Chapter 9

9

Sirsha

The murderer felt slick and clever as a greased eel. Unlike anyone Sirsha had hunted before.

Perhaps she should have been vexed. Instead, she was intrigued, the way she hadn't been since she was a child first discovering her skills. After Sirsha's people had cast her out, her jobs were simple. Too simple. She often took a second job while doing the first, because she was so damned bored.

Now, six days after she and her client had parted ways, Sirsha knelt in the winter-yellow foothills a day outside Navium, the Empire's southernmost port city. She'd successfully avoided the small settlements along the River Rei, where people might ask her questions. From afar, she would look strange: a girl with golden-brown skin and black hair piled high, staring off into space as if thinking of a lover or a dream.

In fact, she was puzzling out the trails winding through the air and earth around her. For the past few hundred miles, she'd followed the path of a single woman meandering south. It grew thin at times, but it eventually led her here.

Now the trail appeared to split. The killer could have met someone here. But if that was the case, Sirsha would have been able to see their spoor and wherever they came from. Unless they appeared out of thin air.

Even still, her magic would have revealed a trail.

Sirsha surveyed the land ahead. A harsh mountain wind flattened the scrub, powerful enough to have long ago swept away normal tracks.

"Talk to me," she said. "Tell me what I'm looking at." But the air merely yanked at her hair, taunting her before racing off. All her senses felt utterly befuddled.

Her magic lived in her blood. Had since birth. It was as steady as breathing or having skin. Or it had been, until now.

Sirsha walked farther down the hillside, leaving the horse her client had given her to graze on the sparse winter grasses. She put her hand to the earth. Nothing. A thousand threads, a thousand trails—none of which mattered. The wind spun dead leaves around her, swirled dust into her eyes.

"If you're not going to help" — Sirsha coughed and batted the dust away—"then piss off."

A low, sullen hiss. Follow the bones.

She scanned the scrubby land, which was filled with ravines and gulches. The wind's hints were never idle. If the bones weren't near, it wouldn't have said anything. She walked across the dead, snow-dusted grass to a spot that dropped away into a gully. There, at the bottom, she saw a flash of dull white.

"Got you," she muttered, and shimmied down for a closer look.

The bones were picked clean. Smaller than an adult's, though not by much. A young person, but not a child. Sirsha knelt beside them, closed her eyes, and touched the earth.

Her vision narrowed and went white, then coalesced into a figure running—racing, desperate to escape the killer following him. A roar. A scream.

Soul crumbled. Rotted. Monstrous. Killer of tender saplings, death in the blood, death in the bones, an ocean of death—

Sirsha gasped at the earth's rage. She'd heard the earth growl before, and whisper. Occasionally, it laughed and teased Sirsha. Once, long ago, she heard it weep. But she'd never heard it roar.

A series of impressions crossed her mind. A gray cloak. A canteen and a cap fallen into the dirt, dropped by a shaking hand. A shadow. Human? Fey? The earth shriveled away from the memory of whoever had passed here. It gave her nothing more.

But Sirsha had the trail now. Strong and clear and heading directly south—to the city of Navium.

It was dawn before Sirsha joined scores of other travelers on the main road leading into Navium. She'd buried the bones because she hadn't lost all semblance of decency. As a result, she was exhausted and grumpy, in sore need of a meal, a bath, and a nap. And perhaps new clothes.

But as Navium came into view over a rise, her hopes were dashed. The front gate was a tangled throng of adults, children, horses, carts, even a herd of cattle.

A young man carrying a baby across his chest rode nearby, and Sirsha called out to him. "What's happening in the city?"

"Rathana." The man pointed at a single dark blue flag flying high on the gates. "That's the standard of Gens Aquilla. Our Empress is in residence. The guards only have one gate open, so they can properly check everyone."

He gave her a dark look then, as if she might personally stick a knife in his precious ruler. "She's a good woman, Empress Helene. I for one am pleased as pie that she's spending Rathana with us."

"Good for you," Sirsha muttered when he'd turned back to the road.

