Dawnspell Read online

  Every time he squinted she followed his gaze to where shapes of cloud and sky formed hints of dragon and she shuddered.

  “Time,” Tamerlan murmured. “He’s getting free. Have to stop ... time.”

  “How about if we work on that when you feel better?” Marielle said gently. He looked so young like this and so vulnerable. His height and broad shoulders seemed slight when he was stretched out in the boat, as if much of his physical strength came from the struggling spirit within.

  He smelled – golden. Like himself. Warm honey, cinnamon, and sunshine laced with hints of strawberry and tarragon. She had grown used to the smell over the days at sea, but that didn’t make it less potent. It still threatened to steal away her good sense if she let her self-control slip. She didn’t dare do that. She didn’t dare play with that kind of fire. Any girl who let herself obsess over a monster got the punishment she deserved.

  And it didn’t help that she couldn’t tell if she were smelling him when she smelled that golden scent – or if it was her own attraction – or if it was something else. It was all such a terrible tangle, like boat lines left in the bottom of a ship. She’d watched sailors on the docks working for hours to free the tangles and knots that developed over time. Her emotions tangled with who Tamerlan was and with this insanely strong attraction she felt for him into a thing that seemed to have a life of its own. It was easiest to think of it simply as her own attraction. It was easiest to manage it that way – to shove it into the back of her mind and pretend she wasn’t drunk on it whenever she was around him. It was worse than blood. Worse than magic.

  But now Tamerlan’s scent was also edged with corruption as the infection flared through it, curling the edges with hints of sickly green.

  She turned up to Jhinn. “We will have to pick a place sometime, Jhinn. He needs help.”

  “Cool your head, sister,” Jhinn growled. “I’m looking for something.”

  “You’ve been looking for an hour.” Marielle tried to keep her tone mild, but irritation was slipping out.

  The longer Jhinn waited for his perfect opening – whatever it was! – the longer Tamerlan suffered without help. He was so hot she could have boiled a kettle on him, his cheeks flushed and his brow pale. She’d seen fevers like this before. He was well past her ability to do anything for him.

  And the sun setting meant another night in the boat with the cold of night adding to the clammy water in the hull and that would only make things worse.

  The voices in the boats nearby were hushed and sedate – as if no one else hoped to make it into Xin tonight either. There were boats dotting the sea all around them as they worked their way toward Xin. Houseboats of the Waverunners, packed with their whole lives and families. Gondolas with water-soaked refugees and rafts of broken timbers and frayed ropes with people clinging to them for dear life.

  With this many near Xin, Marielle couldn’t even imagine how many would be along the jagged coastline between here and Jingen or flooding into Yan further up the Alabastru River. Anyone on foot would have headed to Yan. Likely, that city was as choked by refugees as this one was. But thank the Legends it was summer and not the depths of winter. But what would they do when the weather cooled and sleeping outside became life-threatening?

  Out in the bay, the dark ship flying Lord Mythos’s flag was at anchor along with merchant vessels and two of Xin’s warships. They seemed unconcerned by the faraway white sails, as if a line of invaders hadn’t emerged from the hazy horizon only two days ago. A little further out a ships’ boat of a strange design was rolling in with the waves from far out at sea. Another fisherman, perhaps. Sent home by the fleet.

  Tamerlan began to cough and she hurried to put down her oar and check him. Rasping, barking coughs shook him as his face whitened. This wasn’t good.

  She looked at the clogged locks and then back to where Jhinn piloted the boat. His lips drew a firm line and then they rocketed forward, weaving between boats and squeezing into cracks too small for a normal-sized craft.

  Curses followed them, but Marielle clenched her jaw and ignored them.

  “We all need shelter! Wait your turn!”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Dragon’s blood in a bowl!”

  She steeled her expression, ignoring their anger and cursing. If Jhinn didn’t hurry, she didn’t think Tamerlan would survive. She held him down as he thrashed, trying to keep his arms tucked in so he didn’t damage them in his agitated state.

