Blood and Betrayal (The Emperor's Edge Book 5)

by Lindsay Buroker

  Brynia knelt beside Maldynado and untied his gag, her crimson fingernails flashing. As she removed it, she stroked those fingernails along his jaw.

  “Where is the assassin, Maldynado?” Mari asked.

  “The who?” Maldynado asked.

  “Sicarius. My comrades very much want his life to end. The family knows you’ve been working with him. For the longest time, your father hoped he’d grow weary of your wit and kill you so that your criminal exploits—and the embarrassment to the family—would end, but my business colleagues say that the woman leads the group. We know she’s no longer an issue—”

  Maldynado’s heart almost stopped. Amaranthe was no longer an issue?

  “—but he’s still on the loose,” Mari said. “We thought a trap set for you might ensnare him at the same time.” She waved around the room. “We wouldn’t have gone to such elaborate lengths if we’d known it’d just be you, a thug, and a girl.”

  Worried about Amaranthe, Maldynado barely heard the part about a trap.

  “Who is she, anyway?” Mari sniffed in Yara’s direction. “A woman with muscles and knives isn’t quite to your tastes. You prefer those vapid, buxom girls who haven’t a thought in their heads beyond rubbing against you and rousing your interest.”

  “Now, now, Mari,” Maldynado said, having a notion that he should stand up for himself so they wouldn’t know how deflated his foolish choices had left him, “there’s no need to be bitter just because I’ve rejected you. Often.”

  Mari clenched her jaw.

  “Ah, the pretty man has teeth.” Brynia, still kneeling beside Maldynado, patted him on the arm and smiled. “Good.”

  “But,” Maldynado said, keeping his eyes toward Mari, “the past needn’t set the pattern of the future. If you let my friends walk away from here, I’ll go along with you on your trip and perform for you in whatever capacity you desire.”

  “You’ll do that anyway,” Mari said. “If you perform well, your death at the end can be painless. If not… ” Her gaze shifted toward the burly thugs.

  Please. After what Maldynado had been through in the last year, threats of pummeling weren’t that terrifying. And she was probably bluffing about the death part anyway. Or maybe not. They’d been discussing that before they knew he was conscious, hadn’t they? When they’d had no idea he was listening? Or maybe they’d known he was listening and had been playing a part.

  “You’re not going to kill me,” Maldynado said. “You’re not a murderer, Mari. You’re a warrior-caste woman, bound by law and honor.”

  “Don’t be naive. Even if I had a reason to feel honor-bound to you—which I don’t, because you’re a criminal as far as the empire is concerned—your father wants you dead, and I wouldn’t be foolish enough to defy him.”

  “My father wants… ?” Maldynado bit his lip. He shouldn’t show them that he believed her.

  “He was satisfied with disowning you at first, but then you horrified him by turning from dandy to whore, pleasuring old women for coin. And then this outlaw thing. Running around with an assassin who kills honest businesswomen on a whim. Your whole life is an embarrassment to the family.”

  “Father can’t possibly care about Forge.” It was the only thing Maldynado could latch onto, because the rest was true. And, with the truth pointed out, he didn’t have much trouble imagining his father’s displeasure. “He’s old-blood warrior caste, through and through.”

  Mara laughed, the shrill cackle grating on Maldynado almost as much as the discomfort of his position. “You are naive. While other warrior-caste families have grown weak over the last century, seeing their lands usurped by the changing times, the Marblecrests have thrived. Your family has done what’s needed to maintain its power, and it will continue to do so.”

  “Mother can’t want me dead,” Maldynado said, worried that it sounded like a last attempt at defense.

  “Your mother never forgave you for Tia’s death. Her youngest, her only daughter, gone because of your neglect. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard her say it should have been you instead. From what I’ve gathered, your siblings will also be satisfied to learn of your demise. A death for a death. There’s a universal fairness to it, don’t you think?”

  Maldynado closed his eyes. It should have been you. Yes, he’d heard his mother say that often enough to know Mari’s words were a direct quote. He couldn’t summon the will to argue further on the topic. It didn’t matter anymore anyway. What mattered was making sure Yara and Basilard didn’t end up in the moat. But how, by his dead grandmother’s biggest, ugliest wart, was he going to do that?