The Empress being in town was a complication she hadn't anticipated. This had happened before, more than a year ago when Sirsha was in Sadh. Tracking had been a nightmare, the city so busy that she couldn't get a clear sense of the trail she'd been following. The dock agents were stricter, the city patrols more vigilant. There were Masks, horses, and healers at all the gates, in case the Empress was wounded or needed to escape an assassination attempt. The docks—even the tiny one with a fishy that sold the best fried cod in the Tribal Lands—were all shut down.

It was a mess. Navium was no different, it appeared.

By the time Sirsha persuaded a gate guard that she wasn't planning to assassinate the Empress or her nephew, the crown prince, it was past noon. She smelled of cow dung and thought she'd faint from hunger.

A novice Inashi would collapse at this point. But Sirsha had trained at her mother's knee, and few could match her stamina. She used her magic to skim through the city, searching for signs of her Kin. She found traces that were a few days old—but nothing current. When she'd assured herself that she was safe, she went looking for an inn.

Usually, she laid low at the Torius Arms near the massive, key-shaped cothon on the east side of Navium. The Empire kept their fleet there, and the merchant ship docks were the largest outside of Marinn. It was an easy place to go unnoticed.

But her client had given her gold for supplies—more than she could use in the time that this mission would take. So, she headed to Navium's posh central district, the streets turning from packed mud to neatly tended cobbles. The stench of the gate crowd faded and Sirsha began to enjoy her walk, slowing as she passed an enormous mural.

The Battle of Sher Jinaat. The words were emblazoned at the base of the mural. On one side, the Empress of the Martials and the storyteller Laia of Serra stood, backed by an army of Scholars, Tribespeople, and Martials. In the shadows, with scims in hand, lurked the hooded figure of the famed warrior Elias Veturius, who'd persuaded the Empress to take up arms in the war. Opposite them, on the other side of the mural, the Nightbringer loomed, a gray-white vortex of agonized faces at his back, his sun eyes glaring.

Sirsha searched the rest of the mural, but her people weren't represented at all, even though none of these vaunted heroes would have had a chance against the Nightbringer without them. It irked Sirsha to see them ignored, even if she wasn't one of them anymore.

She walked on, stopping at a lovely inn with a front window depicting an ecstatic-looking stained-glass mermaid.

The innkeeper at the Mermaid's Rest did not appear pleased to see—or smell—Sirsha. But he grew more amenable when she paid him a gold mark and didn't ask for change. By the time the daylight faded, her horse was stabled, she had a belly full of chicken curry, she'd procured a better pack, supplies, and new clothes, and she was neck-deep in a bath that smelled like lilies.

Now this , Sirsha thought as she closed her eyes, is how all jobs should go. It had been ages since she'd had the coin for a proper bath. Mostly, she scrubbed herself off in cold water and hoped the beds she slept in didn't have fleas.

A far cry from her life in the Cloud Forest. Her mother was a Raani of Kin Inashi, a woman who'd ruled over scores of families with Inashi leanings. She was a scenter, like her daughters, one of the strongest. While Sirsha hadn't lorded that fact over the other children like her sister, she had enjoyed the finer things her mother's position afforded her. Silks, dresses, gorgeous weapons—and her own bathing pool.

Her sister mocked her for it. You're lazy and stupid and slow. You'd rather hide in the bath than serve the Kin.

Sirsha groaned. That was the second time today that she'd thought of her family, and it was two times too many. She pushed those memories away. They never led to anything good.

She turned instead to the job. She'd sensed the trail when she'd entered the city, but as before, it felt muted. It was possible the killer had passed through long ago. Or maybe she was still here, skulking about.

The wind rattled Sirsha's window. It was a chill, clear night, and she was glad not to be out in the freezing—

Crack.

The window flew open, shattering the glass in one of the panes. The air that blew in stank of a fresh-opened grave, icy and putrid. It curled around Sirsha and spoke.

Death and pain, blood and screams. Follow the bones.

The world spun and a wave of nausea washed over Sirsha. She clutched her stomach as she staggered out of the tub.

"How many dead?" she asked the wind. "And why do you care so damned much?"

But the wind swept out, tugging at her to follow.

Sirsha threw on fresh clothes and her boots. After a moment's consideration, she grabbed her newly stuffed pack, braided her wet hair, and made her way outside. The earth tugged at her, pulling her south through Navium's crowded streets, until the ocean appeared ahead, its waves a thundering roar.

