Sespian wondered what she would look like with her hair down, streams of lush black locks falling about her shoulders. Of course, it was lovely in braids too. And somehow the plant guts spattered on her arms and face didn’t detract from her beauty. Aside from the blue eyes, she had her father’s features more than her mother’s, but her nose and jaw were finer, elegant rather than handsome, and far more attractive overall to Sespian’s eye.
He dragged his gaze away, reminding himself that her father was only ten feet away, and just because clanks and thunks were emanating from his space didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of his daughter being gawked at by a... a nobody. A nobody who didn’t know what a methyl ester was. Sespian doubted Starcrest would care if his daughter developed an interest in someone who wasn’t warrior caste, but he might be disappointed in someone who preferred using pencils for drawing rather than scribbling equations or cracking enemy encryption codes.
“It’s fine,” Sespian said, realizing Mahliki was watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for a response. “I mean, it certainly convinced that plant to leave us alone for the time being.”
“Not exactly alone.” Mahliki eyed the engineers still scampering in and out of the submarine, and the soldiers, many of who had stayed inside and stationed themselves close to the laboratory area.
“Maybe when this is all over, we can...” Sespian faltered when her gaze swung back to him, her eyes locking onto his.
“Yes?”
“Uhm.” Why was fighting man-slaying plants easier than looking into a woman’s eyes? Sespian couldn’t get his real question out. “Where did you get that dagger?” he asked instead. “I didn’t think Sicarius let anyone use it. I haven’t even seen it in Amaranthe’s hands.”
“This one belongs to my father.”
“I had no idea there was more than one in the world.” Nor did he particularly care. Why couldn’t he summon the courage to ask his true question?
“I’m not supposed to know about this, but there are heaps of artifacts from that race buried under a mountain up in your Northern Frontier.”
“Ah, right. I did read those reports when I was... in my former occupation.” Sespian winced. It seemed odd—or like bragging—to say, “when I was emperor,” but his workaround only sounded awkward. “I didn’t think many artifacts had made their way out though.”
“They didn’t, but my father was using the knives as tools to build something. I think he gave one to Sicarius as a distraction, to keep him from killing them. Or maybe it was the bat guano collection mission that was the distraction.”
Sespian blinked. The reports he had read obviously hadn’t been complete. “I hadn’t realized he had been given that mission, to kill your father.”
“Your emperor wasn’t pleased that Father didn’t come crawling back to be his good little attack dog when asked.”
Sespian knew Sicarius had assassinated many people in the years he had worked for Emperor Raumesys, but he had a hard time imagining Sicarius seriously contemplating killing Starcrest. The president was one of the few people in the world—if not the only person in the world—he seemed to respect.
Mahliki nudged him with an elbow. “I have all sorts of interesting stories I’m not supposed to know about, if you’d like to hear them sometime.”
That sounded like an invitation, like she might want to have conversations with him. In private. Alone. It would be rude of him to decline such an invitation, wouldn’t it? Fierce and formidable fathers notwithstanding?
“Mahliki, when this plant issue is resolved, would you like to go—”
“Sespian?” Starcrest asked.
Sespian jumped off the stool, almost knocking it into Mahliki. He caught it before it pounded her in the stomach, even as he spun toward Starcrest. “Yes, sir?” he blurted, worried again that Starcrest had guessed his thoughts and wanted to interrupt anything before it started.
Starcrest had pulled open a panel on his portable generator and had his head stuck inside. He couldn’t even see them. “Will you come give me a hand? If we’re going to put a factory into operation to make more of these, they’ll need a less cumbersome design. And you were ready for the specifications for the submarine machinery, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Sespian poked around under the table and found the pad of paper he had brought over earlier. As he walked over to join Starcrest, he glanced back, catching a wistful expression on Mahliki’s face.