  A knock came at the door nearest to the foyer. Mari and Brynia walked over to open it.

  While the women were distracted, Maldynado opened his eyes for another scan of the room. Basilard and Yara hadn’t moved, though Basilard’s eyes were open. When he saw Maldynado looking his way, he widened them with significance. He flexed his arm slightly, and Maldynado tried to guess what message the movement was meant to relay. Basilard seemed to have shifted a few inches when nobody was paying attention, so he lay on his side with his back to a corner of the granite bench. Maybe he was using the sharp edge to saw at his bonds? As if he could guess Maldynado’s thoughts, Basilard nodded slightly.

  Maldynado wished he’d been working at his own bonds while the women were talking to him. If Basilard freed himself, he’d have to handle six men with repeating firearms, along with whoever had come to the door.

  A potted tree blocked Maldynado’s view of the entrance. He squirmed to the side, trying to see the door. A guard standing a few feet away patted the stock of his rifle. Maldynado gave him an I’m-harmless-and-not-doing-anything-besides-being-curious look. The man snorted. Maldynado decided not to push things with further movement. Besides, he could see enough.

  Mari had opened the door, and a tattooed man wearing buckskins had come in. Brynia watched from a few steps back as Mari questioned the newcomer—a shaman, Maldynado assumed. He tried to eavesdrop, though the gurgling fountains made it difficult.

  “… get him?” Mari asked.

  A pang of unease struck Maldynado’s gut. Him? Him, who?

  Maldynado didn’t hear the shaman’s response, but a nod accompanied it.

  “You’re certain?” Mari asked. “For a bookish boy who mastered the art of escaping weapons practice as a child, he’s proven surprisingly adept at eluding us in the field.”

  The unease in Maldynado’s gut turned to dread. The emperor.

  The shaman’s chin came up. “Thanks to my abilities—” he lifted his hand and flexed his fingers, “—their boat was incontrovertibly destroyed. Three bodies floated away from the wreckage, and the men you sent with me shot them full of holes. Your emperor is fish food on the bottom of the river now.”

  No. Books was too smart to let some brute blow him up. And Akstyr would have sensed a shaman coming. It had to be a ruse. Because if it wasn’t… their deaths would be Maldynado’s fault. Everything that had happened tonight was his fault. He closed his eyes and wished he could melt into the floor, never to be seen again. But that wasn’t going to happen. And he wasn’t going to give up on Books and the others until he’d seen the dead bodies himself. He gritted his teeth and, while most people were focused on the conversation at the door, wriggled back to the bench. If Basilard could scrape his ropes off, maybe Maldynado could too.

  “The captain says the steamboat is ready for departure if you wish to leave tonight,” the shaman said. “He is concerned tonight’s activities will draw enforcer interest to the island.”

  “This is a private island,” Mari said. “Enforcers have little power here. We’re not leaving until I know who’s dead at the bottom of the river. Did you retrieve the bodies and verify their identities?”

  Maldynado didn’t hear the answer, but he sure hoped it was no.

  “Brynia,” Mari said, “can you tell where the knife is?”

  Maldynado had been rubbing his ropes against the bench
edge, but the question made him pause. The knife? Sicarius’s knife? It was the only one he could imagine being referred to as the knife. Maldynado assumed Sespian still had it. Rust-for-luck, had Forge figured some way to track the weird metal?

  “Give me a moment.” Brynia withdrew a black oval from her pocket.

  Maldynado couldn’t make out the details, but it appeared to be made from the foreign material he’d been seeing far too much of lately.

  He rubbed his ropes harder. If he managed to free himself, he’d want a weapon. His were missing, so he’d have to borrow one. He eyed the guards, seeking one with the attentiveness of a sock. Nobody quite that likely presented himself, but one thick fellow with more fat than muscle might make a good shield while Maldynado wrestled his rifle and sword away.

  After a long moment spent staring at the black egg, Brynia lifted her head. “It hasn’t moved much. It’s still near the docks.”