  Fear rolled off him in electric blue and acid scented waves, making Marielle’s stomach roll and heave. And mixed in it all was a residue of magic – turquoise and gold flecked lilac and vanilla – that reminded her constantly of how he’d been injured in the first place. The residue should be gone by now, and yet it lingered and flared with his fever.

  “Escaping,” he muttered. “Escaping his binding. Coming free.”

  “It’s okay,” she murmured, gently wiping his brow. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  He muttered indistinctly and worry welled up in her. His golden scent that drew her in as strongly as a ship’s cable and pulley – that scent wavered and flickered under his fever as if his life were flickering and uncertain.

  “I can get you as far as the canals,” Jhinn said as he continued his determined press through the crowds of boats, dodging swings of oars and the spittle of angry refugees. “But I’ll have to leave you on edge. I can’t go on land.”

  “Where will you go?” Marielle asked tightly.

  “I don’t know. Somewhere close. This is bound to settle down. I’ll leave a message at the message tree – the closest one to this canal entrance.”

  Marielle looked up from Tamerlan, ripping her gaze away from his tormented features. They were in a lock, rising up with the water. Already? Jhinn had been faster than she could have hoped for. She ignored the angry glares around her. She could already smell their fury and envy, swirling up to her nose in gusts of green musk and garnet pitch. She’d smelled enough fury for a lifetime already.

  “No better than the rest of us,” a woman in ruined silks said from her gondola beside theirs.

  “Yes. That’s a good plan,” she said, holding Tamerlan down again as his wracked coughs shook the gondola. He gasped a breath, seeming to choke on it before coughing again. Each cough tore at her heart. They should have come here first. They shouldn’t have tried to flee for the sea.

  “He had bags packed for himself and his sister,” Jhinn said, pointing to the tiny trailing craft tied to his gondola. “They’re stored in there. I’ll give them to you.”

  Marielle nodded, scanning the canal as the door of the lock opened and they surged forward into the canal. There were three more locks above them before they’d reach the city. Could Tamerlan last even that long? Did she want him to? She still didn’t know if she owed him everything, or if the world would be better if she let him die like this.

  A moan escaped his lips and when she took his limp hand it was cold and clammy.

  “Hold on,” she soothed. He was innocent until she proved otherwise. She needed to remind herself of that. “Just hold on, Tamerlan.”

  What would she do when Jhinn dropped them off along a canal? She couldn’t even lift him on her own. Maybe there would be coin in one of the bags. Maybe she could barter for help.

  She tried to keep her voice confident and soothing as they rode through the clogged waters up the levels of locks into Xin. Her attention was focused completely on Tamerlan. Was it her imagination, or had his breathing grown fainter?

  It was hard not to remember that only a few days ago he’d been an Alchemist’s Apprentice. A shadowy quarry to her. A kind friend and good worker to those who knew him. And now what was he? Destroyer of cities? Killer of hundreds? And a broken, vulnerable man who looked like he was barely out of his teens, just now filling out in muscle and strength, the stubble on his jaw still short despite days without a razor.

  She ran a hand through her
hair. She owed it to him to save him, but she couldn’t forget the people in the Temple District of Jingen that he’d slain. They’d been innocents. He had no reason to kill them. Had saving her made up for that? Should she really be fighting for his life?

  The gondola hit something with a jarring bump and Marielle looked up. They’d reached the inside of the City of Xin. The Trade District was on one side of the canal, by the looks of things and they had landed against the Spice District. A steep wall of rock rose behind the District, climbing up to where another wall rose. The Temple and University Districts of Xin were up in those rocks. The city was laid out just like Jingen, but on a rocky, steep island instead of a broad muddy river plain.

