The Kingdoms of Dust (30 page)

With a whiplash shock, Isyllt’s awareness returned to her own flesh. The enormity of what she’d unleashed washed over her, sharp as a razor whose kiss wasn’t felt till blood flowed. Before she could try to understand, Al-Jodâ’im’s attention turned back to her.

“Home.”

“Home,” Isyllt whispered. Her wild elation drained, leaving fatigue in its wake. Not the smothering oppression of the ghost wind, but the strain of sleepless nights and more magic than fragile flesh could bear.

“How?” asked Asheris. “How can you return them there?” He gestured upward, to the stars lost behind the storm.

Kash and the ghost wind had shown her the first night in Sherazad, but she only now understood. “The void touches everything. I have a piece of it inside me. I am the gate—I just have to open it.”

Asheris frowned. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

Isyllt smiled, but it felt like a grimace. “I won’t feel a thing,” she lied.

She lay down in the sand of ruined Qais and rose again into the Fata, shrugging off her flesh like a cloak. She looked down at her body, gaunt and wasted, white robes stained ochre with dust. A spent husk with neither soul nor spirits animating it. Asheris stood beside her, his eagle’s head hanging like a burning mask over his human face. He spoke, but the roar of the storm swallowed the words. His fire was a spark against the seething darkness of Al-Jodâ’im. The Undoing drowned all of Qais, filled the valley like ink in a bowl.

Isyllt knelt beside herself, flexing ghostly hands. Both hands were whole here, freed from crippled meat, and she had use of her shoulder again. She wondered if she’d live to use the real one again, but it was too late for that to matter.

She plunged her two good hands into her breast, through skin and meat and bone. Muscle throbbed in her grip, slippery as a dying fish. She ripped her heart free.

Light sprayed from the wound like blood, a hemorrhage of magic. The hollow black diamond Kash had shown her glistened between her fingers, pulsing like a living thing. She dug her thumbs into the groove between ventricles and it came apart like a scored pomegranate. Instead of pith and seeds it held stars, and all the darkness between them.

“There,” Isyllt said. She felt the word on her lips, but couldn’t hear it. Her living heart faltered at this violation, and her ghostly form shuddered with every beat. “That’s your door. Go.”

An icy touch brushed her cheek in benediction. Then the wind from her sundered heart caught them, drawing them in. The void calling its children home.

Like water down a drain, darkness spiraled into the rift, faster and faster. Isyllt screamed as the maelstrom rushed past her, or thought she did; the void took that too. The current spun her, filling her with black and cold.

You may come with us, if you wish.

It was an offer no other mage might ever receive. For a wild instant she even considered it. But a voice spoke her name, calling her back to her failing flesh.

Good luck
, she wished them as she fell.

The darkness that swallowed her was the ordinary kind.

S
he wasn’t dead. She could tell because she hurt.

Isyllt opened her eyes to neither stars nor ceiling, but striped cloth. The air smelled of wool and smoke and desert night. She tried to roll over and remembered the splint halfway through the motion. With a croak that should have been a curse, she fell back on the blankets.

“Here.” Adam slipped a hand under her good shoulder and helped her sit. When she had her balance, he held a cup to her lips. The water was tepid and tasted of leather, a welcome change from the sour film of sleep that coated her teeth. Half the liquid trickled down her chin, but that was all right; she needed a bath.

When he took the cup away, Isyllt scrubbed her face with her sleeve. “The world is still standing, I take it?”

Adam shrugged, crouching beside her. Firelight trickled through the open tent flap, painting his face with shadows. “Most of it, anyway. There’s less of Qais than there was. Part of the hall collapsed in the aftershock—that’s why we’re sleeping out here.”

“Is everyone all right?” The question sounded ridiculous given voice.

“The mages in the library died, but I don’t think they were all right to begin with. Moth was exhausted after that spellcasting, but she’ll be fine. Brenna— She’s used to starting over.” For once he didn’t correct the name.

“Asheris?”

“He’s out there somewhere.” He gestured beyond the tent. “We’ve taken turns looking after you, but he’s restless.”

“How long has it been?”

“This is the third night. You woke a few times before, but not for very long. This is the first you’ve been coherent.”

“I don’t remember,” she admitted, wiping her face again. Her head was still full of Al-Jodâ’im and their song. “But I do remember you calling me, at the end. When I was fading.”

He looked away, staring at the slice of night framed by the tent flap. “You hired me to look after you. Even when you do stupid things.”

“Your contract ended over a decad ago, by my count.”

He snorted. “I’ll bill you.”

Isyllt laughed, and something lodged in her chest snapped and fell away. “Help me up. My legs will atrophy if I lie here any longer.”

The night was deep and still, well past midnight from the stars. Two tents were pitched by the canyon walls, between the ruins of Qais and the path leading to Al-Reshara. It was toward the ruin that Isyllt walked, stretching cramped limbs.

The starlight was enough for mage-trained eyes to see the rubble of the temple, and the gap-toothed hypostyle beyond. Past the columns, the Chanterie was a blacker bulk in the darkness, its silhouette uneven now. No lights burned throughout the empty city.

