“Too much talking?” Amaranthe asked, trying to sound brave, or at least unimpressed by the attack.
“Talking is allowed,” Pike said, his voice raspy from some old throat injury. Or maybe the promise of tormenting someone had excited him into hoarseness. “But only to answer questions. One question specifically.”
Again, Amaranthe tried to push away from the wall, but she couldn’t find the leverage. A detached part of her mind, the part avoiding thinking about Pike’s unpleasant closeness, analyzed the cool smoothness of that wall. It wasn’t porous like stone or brick, but it didn’t feel like metal either. It felt like the same material as Sicarius’s dagger.
Thinking of him reminded her that she should only have to endure Pike’s torment temporarily. Assuming her team had survived that crash—and surely they were too tough to die that way—they’d come looking for her. They’d find a way into this black behemoth, stick Pike full of daggers, and help her escape. She just had to survive until then. Then again, maybe her certainty was unfounded. The emperor needed help, and Sicarius… He’d admitted to caring for her, but Sespian was his son. Protecting him would have to be his priority. And, with Amaranthe gone, he’d likely take charge of the group. It was possible nobody would come for her. She tried to firm her resolve before the new thoughts could bring despair. If the team didn’t come, she’d simply have to escape on her own.
Pike mashed her harder against the wall, apparently expecting a response.
Amaranthe forced her aching jaw to move so she could ask, “What question might that be?”
“What,” Pike murmured, as if they were embracing lovers engaged in a tête-à-tête, “is the emperor to Sicarius?”
Though the question surprised her, Amaranthe kept herself from reacting outwardly. No amount of torture would make her give up Sicarius’s secret, but it would be better for her if Pike didn’t figure out there was a secret to be had. She found it encouraging that Pike wanted information on Sicarius and the emperor; that had to mean they’d survived the crash and eluded capture. She hoped the others had too.
“What are you talking about?” Amaranthe asked.
“After a year of simply reacting to Forge’s plans, last week, he slew as many of the members as he could reach. Days later, he risked his life, leading your team to kidnap the emperor. Why?”
Sicarius led the team? Amaranthe kept the thought to herself. Barely. The taste of blood in her mouth reminded her that arguing with the man had repercussions. If he thought she was some underling and Sicarius was in charge, things might go easier on her.
Fingers gripped the back of her head, nails digging into her scalp. Amaranthe had barely registered that pain when Pike rammed her face against the wall again. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. Blood flowed from her nose.
“You will find,” Pike said, “that prompt and truthful answers result in less discomfort.” He lowered his voice to a whisper to add, “Though I do not mind employing copious amounts of… discomfort to coerce information from you.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Amaranthe muttered.
“Sicarius must have found out that the emperor wasn’t meant to make it back to the capital. For some reason, this prompted him to take aggressive action. What I want to know is why.”
Amaranthe felt her eyes widen, and she was glad the wall was the only thing looking at her face. All along, she’d suspected Forge had been planning to get rid of Sespian, a fact that had been confirmed when Books explained that the deadly neck implants were never intended to come out. What she hadn’t known was that they planned to act so soon. They must not need Sespian on the throne any more. They had a replacement ready. Ravido. Maybe that weapons shipment had been delivered so the general and his loyal soldiers could march into the city, take the Imperial Barracks, and declare the Marblecrests the new rulers of Turgonia. It wouldn’t be that easy—there were others who could legitimately bid for the throne, but it’d be hard to mount a campaign if Ravido and his men were already ensconced. And if Forge was a part of things, throwing its support behind him…
Emperor’s warts, what if all of her musings had already happened? What if, while she had been out of the city, Ravido had already been making his move? What if he already had the Barracks?
“You hesitate,” Pike murmured, “even though I hold you helpless. Are you foolish or loyal?”
“Both, probably,” Amaranthe said. “Look, the emperor sent us a note offering a hundred thousand ranmyas if we got him away from you. As far as I know, that’s all Sicarius was interested in.”
“Sicarius has never been motivated by money.”