Maybe Maldynado had been right. Maybe she did like him. But what could he do about it when former Fleet Admiral and current President Starcrest was her father? Ask him for permission to court his daughter? What would he do when Starcrest frowned and said, “No, she’s not for you, boy?”
“The plant’s already growing back out there,” one of the soldiers near a window observed.
Sespian hustled over to Starcrest’s side. His love life would have to wait.
• • • • •
Maldynado cleared his throat and wriggled his fingers to get the attention of the hotel receptionist. The security guard behind the counter had already noticed him and leveled a glare at the suspicious jug. Basilard was standing in the lobby, signing comments to his translator. Maldynado hoped he was asking her out to dinner, but suspected Basilard was explaining that whatever diplomatic things they were supposed to be doing would be delayed further and that he wouldn’t need her assistance for the rest of the day.
“Yes?” the receptionist asked, giving the jug a curious look.
“Nothing to be alarmed about,” Maldynado told her—and the security guard. “It’s empty. Although, ah, Ms. Sarevic is going to need a new room. The transfer of the jug’s contents didn’t go as smoothly as anticipated. We should have listened when she said that umbrella holder wasn’t a sufficient receptacle, even though it did meet the requirements of being ceramic. I suppose, technically, it wasn’t so much the problem of the holder as the less than steady hand of the person pouring the contents of the jug. It’s not my fault though. You’d be twitchy, too, dealing with such caustic acid, and it’s unnerving having those plants out in the courtyard, batting at the windows and such.”
“Acid?” The receptionist lifted a hand to tuck a clump of hair behind her ear, but missed her target, and the clump fell into her eyes. She didn’t seem to notice. “New room?”
“Yes, is the one next door available?” Maldynado asked, giving her his best smile. “Also, you may wish to put in a note to the maintenance people that her current room will need a few repairs, as it now has a view of the basement gymnasium. You can imagine the surprise of the wrestlers tussling down there.”
The receptionist opened and closed her mouth a few times but nothing came out. Odd. Basilard’s translator was heading for the stairs, so Maldynado left the receptionist, trusting she would figure out the room issues on her own—if not, Sarevic’s security guard would doubtlessly be by soon, after he stopped batting at the smoking edges of that hole. Sarevic kept telling him that the acid wouldn’t start a fire, but he didn’t grasp that.
Maldynado caught Basilard gazing—longingly?—after his translator. Her thick red hair bounced about her shoulders, and her hips had a nice sway to them as she ascended the stairs. Maldynado would have to find time to plan that dinner party soon.
“Ready to go back and set the trap?” Maldynado held up the empty jar.
Just the two of us?
“Yara had to go back to work. Her dedication is admirable, but does alas mean she’s not always available for last-minute fun, hijinks, and saboteur trappings.”
Perhaps we should recruit help, Basilard signed. If that jug was to be placed somewhere with a bull’s eye on its side, it’s possible an archer or sniper will be coming to break it open, someone who can avoid the nighttime security guard—and who would also be able to avoid us.
“We can set up the target so the spots one could stand to shoot at it are limited,” Maldynado said. “Then we wouldn’t have much ground to watch.”
Dressed in his usual black and wearing his usual humorless expression, Sicarius was trotting down the stairs, heading for the door. His gait was determined, like he was going somewhere important, but he spotted Basilard’s wave. He eyed the door, as if he was thinking of ignoring the summons. Ultimately, he walked over to them.
We could use some help, Basilard signed, and Maldynado groaned inside. There would be no chance for fun or hijinks if Sicarius came along. Were you going somewhere?
Sicarius did not answer right away. When he did answer, it came out stiffer and more formal than usual. “I finished my task and intend to inform Amaranthe of the results.”
“Oh?” Maldynado said, surprised they weren’t together, since that seemed to be their normative state these days. “Where’s she?” He would rather take her on a quest to capture a building saboteur.
“Out.”
You don’t know where?
“I know.”
“You won’t tell us?” Maldynado asked. Why did it seem like Sicarius was hiding something from them?