“What happened to the people?” Isyllt asked softly, respectful of the weight of silence. “The guards and servants.”

“Most have already gone. Melantha sent them away. It’s a long trek to anywhere worth going, but between the myrrh and the money in Quietus’s coffers, I think they’ll be all right. A few are still here. Waiting to be sure we don’t break anything else. Do you think anything will ever grow here?”

Isyllt drew a deep breath, tasting the night. Old magic remained thick in the air, and would for a long time to come, but the sense of hopelessness and loss was already fading. “Eventually.”

They stood in the dark for a time, listening to the gentle whistle of the wind through the canyon walls.

“Are you going with her?” Isyllt finally asked. She’d thought she was too tired and scraped clean to care, but as soon as the words left her mouth she knew that wasn’t true.

“Does that mean you didn’t spy on all our conversations?” Adam exhaled sharply. “No. I’m not. I thought about it, but…” He shrugged. “The poison has drained, and I’m glad of it, but that doesn’t mean we’re good for each other. Maybe I’ll look for nice women from now on.”

“Let me know how that works for you.”

Adam chuckled. “Come on. You’re going to fall over soon.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Her knees quavered and only the splint—filthy and itching by now—kept her spine straight. She followed him back to camp, but shook her head when he held the tent flap open.

“I need air.” And the stars. Their song was fading, but she could still hear the faint crystal chime of constellations.

“Watch out for scorpions.”

They settled by the dying fire, leaning against a boulder still warm from the sun. Isyllt closed her eyes and listened to the starlight and wind, the crackling of embers and Adam’s soft breath. It was lonely in the way of empty places, but peaceful now with the prison destroyed and prisoners freed. For the first time in decads, she didn’t dread sleeping.

Adam’s indrawn breath roused her from the edge of a doze. “You swore their oaths,” he said quietly.

She smiled into the dark. “I lied. I am a spy, after all.” Her smile faded. It wasn’t something to take lightly—if it were ever known that she was twice forsworn, she would be anathema to mages across two continents. She worked her dry tongue against the roof of her mouth before she spoke.

“I’m tired of being a spy. I was considering becoming a mercenary. What do you think?”

He was silent long enough for her throat to tighten. “You might survive it,” he finally said. “If you start eating more.”

“I’d need a partner. Someone who wouldn’t get me killed. Who’d keep me from doing stupid things.”

“You would.” She risked a glance from the corner of her eye; his eyes glittered, but bloody firelight shadows hid his face. “But I’m not sure anyone can do that.”

Isyllt laughed. “No, probably not.”

Another silence. Embers cracked and hissed as the fire dimmed. “There’s usually work in the north, in the mountains.”

“Mountains.” She rolled the word over her tongue. “It’s a long way out of the desert, though.”

“It is. So try to get some rest.”

As he had a dozen times that night, Asheris paced a circuit at the edge of Al-Reshara, his boots wearing grooves in the dusty reg. When the stars wheeled into Ishâ, the quarter between midnight and dawn, he sank cross-legged onto the cooling ground. For the third time that night, he conjured flame.

He didn’t bother collecting twigs or dung, but called the fire from the stones. The flames leapt and sparked, fueled by agitation as well as magic; he had called to Siddir every night since the fall of Qais, but with no answer.

This time, however, he felt the spell catch on the other side, and both his hearts leapt. Siddir’s face wasn’t the relief he’d hoped: grey and drawn, eyes sunken and bruised. As their gazes met through the fire, a sick feeling curdled in Asheris’s stomach.

“What happened?”

Siddir laughed, raw and harsh. “You mean to tell me you don’t know?” When Asheris shook his head, he laughed again. “The ghost wind happened. Three nights ago. It came like a wave out of a clear sky, right over the city. I thought it meant you were dead. Or that you did it yourself.”

The final words of Al-Jodâ’im rang in his head. “It wasn’t my doing. I had— I had a warning, but I didn’t understand it until now. How many dead?”

“Hundreds, I imagine. They’re still combing the rubble. The cathedral was destroyed—Ahmar is dead, and Mehridad, not to mention all the other unlucky priests and novices and supplicants.” He shook his head. “I would have killed her myself for threatening you, but not like this.” Siddir looked up, hazel eyes sharp through the distortion of heat-shimmer. “Do you swear you didn’t cause this?”

“I—” Asheris inhaled the taste of char and burning sand. “I can’t. I didn’t mean to, but I helped free the ghost wind.” If he’d taken the freedom Al-Jodâ’im offered in the first place, there would have been no need for their vengeance. He forced the thought away, before it poisoned him.

“Helped?” Siddir’s eyebrow rose. “Helped Isyllt? I should have known.”

“The wind is gone now, forever. She sent it back where it came from.”

“Samar will be glad to hear that, at least.” He winced at the empress’s name, and Asheris frowned.

“What is it?”

Siddir glanced away, scrubbing a hand across his face. “She was outside when the storm struck. She’ll be all right,” he added, before Asheris could form a reply. “The baby too, we think. There was bleeding. It was touch-and-go for a while. And now the physicians know, and a few servants. Which means everyone will, soon. She…admitted that it’s mine.” His mouth twisted. “Are you coming back for the wedding?”