  People packed the edges of the canal like fish laid out for sale in a cart. There was barely room to press another body onto the canal ledge. Sounds filled the air, voices raised, people shouting to get each other’s attention. The other side of the canal looked even worse. Refugees huddled in clumps – their ruined clothing a sign of their new station in life. Marielle caught a glimpse of City Watch uniforms as Watch Officers pressed through the people, demanding order. She clutched awkwardly at her tattered silk dress. She felt undressed in the foolish thing. A single glance at the guards made her long for a uniform again, but she shook her head. A foolish thought in a moment like this.

  She tried to wind the scarf Jhinn had given her around her face one more time. There wasn’t any more length left to wind around her face but the scents here were overwhelming and she needed to focus. Jhinn was already throwing a pair of jute bags onto the stone ledge. He hurried over to her, frowning at Tamerlan. After glancing around them he leaned in low.

  “Watch out for the spirits that haunt him, okay? The one with the breastplate looks especially vengeful.”

  “What?” Marielle gasped. The witness reports in the Temple District had mentioned a woman in a breastplate, too. Some of the witnesses had thought Tamerlan was two people – a maniacal woman in armor and a young apprentice.

  “The spirits. They won’t leave him alone. They are here right now. They steal his choices and make him do things. Watch out for them.” She stared at him, her mouth open and he shook his head. “You’re going to help him, right? You’re not going to stop because of spirits, right? If he hadn’t brought you to me, you would be dead. You owe him.”

  Marielle pressed her lips firmly together before answering. “I know.”

  She leapt from the gondola to the stone ledge. She’d have to figure out what all of that meant later. Right now, she needed to find a healer.

  With Jhinn’s help – him reaching from the boat, and her standing on the shore – she pulled Tamerlan from the boat to the stone ledge, propping him against one of the jute bags. Jhinn grabbed her hand and pressed two coins into it.

  “Do what you can. I will look for your message on the tree.”

  He pointed to a nearby pole, plastered with fluttering white missives, before turning his gondola and skimming away. Marielle stood up, slinging one of the bags over her shoulder, her eyes skimming the crowd looking for help as Tamerlan sagged against her knees.

  For the first time in a long time, she felt lost.

  3: Hooded Help

  Marielle

  “CAN I GET SOME HELP, moving my friend?” Marielle asked a man as he passed by. His arms were empty, but he didn’t even glance her way.

  “I can pay!” she offered the next man, but he shoved her aside so roughly that she nearly fell into the canal. With a grimace, she hitched up her dress, glad she had fled Jingen in her City Watch boots instead of the slippers that Lord Mythos had given her.

  The Spice District smelled of resentment – a mushroom and sepia smell that made her nose wrinkle – in fact, it smelled so strongly of smug resentment that she was barely catching whiffs of the thyme and saffron, lavender and cinnamon that she expected to smell. She sighed, turning to block the way of the next traveler, a woman in Spice Merchant clothing.

  “Please, can you help me get my friend to a healer?” she asked. “I’m willing to pay.”

  “Stop blocking my way,” the woman replied irritably. “Three days and I’ve had all the refugees that I can stomach already.”

  She pushed past Mariella as the light on the street above them flared to life. The shadows were thickening as dark descended and Marielle had a bad feeling that sleeping on the cold stones of the edge of the canal would be worse than staying in the gondola. She was already standing over Tamerlan to keep people from stepping on him – how much worse would the press of the crowd be in the dark?

  A group of Timekeepers walked on the street above the canal lip, close enough to the railing to be easily seen. They walked in a tight knot, their braziers held high, the incense wafting off of them tickling her nose with hints of ylang-ylang.

  “Help, please!” she called to them.

  “Your troubles mean nothing, supplicant. They are only temporary. Time is eternal. Remember, you are nothing and everything. You are one with the eternal, one with the all.”

  “Could the all spare a moment to help me with my friend?” she asked, trying to keep the bite out of her tone.

  “When you learn proper mindfulness, you will see no difference between your pain and joy, between want and plenty. And in that moment, you will no longer be desperate for anything,” the Timekeeper said, turning his back on her.

  Easy for him to say with his healthy body, clean clothing, and perfumed brazier. Harder for the rest of them.