When she reached the wide stretch of sand beach, she looked around. There were no bones here. She knelt and put her hand to the sugar-soft sand.

Follow the bones.

It wasn't the wind screaming this time, but the earth. The two so rarely echoed each other that Sirsha didn't know what to make of it. Her client had told her that sixteen young people were murdered across the Empire. But Sirsha felt the bones, even if she couldn't see them. In Navium alone, dozens of lives had been cut short. So many that if she found every body and buried it, she'd be here for weeks.

The bones were hidden deep in the earth, in the sewers that carved another world beneath the city.

Sirsha rose, perplexed. The wind had shoved her here; the earth had spoken. There must be a reason for it. Behind her, a row of seaside businesses bustled.

Shopkeepers lit blue-fire lanterns, illuminating the night with a cerulean glow. To Sirsha's left, a long dock stretched into the sea, dozens of vessels tethered to it, their masts undulating and creaking with the winter tide.

They were pleasure boats, mostly, those used by Navium's elite. Each was emblazoned with the crest of an Illustrian Gens. Sirsha frowned as she surveyed them. Perhaps the elements were telling her that the killer was a wealthy Martial. She wouldn't put it past a bored Illustrian to start murdering children.

To her right, another dock disappeared behind an outcropping of rock. Two Masks loitered near it. Perhaps the killer was a Mask. Skies knew Blackcliff bred them violent, even if their skill was legendary.

But no—there was no trace of the trail around the Masks. She edged toward the seaside eateries—though she'd just had dinner—lured by the scents of almond cake, stewed apricots, and hot tea. But as she was about to open the door to a bakery, the air shifted to reveal a glowing white filament: the killer's trail. Her relief at seeing it so clearly was overshadowed by the fact that it led not to the docks or the city, but directly out to sea.

"Ten hells," Sirsha muttered, drawing a look from one of the velvet-clad Illustrians behind her. She couldn't tell if the trail led east, west, or south. It didn't matter. A sea journey meant a longer job. Sea winds were harder to read, and water was her weakest element. The trail she was following was so strange, she didn't know if she could track it over the ocean.

But she'd caught it now, and even if she hadn't made that damned vow to the Martial, her curiosity had taken hold. Sirsha wanted to find this woman. She wanted to understand how in the hells she was hiding her trail without magic. So, even though a warm room awaited her, Sirsha pulled her fur-lined cloak closer, ignoring the frost in her wet hair, and made for the merchant harbor to the east to hire a ship.

The wind nipped at her as if irritated, and even the earth twitched beneath her feet. "Yes, yes," she said to the elements. "You want me to leave Navium. But I can't fly, so we must go to the docks."

The streets were aglow with Tribal lanterns and food stalls. It seemed as if everyone was out in the streets for Rathana. Even the docks, usually quieter at night, were packed with families and friends celebrating the Empire's midwinter festival.

The tracker made her way through the crowds, passing massive Mariner schooners and Ankanese dhows, their sails emblazoned with an enormous eye. She spotted a Thafwan ship, but Thafwans were sticklers for rules. What she needed was something small, fast, and discreet.

The wind nudged her and she walked quickly. It was a clear night, though cold enough to make her teeth hurt. Unease gnawed at her. An agitation came upon her the longer she spent at the docks.

A strange aura tainted the air. A presence that did not belong. Sirsha glanced up at the black night sky. It was patchy, as if from the weather, but there were no clouds. Instead, it looked as if the stars were blocked out.

The wind howled in Sirsha's ears, sudden and unmistakable.

Run, swiftly , the wind hissed. Run, little one.

She bolted without thought, without consideration. In seconds, she'd left the docks and turned up one of the few alleyways that wasn't packed with people. She looked back over her shoulder.

Musicians played and families danced, and jugglers threw up torches lit with flame as children shrieked in delight. All appeared well. Except for a sound—the strangest sound. Like a bee buzzing, but more penetrating and growing louder by the second—until it felt like a shriek burrowing in her brain.

She clasped her hands over her ears. The music stopped. Others covered their heads too. And then, in a dreadful chorus, everyone around her began to scream.