enough to give him a chance.

She pressed the tip of her tongue between her teeth and tried not to scowl. What Kiril said was true—she was his best student, his most trusted agent. And what he didn’t say was true as well, that given a job as important as this she’d die before she disappointed him. He needed her here. But he’d sent her away, and it gnawed.

She tried to relax, but the jolt of hooves stiffened her back and shoulders. Adam rode more easily beside her, his eyes on the trees. The jungle clamored around them, screeching and chirping and rustling. Jewel-bright liz ards and long-tailed monkeys watched them from tree branches, calmer than the birds that took flight whenever the clatter of hooves grew close. The trees hid all manner of exotic beasts.

And bands of desperate men as well. She just had to find them. Trade gold and weapons for warriors to wield them. To die for them. Thousands of Sivahri lives in ex change for Selafaïn ones.

She looked up and caught Adam watching her, pale eyes narrowed. She schooled her face and smiled at him. Then she shivered as they passed through a tingling web of wards. The trees fell away and they rode into the court yard of the Kurun Tam.

The Corundum Hall. A long building of crimson gran ite, pillared and domed in Assari style. Faces watched them from the wall, bound spirits staring through stone eyes. Neat green lawns stretched within the walls, shaded by slender trees and pruned topiaries—all the jungle’s wildness tamed.

A young stablehand appeared to take charge of their horses, and Isyllt dismounted with a wince and brushed at the dust on her clothes. The gray-green linen hid the worst of it, at least. She breathed deep, tasted magic like spiced lightning in the back of her throat. It tingled down her limbs and prickled the nape of her neck.

They climbed broad red steps and entered a columned courtyard. Isyllt sighed as cool air washed over them—a subtle witchery and a welcome one. A fountain played in the center of the yard and she worked her dry tongue against the roof of her mouth. The air smelled of flowers and incense and clean water.

Isyllt washed her face and hands in the basin beside the door, and she and Adam added their boots and socks to the neat row of sandals and slippers. She didn’t hear the footsteps approach over the splash of the fountain until Adam spun around. She turned as a shadow fell across the stones at her feet.

“Roshani,” the man said, bowing low. Light gleamed on the curve of his shaven head, set mahogany skin aglow. He wore robes of embroidered saffron silk, the hem brush ing the tops of his bare feet. “Or should I say good morn ing?” he asked in Selafaïn. “You must be Lady Iskaldur.”

“Yes.” She lifted her ring in warning as he offered a hand. “I’m
hadath.”
Unclean. Had she been born in Assar, she would go gloved and veiled and touch no one but the dead.

“Ah. It’s not often we see necromancers here.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips; his skin was warm, his magic warmer still as it whispered against her. His smile was wry and charming. “I’m not devout. My name is Ash eris. Vasilios mentioned that he was expecting you. I’ll take you to him.”

“Wait for me,” she said to Adam, and followed Asheris down a shadowed arcade.