  She was tracking the knife. How long had she been in town? Since the attack in the park? That would explain how those thugs had known where to find the emperor. Maybe she’d been the one to send Cousin Lita to that antique shop. Brynia was probably roaming around the satrapy, collecting all sorts of handy heirlooms with secret powers. Ah, maybe that was how they’d found themselves the monstrous aircraft as well. Though, where, he wondered, had they found the tracking artifact to start with?

  “Near the docks?” Mari asked. “Is it in a boat or at the bottom of the river?”

  “I can’t determine location with that kind of accuracy,” Brynia said. “Retta was busy learning how to fly the Ortarh Ortak and couldn’t spare much time to explain how to use this.”

  Mari pointed to the shaman. “Take some men and dredge the river. I want to know for certain that Sespian is gone.”

  The shaman stood straighter and flicked a long braid of auburn hair over his shoulder. “I am not your lackey. When I agreed to work with you, it was because you said she’d lead me to the assassin.” He pointed at Brynia, more specifically the oval device she still held. “The boy emperor has never wronged my people. Sicarius has.”

  “I don’t care about your revenge dreams,” Mari said, not backing down from the shaman’s glower. You’re being paid for your assistance, and you’ll continue to give it. Besides, we thought the knife belonged to Sicarius and that he’d be with the emperor.” She tilted her head, as if some new thought had popped into it. “Perhaps this signifies that Sicarius died in the crash and that the emperor grabbed the knife, simply because he did not want to leave a valuable tool behind.” As she spoke those last words, she faced Maldynado. “What happened to the assassin?”

  Maldynado ceased his manipulations of the rope. “No idea. He was too busy hunting down Forge people to come along with us.”

  Brynia waved the oval device. “His knife was on that train and then on the dirigible.”

  Mari tapped her chin. “Perhaps he is dead, and we’ve been worrying for nothing.”

  “Think whatever you like,” Maldynado said. “Just know that your actions have condemned the Marblecrests as well as Forge. Sicarius never stopped working for the Savarsin family, and he’ll kill anyone who opposes Sespian.” Probably not, but it sounded like a good threat.

  With a quick wave, Mari dismissed the shaman. She and Brynia started toward Maldynado. He grimaced. So far all his scraping at the bench had done nothing more than rub his skin raw. He needed more time. He needed—

  Basilard sprang to his feet. He sprinted ten feet and bowled into an armed man before anyone reacted. The startled stillness from the guards didn’t last. A shot rang out from someone stationed by the window. Two guards by the door pushed the women behind potted trees for protection.

  Maldynado flexed his arms, trying to muscle his bonds apart, but he hadn’t made enough headway on the cutting.

  The guard closest to Maldynado raised his rifle, but by then his comrade was on the floor, entangled with Basilard. Instead of shooting, the man yanked a knife from his belt and sprinted toward the fray.

  Maldynado judged his path, then hurled himself into a clumsy sideways roll. The guard saw him and tried to adjust, but it was too late. His foot caught on Maldynado’s hip, and he tumbled. The guard turned the fall into the roll of a practiced warrior, but his shoulder clipped one of the big, heavy pots, and his knife flew out of his grasp.

  The blade clattered to the floor and skidded toward the bench. Before it stopped moving, Maldynado was rolling back toward it. He managed to grasp it, but, with his hands still behind his back, maneuvering it proved more awkward than sex in a closet. Nearly dislocating his shoulder, he slashed the rope securing his ankles to his wrists, but his limbs were still bound to each other, and cutting his hands free proved a tougher task. At least most of the guards were busy with Basilard who’d freed Yara as well.

  Gunshots rang out, and Maldynado didn’t have time to feel indignant that he’d helped her first. He started to go for his ankles, but the guard who’d inadvertently provided the blade leaped to his feet. Though he’d lost his rifle in the fall, too, it only took him a split second to spot it. Maldynado saw it too. He hurled himself into another clumsy roll, angling toward the weapon. The knife blade sliced into his forearm, but he couldn’t slow down or worry about it. The guard sprang for the rifle. Maldynado reached it first and smothered it with his body. The guard pounced, landing on top of him.

  With his wrists and ankles still bound, Maldynado couldn’t kick or punch. He did manage to get his knees up defensively. More by luck than design, he caught the fellow in the groin. Shock and pain contorted the guard’s face. Before he recovered, Maldynado whipped his head off the ground, smashing it into his assailant’s nose. With a buck that would have impressed an irate mule, Maldynado heaved the man off him.