Asheris swallowed. “I don’t think that would be wise, under the circumstances.”

“No one blames you. Not yet. Someone will think of it eventually, but I’m sure you can come up with a story of a terrible battle and how it nearly killed you.”

His nails scored his palms as he tried to answer; his throat was as dry as the ground beneath him. But he’d had days to consider this, and to convince himself it was the best plan. “I’m not coming back. Not yet. This ruse was nearly spent, and there are things I have to do. You have my blessings, though, if they mean anything.”

“Not as much as it would mean to have you.” Silence grew between them, and for a moment Asheris thought Siddir would break the connection. Instead the other man leaned forward, voice lowering. “I could follow you. If you wanted that. Not right away—Samar needs me, and the city is in chaos—but eventually. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve faked my death and snuck out of town.” He said it with a wry grin, but his voice was rough, burred with something raw and earnest.

Asheris reached, unthinking, but his fingers touched fire instead of flesh. A dozen replies caught and died before he found one he could speak aloud.

“Don’t. Not because I don’t want you to,” he added quickly. “But because I mean to come back to Ta’ashlan eventually. I mean to change things. And when I do it wouldn’t hurt to have the imperial consort on my side. Besides, I’m going into the desert. You’d be bored sick of it within a decad. Tell Samar I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be too long away.” Siddir raised long brown fingers to his temple, where dye covered greying hair. “Some of us don’t have forever.”

Asheris’s throat closed around all the things he wanted to say, all the things they’d never told each other. To say them now would sound too much like a farewell. “I won’t,” he said instead, and made the words a promise. He raised his hand once more, a phantom caress.

The fire died, and he was alone again. He swallowed the taste of salt.

From across the desert, deep into the glittering erg, came a high chittering cry. Another answered, and fell silent. Wild spirits, the kind he hadn’t seen or heard since he left Symir.

Asheris swallowed again, and this time he tasted hope as well as dust.

Isyllt returned to her tent at dawn and woke hours later to find Moth watching her. The girl passed a skin of water and bowl of boiled grain and fruit, and waited for Isyllt to eat and drink.

“Are you all right?” Isyllt asked at last, setting down the empty dish.

“Fine. I mean,” she added with a shrug, “I will be.” A bruise darkened on her forehead, and fresh cuts scabbed on each wrist; she rubbed one absently now. Her face was pale beneath the desert tan, and the ruby gleamed on her left hand. She tingled against Isyllt’s
otherwise
senses, stronger than she ever had before. “I’ve never used so much magic at once before. I had barely solved your puzzle before you did…whatever it was you did.”

“You did well.”

Moth glanced away, color rising in her cheeks.

“What will you do now?” Isyllt asked.

The girl frowned, twisting the ring. “I’ve been wondering that myself. I think…I think I want to go with Melantha. Or whatever she’s going to call herself now. She doesn’t have anyone. And she reminds me of me.” Her eyes flickered, a quick glint of humor. “I want to see all the places she’s told me about.”

Isyllt swallowed. “If that’s what you want. I know you can take care of yourself. But if you ever need me—”

Moth smiled, quick and gone. “I’m glad you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“So am I,” Isyllt said, and surprised herself with how much she meant it.

That afternoon Isyllt managed a clumsy bath, and Adam helped her wrap her shoulder in a fresh splint. All of Nerium’s healing had been undone by Al-Jodâ’im; a stitch had torn free, and the flesh around the rest was warm and proud. She didn’t need to worry about infection, but it would scar. Next time she injured herself, she’d have to remember to do it somewhere besides her left arm.

Clean and dressed once more in white, she followed Moth’s directions and went searching for Melantha. She found the woman sitting on the Chanterie steps between the sphinxes, rubble strewn about her feet. The great brassbound doors hung crooked on their hinges, and fissures crazed the tall red walls.

Melantha looked up when Isyllt stopped in front of her. Her eyes were bruised and red. Something in her face was different, though Isyllt couldn’t say what. She looked older. Quieter inside. Perhaps it was only the weariness of grief.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Isyllt said. “She believed in what she did. I wish I could have known her without her vows.

Melantha laughed, a sound like breaking bones. “So do I.”

“Take care of Moth.”

Isyllt watched a retort rise to the woman’s lips, watched her swallow it back. “I will. You take care of Adam.”

She could have left it at that—should have, no doubt—but as she turned away, a perverse impulse caught her. She paused, casting a last glance over her shoulder. “Before I forget, I’ll let you say your good-byes.” Her ring flickered, and the air chilled as the brown man’s ghost materialized beside her.

“Why am I not surprised to see what’s happened while I was gone?” His voice was hollow and death-faded, but acerbic as ever.

Isyllt lengthened her stride, before a knife found its way to her back.

Isyllt woke during the hour of the jackal, and couldn’t sleep again. Finally she rose and tugged on her boots, moving quietly to keep from waking Adam. In the other tent, Asheris seemed to sleep as well, or was lost in his thoughts. The night was peaceful, broken only by the distant yipping of jackals, but a heavy weight settled in her chest.