Asheris al Seth was born twice: once as a man, and once as a jinni, hatched from a fire opal egg in a glass-walled rookery. Lured by mortal treachery and enslaved to be a weapon, he served the Assari Empire for years before Isyllt broke his bonds. Now he balances between two worlds, unable or unwilling to turn his back on either.

His face was a mask of flame and shadow, but Zhirin recognized the curve of his bare head. … Asheris extended a hand toward the fire, palm up. Flames flickered toward him, though the wind didn’t change. Fire lapped his fingers like a curious hound, then twisted up his arm in a glowing spiral. … The blaze died in the warehouse as the flames ran like water away from wood and stone and into flesh. The last came in a rush, flaring around him like giant wings. (The Drowning City)

Dark hands rose to throw back the hood of his sand-colored burnous. Sunlight gleamed on the smooth mahogany curve of his scalp. … Kohl lined his amber eyes, made them striking as a cat’s; it clumped in creases when he smiled. … She expected to feel the warm rush of his magic when their hands clasped. Instead sparks stung her through cotton gloves, and a shock like lightning seared her nerves. His eyes flared–not with nightshine like Adam’s, but a fierce fiery light that was nothing beast or human. (Kingdoms of Dust)

A mercenary with a mysterious past, Adam first met Isyllt Iskaldur when they sailed to Symir to foment rebellion and undermine an empire. He survived her company once; twice might be pressing his luck.

She cocked her head, studied the play of shadows over his face. “Are you a witch?” she asked, even though she caught no hint of power under his skin. But the way he moved, alert as a mage…

“Not even a little. I just kill things.”

She looked down at his hand, let her vision unfocus. Colors blossomed around him, deep forest greens and greys, swirled red and black around his hands and sword. “You’re good at it.”

“I am.” For an instant his eyes gleamed green-gold like an animal’s and a sharp-toothed shadow hung over his. (The Drowning City)

Her nape prickled as she entered the dark kitchen. Something was wrong–

“We need to talk.”

Her blade was in her hand by the third word. Too damned slow. A heartbeat later she recognized the rough voice, the accent. Adam. Sitting at the table with his legs outstretched, a blacker shadow in the dark. The lamplight wavered, brightened, and his eyes gleamed copper-gold like an animal’s. (The Drowning City, deleted scenes)