  Frustrated at being tied, and determined to get his hands in front of him where he could use the knife more effectively, Maldynado flung his bound wrists over his head. Something popped in his shoulder, and a wave of agony coursed down his arm. Too bad. Forcing the numb arm to move, he hacked at the rope tying his ankles together. Before he could flip the knife to cut his hands free, the guard leaped onto Maldynado from behind. An arm snaked around his neck. Maldynado ducked his chin, partially thwarting the lock before it started. A punch jabbed at his kidneys. Flexing his core to tighten his muscles and protect his insides, he doggedly kept at his ropes. The guard gave up on punches and used his free hand to try and gouge Maldynado in the eye.

  “Go down, you fat-headed lizard,” the guard snarled.

  Maldynado buried his chin deeper and squinted his eyes shut against the probing fingers. Finally, the last strand of rope snapped beneath the knife and his bonds fell free, leaving him the use of his hands. He dipped his shoulder and went down on one knee to throw the guard off his back. The man tried to stay on, but the weight shift tipped him to the side. It was enough. Maldynado had dropped the knife during the throw, but it didn’t matter. He grabbed his opponent with both hands and, with a roar of rage and pain, hurled him toward the wall. The guard smashed. Hard.

  Maldynado snatched the knife and rifle from the ground, ready to shoot the eye-clawing bastard if he came back for more, but he didn’t move.

  Gunfire boomed near the door. Maldynado darted around a large fountain, crouching behind its holding pool while he surveyed the situation.

  Basilard had disarmed and downed the first man, but Maldynado didn’t see him amongst the proliferation of plants, trees, and water features. The sounds of a scuffle drifted from behind a potted hedge near the window though. Yara was kneeling behind a square planter hosting a lemon tree. She’d acquired a rifle and had it balanced on the pot’s lip, her finger on the trigger. Even as Maldynado watched, she fired at someone near the door.

  A cry of pain rose over the sounds of running water and scuffling men.

  “Retreat?” someone asked.

  “Get the women out of here!”

  Maldynado started to stand, thinking his comrades had the enem
y on the run, but he spotted a guard creeping toward Yara, a pistol in his hand. Using the planters for cover, the man slipped from one to the next, creeping toward her. He stopped behind a pedestal sporting a bust of Emperor Raumesys and aimed the pistol at Yara’s back.

  Maldynado fired his own purloined rifle without hesitation. He’d never shot one of the new weapons, but he couldn’t fault its accuracy. The bullet took the man in the side of the head, its force flinging him to the floor beside a fountain several feet away.

  Yara’s head swiveled, and she gaped at the fallen man. When she met Maldynado’s eyes, he gave her a nod that was meant to imply that making the shot had been simple for someone as adept and capable as he. Unfortunately, he’d never advanced the rounds in one of the multi-cartridge guns before, and he fumbled the effort, dropping two bullets on the floor. So much for adept and capable. Yara had gone back to covering the door, so maybe she hadn’t noticed.

  When Maldynado didn’t see any other guards near them, he darted from his fountain to her pot, sliding in beside her. She crouched barefoot, her brass-tipped slippers stuffed under the mulch of the lemon tree. Really! Maldynado was tempted to lecture her on the appropriate treatment of footwear, but she spoke first.

  “Thanks for the help,” Yara said.

  Pleased with the rare display of gratitude, Maldynado snuffed out his shoe concerns.

  “You’re welcome, my lady.” From his new spot, Maldynado could see the door. One of the uniformed guards ran outside. A quick body count suggested he might have been the last enemy in the room. “We better get over there—”

  “—before someone locks us in again, right.”

  Yara led the way, rifle in hand as she stayed low and used the planters for cover. Maldynado took a second to smile, appreciating not only that she was finishing his sentences, but that she appeared quite competent as she advanced.

  “Not now,” he told himself and crept after her.

  Before they reached the doorway, Basilard stepped into view, a knife in each hand and two pistols jammed into his belt. Two unmoving men lay alongside the wall behind him.