Page 65 of Zenith Court

This close to the basin, the current did not stop where I aimed it. The water around my legs caught the force and carried it past the guard. My grip slid from one bond to the next before I could close my hand.

For an instant I felt both Marks at once: the guard’s oath, rigid and unfamiliar, and Kieran’s line opening toward me because it always had. The current took the easier path. I tried to release them, but the pressure coming up through the channel held the connection open.

Kieran’s green-gold line flared white beneath his skin.

He dropped into the channel with one hand clamped around his wrist. Jonah shoved both disarmed men toward the wall, caught Kieran by the collar, and dragged his face above the water. The last guard stumbled too, but stayed upright. I stood between them with both hands raised and no idea what another reach would strike.

Kieran coughed, drew one ragged breath, and swore. The swearing told me he could breathe. Jonah braced him against the wall while Delphine turned the captured blade toward the remaining guard.

The green-gold line came back dimmer, then steadied. I could feel Kieran’s pulse through it, too fast but regular. I kept my reach closed and my hands where I could see them.

The last guard looked from the light under my wrist to Kieran’s burned skin. Then she lowered her blade into the water and opened both hands. Jonah bound her wrists with a strip torn from the first guard’s sleeve. The two men he had disarmed did not try to rise.

Delphine collected the five blades and wedged them behind a stone lip above the waterline. Kieran checked the first fallen guard for breath before rolling him onto his side. Jonah and Delphine bound every guard still capable of moving and drew them together where the channel was shallowest.

We treated the injuries where we stood. The current tugged at every loose end of cloth while I cut a strip from my sleeve and wrapped Delphine’s forearm. The wound ran a handspan along the outside, deep enough to gape when she flexed her hand but clear of the artery.

“That’s the arm you write with,” I said.

Delphine tested each finger. “They still work.” Her voice tightened on the last word, the only sign the movement hurt. She pressed the bandage in place with her other hand while I tied it off.

Blood soaked through the first layer before I finished the second. I packed another fold over the center of the cut and made her raise the arm while I tightened it. She objected only when I reached for a third strip. “Kieran’s wrist,” she said, and pulled her sleeve down over the bandage.

Kieran found the lamp by touch, shook the water from its chimney, and trimmed the wet end of the wick with one of the captured knives. The striker caught on the second attempt. In the returning light, a raised white mark circled his wrist where our bond had flared. The skin around it was already blistering.

The burn followed no fold or seam from his sleeve. It made a narrow band on the inside of his wrist that forked once toward his thumb. When I brought my fingers near it, the line beneath my own skin answered. I stopped before touching him.

He opened and closed his hand. “Still attached.”

“I hit you.”

“You did.” He looked at the corridor ahead rather than at me. “We can discuss it when we’re out of this current.”

He wrapped the wrist himself, loose enough that the cloth would not catch the blisters. The knot slipped twice before he caught it. Caspian’s line was still absent from the bond beneath my ribs. Kieran glanced back toward the stair, then hid the burned hand inside his coat.

Jonah checked Kieran’s pulse, then came to me. Two fingers pressed inside my elbow. “Anything numb?”

I shook my head.

“Then keep your reach close until we know what the basin is doing to it.” He tightened the knot at Delphine’s bandage and moved ahead to test the next stretch of floor.

We had gone less than fifty feet when the bond beneath my ribs changed. Cold marble and burnt sugar joined the other lines, distinct even through the pressure of the basin. Boots struck water behind us, fast and uneven.

Caspian came out of the dark with Magnus’s blood dried black along one forearm. He carried no lamp. The Ashford ring showed briefly beneath his cuff when he pushed the wet fabric back from his hand.

Blood remained beneath his nails. His face was still. Water struck his boots and broke around them; he did not react to the cold.

His eyes went first to Delphine’s bandage, then to the burn around Kieran’s wrist. He took in Jonah’s soaked coat and the bound guards behind us. I opened my mouth. His gaze met mine, and I let the question go.

Caspian stopped in front of me and pressed his palm over my pulse. He held it there until it beat against his hand, watching my face. Then he let go and stepped into the open place beside Jonah.

His touch left a smear of cold water across my wrist. I almost caught his hand before he stepped away.

“How far?” he asked.

“Close.” The word came out rough from shouting over the water.

We left the guards bound above the flooded stretch, out of the strongest current, and moved on with Caspian in the line. Jonah led. Kieran carried the lamp in his uninjured hand. Delphine kept her cut arm against her chest and counted the turns. Caspian stayed close enough that I could feel the heat of him whenever the passage narrowed.