  Desperation filled the refugees she saw. That, and the licorice black of despair. She’d hoped for a little generosity or at least a willingness to do business. Instead, she found hard hearts and self-righteousness.

  She sighed, wiping her brow and tugging Tamerlan closer to the stone wall. He coughed again. Each cough tugging at her heart and complicating her emotions. Was he really plagued by spirits like Jhinn thought? Could his crimes have been their fault?

  She leaned over him, checking his forehead with her hand. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that the rage of fever had cooled? Her emotions around her were already tangled into enough of a mess. The thought of his death tangled them further.

  “I’ll help you.”

  She looked up at the hooded figure in black standing in front of her. That voice ...

  She froze. It couldn’t be.

  He pulled the hood back, his expression grim where it showed from under a bandaged wound around his temples.

  “Marielle,” he said.

  “Lord Mythos,” she breathed. “You survived!”

  “Despite your best efforts,” he agreed, but his tone wasn’t bitter, only factual.

  “I just wanted to live.” Her voice was small in her ears. Could he even hear it in the middle of the jostling bodies pressing between them and all around them?

  In the street above the march of soldier’s feet thudded past.

  “Let’s talk about it after we get him to the healer you’ve been asking for. I know someone.”

  Her mouth fell open. He was offering to help them? What was the catch? How was he going to trap them?

  She looked around as if she’d be able to see it.

  He chuckled, flicking his cape so that it flared with the expression. “No trust, Marielle? That seems unfair. I’m not the one who destroyed Jingen.”

  She looked around desperately, hoping that no one had heard. Why was he on the canal ledge? And alone? There were no guard anywhere nearby. No Landholds. No one of station or power but him.

  “Why would you help me?”

  He leaned in close, his dark eyes glittering in the light of the street lamp. It made her breath catch and her heart beat faster – like a mouse in front of a serpent. “I told you, Marielle, I didn’t want you to die. I just wanted to keep Jingen safe. And it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”

  “What are you doing out here on the docks?” She was glad that this time her voice wasn’t shaking.

  “Do you want me to answer that, o
r do you want to get help for your friend?” He reached down and lifted Tamerlan up by the shoulders. “You get his legs.”

  Marielle swallowed, slinging the second jute bag over her shoulder and then grabbing Tamerlan’s legs. Even with Lord Mythos carrying most of the weight, Tamerlan was heavy. His head lolled against Lord Mythos’ chest and the former ruler of Jingen frowned as he stalked backward along the canal.

  “You haven’t been dipping into more magic, have you, Marielle? I’m getting a feeling of a strong residue.”

  Her cheeks felt hot as she replied. “I think it’s left over from the other night.”

  The Lord Mythos coughed uncomfortably and they walked in silence, each focused on their work as Lord Mythos led them up the steps to the streets above and then worked his way down the street and around a corner to a place where a stone building jutted out into the street, a wide sign hanging over it.

  It was clearly an inn with a common room on the main floor, but it wasn’t to the inn that he took her but to a small door in the building just next to it. It smelled of herbs and worry – a rainbow of scents buffing out in multicolored clouds and swirls from behind the closed door.

  The strongman stationed outside the inn door watched them suspiciously.

  “No room inside,” he growled when he caught her eye. Her scarf slipped down to her chest as Lord Mythos shifted his grip on Tamerlan and she was forced to pivot to keep her grip on his legs. “And aren’t you the pretty one. There might be room for refugees in my apartments.”

  “No need for a room – or your comments,” Lord Mythos said easily, shifting awkwardly to keep Tamerlan up while he knocked on the other door.

  “What is this place?” Marielle asked.

  “Spellspinner’s Cures. Belonging to Allegra Spellspinner. Trader of Spices. Dealer in Cures.” He winked at her. Winked! Like they weren’t mortal enemies. Like he hadn’t almost slit her throat and spilled her blood over the spine of a dragon just two days ago.