“That might have been true when you knew him, but it’s been a while, hasn’t it? People change, even assassins. He doesn’t have anyone paying for his room and board any more. Maybe he’s tired of all the people hunting him and wants to escape our long, snow-smothered winters. Maybe he’s fixing to retire in some tropical paradise devoid of bounty hunters.”
There, that might give Pike something new to muse upon.
Hoping she had him distracted, Amaranthe tried to step away from the wall, to alleviate the pain of having her face ground into it. Pike’s hand, still tangled in her hair, dropped. The movement ripped strands of hair free, but that was the least of her concerns. His fingers wrapped around her neck. Panic surged through her limbs, urging her to fight. But, with soldiers everywhere, she couldn’t possibly escape. Besides, she told herself, trying to will calm into her body, Pike wouldn’t kill her there. He’d stopped to pick her up for a reason. Logical though her thoughts may be, they failed to keep her heartbeat steady and unconcerned.
The strong, calloused fingers tightened around her neck. With his lips to her ear, Pike whispered, “I sense fear beneath your evasiveness. You know why Sicarius is protecting the emperor, and you will tell me.”
• • •
As the team hiked away from the lake, the trail turned into a road and the wetlands faded, replaced by farms and ranches. Sheep nipping at grass and weeds near the fences didn’t bother to lift their heads to acknowledge the passing of the emperor over all of Turgonia.
Maldynado hoped any people they encountered would be just as busy with their inner thoughts. Sespian, he imagined, wanted to stay incognito. He didn’t have a costume beyond torn clothes, an unshaven face, and dirty nails, but he was being careful to walk between Basilard and Books, with Akstyr ahead of him and Yara lagging behind. Somehow Maldynado had ended up leading the yawning and beleaguered team toward the Goldar River and Sunders City. It was a little thing, but it made him uneasy. He did not want the responsibility of leading. As he’d learned long ago in life, people who let themselves be put in charge got blamed when things went wrong. Unfortunately, he’d let Sicarius do just that, and now he had to keep track of Sespian.
Maldynado eyed the rustic houses and outbuildings on either side of the road. If he remembered the area correctly—he hadn’t been through town since those childhood trips to Lake Seventy-three—the main bridge across the river and into the city core lay only a few miles away. The group would reach Sespian’s money stash by nightfall, and then what? He’d have no more reason to stay with the team. Not unless someone convinced him they were indispensable.
Every time they passed people walking in the opposite direction, Maldynado hoped they’d turn into a covey of highwaymen who would leap out and give him a chance to protect the emperor. Unfortunately, the pedestrians walking, cycling, and riding past on mule-drawn carts only regarded the team with wariness. Even if any of them had highwayman aspirations, they’d probably prove smart enough to leave this group alone. Though tired, grimy, and missing half of their gear, the men—Yara included—had the tempered-in-blood look of war veterans. These days, even Books managed to look moderately dangerous when he rested his hand on the hilt of a weapon.
Sespian lacked the mercenary visage, but his face did earn a few second glances from passersby. That was a cause for concern.
“Sire,”
Maldynado said, struck by inspiration, “would you like me to go into the city first and acquire a costume for you? Even though you’re a touch scraggily at the moment, your face is on the ranmya bills. People might recognize you and report you to local Forge minions.” Maldynado had no idea if Sunders City had local Forge minions, but it sounded good.
“Hm.” Sespian stepped around a pothole in the muddy road and kicked aside a few soggy brown leaves. They might have left the wetlands, but no one would call this part of the satrapy dry. Plenty of moss carpeted the stumps in the farmers’ fields. “You did say you’re the group shopper, didn’t you?”
“When it comes to clothing, yes. Fashion consciousness is one of my gifts, and I always stay abreast of the latest trends. I can make sure people are so busy admiring your outfit that they won’t notice your face.” Maldynado paused, not certain that had been a good selling point.
“Sire,” Books said, “I strongly, no, vehemently suggest you don’t let Maldynado purchase clothing for you.”
“Vehemently?” A hint of a smile touched Sespian’s his lips for the first time since the crash.
“Most vehemently.”