“No.”
“What if Amaranthe gets in trouble and doesn’t come back? We should know where she is so we can go look for her.”
“Unnecessary.”
Basilard swatted Maldynado before he could probe further. We need help laying a trap that will be sprung at midnight tonight.
Sicarius didn’t look like he cared. Seconds ticked past, and he didn’t volunteer to help. He was contemplating the door again.
“It’s to save Sespian’s building,” Maldynado said.
That got his attention. Sicarius’s eyes shifted back to the conversation, their full intensity locked onto Maldynado. He wondered when that gaze would stop making him twitch. It wasn’t as if he was training with Sicarius any more; he didn’t have to accept orders from him or perform impossible physical feats because that glare demanded it.
“Explain,” Sicarius said.
The building Sespian designed for the president is being sabotaged, Basilard signed.
“We don’t know if it’s related to the assassinations, but some of the stolen goodies from Sarevic’s shop are being used there.” Maldynado held up the empty jug. “She just confirmed that the acid that was in here was her concoction. We’re returning to the site to set up a trap for someone we expect to come by at midnight.”
“Is Sespian involved?” Sicarius asked.
“He and Starcrest aren’t prioritizing the building,” Maldynado said. “Sespian is off designing submarine engines with the president. I don’t think he’s even heard about this yet.” Maldynado pointed at Sicarius’s chest. “But if you helped us stop the saboteur, I’m sure Sespian would be appreciative. You could wrap up the person responsible and deliver it to him like a present. A late Solstice Fest gift. I’m betting you were too busy having happy fun times on that submarine to get him a Solstice Fest gift. Am I right?”
Basilard covered his face with his hand.
“Amaranthe sent him a gift,” Sicarius said.
“So, that’s a no.” Maldynado shook the jug. “Ready to join us?”
Sicarius gazed at the door one more time, but said, “I will come.”
“Excellent, this will go well,” Maldynado declared, then lifted a hand to his mouth and whispered to Basilard, “If he suggests light calisthenics to stay warm while we wait, don’t you dare say yes.”
Have you not been keeping up with your training? Basilard headed for the front door.
“Of course I have, but I’ve been getting enough exercise working for that vile foreman. And keeping my lady happy enough to stay in town.” Maldynado elbowed Basilard. “You’ll know what I mean once we get your translator thinking of you like the sexy Imperial Games champion you are.”
Basilard glanced over his shoulder at Sicarius and gave an apologetic shrug.
For the conversation? Maldynado sniffed. Sicarius couldn’t possibly mind the discussion of sex, especially now that he was having some. One assumed so anyway. Sicarius had never spoken of desires for happy fun times in the year Maldynado had known him. A strange man. Sespian never spoke much on the topic, either. A hereditary flaw? Maldynado tried to imagine a father-son conversation between the two on the subject of courting Mahliki. Awkward. It would have to be. Fortunately Sespian had turned twenty recently. He ought to be spared from such talks, under the assumption he already knew how things worked. An assumption that Maldynado wondered about, though he figured one couldn’t be raised the son of an emperor and made emperor without sampling some of the offerings around the Imperial Barracks. And even if he hadn’t... well, the Kyattese weren’t shy about such discussions. Mahliki could probably draw him some diagrams.
Why are you smirking? Basilard asked as they crossed out of the plant-filled courtyard and into the street.
“Just thinking about the dinner I’m planning... and possible topics for conversation that night.”
• • • • •
The streets were empty, with many citizens already having been evacuated to higher ground, or out of the city altogether. Amaranthe had heard about the evacuation, of course, but she had been so busy that she hadn’t been watching it happen. The streets had an eerie abandoned feel to them, one made worse by the lack of lighting along the canal. Rustles came from alleys, proof that not everyone had left, and Amaranthe was glad she had grabbed her sword and dagger on her way out of the hotel.
Trolleys clanged now and then in the distance, but they had been rerouted away from the waterfront. After being forced to wait a long time at the stop near the hotel, she had discovered she couldn’t get closer than two miles to the Gazette building, so she had walked the rest of the way. She hoped she wouldn’t arrive only to find that the newspaper operation had been moved. The Gazette building was more than ten blocks from the waterfront, so she didn’t think it would be in danger of being overcome by greenery yet. She hoped.
The old building came into view on the other side of the canal, and Amaranthe breathed a sigh of relief at the two lamps burning on either side of the entry steps. She didn’t know if Deret would have the information she needed, so she would have hated to wander all over the city looking for him.
She crossed the bridge she had once swung beneath to sneak up on the building. The houseboats that usually lined the canal walkways were gone. She wondered how they had been evacuated, given that the lake was barricaded with a forest of greenery. Maybe they had left before it had grown so large. Their absence reminded her that she still needed to find and pay back the owner of the houseboat she had inadvertently burned down while fleeing from enforcers. Maybe she should be joining Maldynado in asking the president for a job.
Amaranthe glanced farther down the canal, toward the grate that covered the storm drain she had once used. A large green tendril dangled through the bars. She froze, one foot hanging in the air. By now, she ought to be used to that plant’s ubiquitous presence, but finding it this far inland alarmed her.
“They’re not evacuating the city for no reason,” she muttered and wondered if she and Sicarius shouldn’t be helping come up with a solution to get rid of it rather than dancing around, hunting for snitches, priests, and assassins. But what help would she be able to offer?
The clomp of footsteps on the sidewalk pulled her attention from the plant. Her hand dropped to her sword. She had a feeling most of the law-abiding citizens had obeyed the evacuation order. Those who were left might be looters—or worse.
But the figures walked in step and carried lanterns, their lights revealing enforcer uniforms. Amaranthe caught herself tensing, her hand tightening on her sword, then laughed to herself.
“You’re not an outlaw anymore, girl,” she murmured.
She headed for the stairs of the Gazette building. Not only did she not have to worry about being a
rrested—or shot—but she could stroll up to the front door and knock instead of sneaking in through some attic vent. An enjoyable realization.
The four enforcers veered from their path to stomp toward her though.
“Ma’am,” a sergeant said. “This area has been evacuated. You need to gather your belongings and leave. Military transports are departing from Ninth and Scepter and the Bloodcrest Fountain on the hour all night.”
“Thank you, Sergeant, but I’m here to visit Lord Mancrest and won’t be long.” Amaranthe pointed at the building’s front door, but decided that sounded too casual and that they might grow more forceful if she didn’t convince them she was on official business. “I’m staying at the president’s hotel and am on a mission for his wife. I can’t evacuate until they give me leave to do so.”
“Is that Amaranthe Lokdon?” one of the enforcers in the back asked, stepping around his comrade to squint at her.
She hadn’t yet reached the building’s stairs, and there wasn’t much light on the street. She hadn’t expected to be recognized and wasn’t sure how that would go over with the enforcers. There might not be a bounty poster out there with her face on it any more, but there were probably people on the force who were holding grudges, knowing she had run with Sicarius and been responsible for Sergeant Wholt’s death the winter before last.
“It is,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.
The man jogged toward her, his sword and baton rattling on his belt. Amaranthe braced herself but kept her hand from straying to her own sword. The last thing she wanted was a fight with good people.
“Corporal, what are you doing?” the sergeant asked.
The man stopped in front of Amaranthe and dug into a pocket. “Wish I still had that article with me, but I’ve got... uhm, a napkin from Tarkon’s Deli?”
“Pardon?”
He was clearly asking her a question, but she didn’t understand what it was.
“For you to sign.” The enforcer fished in his pockets again. “All I have is a pencil nub, but... Here, up in the light. Do you mind?” He jogged up the stairs to stand on the landing before the large timeworn double doors. He laid his paper napkin on the stone railing.
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