“Don’t listen to him, Sire.” Maldynado was glad the emperor couldn’t read Basilard’s contribution—he was back there signing, Tell the emperor I agree and that letting Maldynado choose a costume would be unwise. Maldynado dropped back, butting Books out of the way and waving for Basilard to tie his fingers together. “I’ve often chosen appropriate ensembles for the boss,” he told Sespian. “She trusts my taste and understands my value in this area.”
Books made a choking sound, but Akstyr was the one to say, “Has she ever worn one of your costumes for more than two hours?”
“No,” Books said. “In fact, she was distinctly put out over that… minimalist ensemble you acquired last spring. The glares she hurled about rivaled some of Sicarius’s best ones.”
Maldynado waved at the men, trying to shush them. For once, he had a serious—life-threateningly serious—agenda to pursue, and these jesters insisted on fooling around. Sergeant Yara, battling fits of yawns, had been tagging along several paces to the rear, but she was drawing closer now. Maldynado did not want her to join the chorus of critics.
“Ignore them, Sire.” Maldynado turned his back on the others and waved toward the road ahead, inviting Sespian to focus in that direction rather than to the rear. “They wouldn’t know fine fashion if it sashayed up to them in the form of a beautiful woman inviting them to an evening of debauchery.”
“Did he just say sashayed?” Akstyr asked. “Men aren’t supposed to use words like that.”
“I’m surprised he knows what it means,” Books said.
Keeping his back to them, Maldynado said, “I’m certain I can find something dignified and appropriate for a bookly sort such as yourself, Sire.”
Sespian’s lips flattened at the word “bookly,” and Maldynado realized that might not be considered complimentary.
“It’s true that, when given a chance, I do acquire alluring costumes for the boss,” Maldynado went on, hurrying to cover his blunder, “but it’s intentional. I wish to encourage male interest. She spends entirely too much time plotting and scheming and training with Sicarius of all people. One shouldn’t spend that much time alone with someone like that. It could stunt one’s social skills.” Maldynado had wandered away from his target topic, but maybe if Sespian saw that he cared about Amaranthe’s happiness, he’d realize Maldynado was an all-right sort of fellow.
“Training with Sicarius?” Sespian lifted his eyebrows.
“Sure, fencing, sparring, calisthenics, running obstacle courses.” A thought occurred to Maldynado. “You didn’t think I meant anything… venereal, did you? There’s nothing like that going on between them.” He glanced back at the others. “There’s not, right?”
To Maldynado’s surprise, Sespian glanced back too.
Books opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Basilard pointed at the road ahead. No, at the bridge, which had come into view, though it remained a mile or so away. A wagon sat atop it, and there seemed to be a knot of people around it.
Maldynado squinted. “Anyone have a spyglass?”
“We lost most of our gear along with the dirigible,” Books said.
They’re soldiers, Basilard signed. They’re stopping people.
Maldynado was about to translate for the emperor, but he was looking at the bridge, too, and he’d slowed his pace.
“Soldiers,” Sespian said.
“You have good eyes, Sire,” Maldynado said.
“For a bookly sort?”
“Er, yes. Do you… want to be seen by soldiers?” Maldynado hoped not—what good could he and the team do if Sespian could simply walk up and fetch a team of grunts to follow him around and keep him safe?
“Not particularly,” Sespian said. “I don’t have any way to know which ones are—” He caught himself with a frown, and repeated, “not particularly.”
Maldynado had no trouble seeing through the gap. Sespian couldn’t be sure who might be loyal to Ravido.
“Is there another way across?” Sespian asked. “The place where I arranged to have funds stashed is south of downtown, on the other side of the bridge.”
Good, Maldynado thought. “Not for many miles. My costume idea might be necessary, after all.” Technically, they could filch a boat, but if soldiers were guarding the bridge, they’d be watching the docks too.
Sespian sighed, as if whatever plan he’d meant to pursue had been dashed to the ground, and he was being forced to pluck a new one from a barrel full of rotten apples. “Do you think you can get past the soldiers without attracting notice?” he asked.
“That’s asking a lot of Lord Flamboyantcrest, isn’t it?” Sergeant Yara asked. Thanks to the slower pace, she’d caught up and joined the conversation. Wonderful.
“So long as the soldiers aren’t female, I’m sure they won’t look twice at me,” Maldynado said. “You can all camp out in one of the parks on this side of the river. I’ll go on my own, so you needn’t risk yourself on my noticeableness.”
“Noticeability,” Books corrected.
“That too.”
Books muttered a comment that included the word sashay, but Maldynado didn’t pay attention. Sespian was scrutinizing him. His gaze had a weight to it that made him seem more formidable than his age and size suggested. Maybe it was simply the fact that he could order Maldynado beheaded with a wave of his hand. Even soldiers loyal to Ravido would have no qualms about complying with that order. Maldynado was an outlaw with a bounty on his head, after all.
“Very well,” Sespian said.
Maldynado blinked. Distracted by the idea of axe-toting soldiers chasing him, he’d momentarily forgotten his proposition. “You’ll wait while I go in? And get you a disguise? Do you want me to collect your belongings too? If your business is elsewhere, maybe there’s no need for you to go into town at all.”
“I’ll fetch them myself,” Sespian said, his tone cool.
Maldynado winced. He’d sounded too eager. If the emperor’s “belongings” included the hundred thousand ranmyas he’d promised the team, he might think Maldynado wanted to make off with it. As if Maldynado needed to steal when he could find female patrons to finance his desires. But Sespian had no way to know that yet.
“Whatever you wish,” was all that Maldynado said—an indignant proclamation about his trustworthiness would sound suspicious. “Does anyone else want a costume?” He propped his fists on his hips and eyed each of his teammates. “Never mind. You all look like you’ve been wrestling in a particularly muddy pigsty. I’ll bring everyone clothing.”
“Gee,” Yara said, “a chance to be dressed by a fop who thinks a blue-dyed fur cap is stylish.”
“Do you have any money?” Books asked.
Maldynado fished in his pockets and came up with a quarter-ranmya coin. He displayed it for the team and winked. “Far more than I’ll need. You’ll see.�
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“Good.” Books plucked the coin from Maldynado’s fingers. “I need a recent newspaper. Who knows what chaos has ensued in the days we’ve been out of the capital?”
Maldynado’s shoulders slumped. The last person he wanted to go shopping with was Books. He could take the joy out of anything.
“Actually,” Sespian said, “I’d prefer it if you stayed and talked with me, Professor Mugdildor. I have a few questions on finances and economics, and I believe you may be able to help.”
“Oh, no.” Maldynado lifted a hand. “You’re new around here, Sire, so nobody’s told you, but you do not want to ask Books for a lecture. You don’t even want to ask a question that might lead to a lecture. It’s bad for your health. And the wakefulness of those around you.”
Maldynado smiled, expecting a chuckle from his warning, but only Akstyr smirked. Books scowled at him—nothing unusual there—and Sespian’s lips turned downward too.
Basilard waved for attention and signed, The soldiers may have spyglasses and wonder why a group of men are dallying by the side of the road.
“Yes, yes,” Maldynado said, “I’ll go do my task. Where will you be waiting?”
“Crow Landing,” Sespian said. “Take Sergeant Yara with you.”
Speaking of taking the joy out of things…
Yara frowned, but she squashed whatever objection might have leapt to her tongue, and bowed toward Sespian. “Of course, Sire. I’ll watch him.”
“Watch him?” Maldynado asked. When had he become someone who needed watching? He’d been one of the first people Amaranthe recruited for the team, and he’d never failed to follow orders. Not like Akstyr. He could understand Sespian questioning his loyalty, but Yara? She wasn’t even officially on the team. Maldynado looked to Books and Basilard for support.
Books cleared his throat and avoided Maldynado’s eyes as he said, “I have voiced a concern over the fact that you went out of your way to arrange that dirigible for our transport, a dirigible that came with spies and a pilot who was happy to see us dead.”
Maldynado gawked at him. Books was accusing him of betraying the team? And he’d already voiced the concern? In front of the emperor? It took a gargantuan effort for Maldynado to keep his fingers from clenching into fists, fists that could launch themselves into Books’s nose. Didn’t he know what a tenuous line Maldynado already walked, thanks to his family’s plotting? “You think I had something to do with that?”
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