Blood and Betrayal

by Lindsay Buroker

  He didn’t come all this way because of logic, girl, she told herself. He cares.

  Unless he’d come because he was worried that she would, under the pressure of torture, betray his secrets. Even now he might be waiting for the moment to ask if she’d blabbed.

  Amaranthe grimaced. Why couldn’t she just enjoy the fact that she was snuggled in the man’s arms?

  “You are thinking,” Sicarius said. A hint of censure laced the words.

  Amaranthe forced her thoughts away from treasured secrets cast upon the wind like dandelion seeds. “Yes. Is that not allowed?”

  “Your body and mind need rest.”

  “We’re following the trail of enemies we’ll have to confront. I think the rest portion of the exercise comes after we deal with them.”

  “The trail is cold. We will not likely encounter them until we reach their destination.” He flicked his gaze toward the twilight darkness of the sulfurous, alligator-and-snake-filled, strangled-by-vegetation swamp, no doubt implying it unlikely that the Forge meeting place was anywhere nearby.

  “So, I should simply lie snuggled against your chest without thinking for a while?” If only she could.

  “Yes.”

  Amaranthe laid her head against his shoulder. She managed to keep her brain—and her mouth—still for almost thirty seconds. “How did you find me?”

  Tired and aching though she may be, she couldn’t help but smile at the hint of disapproval that flattened his lips. Someone else wouldn’t see it at all, or would take it as a sinister glower. She knew he was simply irked at her inability to obey an order to rest.

  “They flew in a straight line.” Sicarius stepped over a creek and left the trail, turning to follow the gravely bed upstream.

  “I’d forgotten your knack for answering questions with terseness bordering on obscurity.” Amaranthe touched his jaw fondly to let him know she was teasing. Her fingers brushed against the short hair of his fledgling beard. “If you’d let me use that sharp black knife of yours, I could clean this up for you.”

  “Sespian has the knife.”

  “Ah. Another blade then. I’m sure they’re all sharp. Of course, you don’t have to opt for a clean shave. The scruffy look has merit. The growth just needs a little tidying.” Amaranthe supposed, by babbling on inane topics, she could avoid the one that awaited sharing.

  “I’m more concerned with tending you.”

  Amaranthe’s breath caught at the simple statement, and at the way he gazed straight into her eyes as he said it. No, she wasn’t imagining his solicitude. His words warmed her, but they filled her with bleak guilt as well. First, because she’d doubted he truly cared. And second… because she’d failed him.

  The ride grew bumpier as Sicarius climbed higher off the trail. Amaranthe was on the verge of asking where he was going when he pushed aside a few ropy bundles of moss dangling from exposed tree roots and peered into a dark opening. He found a flat spot and set Amaranthe down. Thanks to her inactivity, her muscles had stiffened terribly, and she could scarcely move without sucking in a pained breath—or spouting out a stream of curses. She was relieved to play spectator as Sicarius investigated a small cave, gathered fronds and boughs for bedding and a fire, and finally struck flint to one of his knives. He dragged in an unfamiliar satchel Amaranthe hadn’t realized he’d been wearing. It must have belonged to one of the soldiers, or perhaps he’d traded his heavier rucksack for it at some point on his journey.

  “Any chance there’s food in that sack?” Amaranthe crawled into the low cave and propped herself against the dirt wall behind the fire. Roots dangled from the ceiling, and the husks of dead bugs littered the earthen floor. After that crate, it felt like a luxurious warrior-caste resort. She didn’t even have the urge to fashion a broom from a branch and sweep.

  “The sort of energy-high but nutrient-deficient travel rations soldiers carry, yes. I saved something better for you.” Sicarius dug into the satchel and pulled out a canteen for her and two of his travel bars, the ones made of dried meats and fat. Smashed from his days on the road, they looked even less appealing than usual. When he held them out, like someone making a gift of a cherished possession, Amaranthe managed to hold back a groan—barely. Those “energy-high” snacks the soldiers had been carrying sounded far more promising, like they might be full of sugar or dried fruit.

  Sicarius’s eyes narrowed. He’d probably gone hungry a few days to reserve them for her.

  “Thank you, very considerate of you to save them,” Amaranthe said, seeking a compromise that might let her dig into the soldier rations, if only as a dessert. “But, ah… after your grueling trek, I’m sure you’re in as much need of nutrients as I. How about we each have one?”

  He hesitated before nodding. “Acceptable.”

  Sicarius handed her a bar, then built up the fire. He went in and out of the cave, bringing in enough wood to supply an army stuck in a frozen outpost on the Northern Frontier. Amaranthe wished he’d join her against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, so that she could lean on him and sleep until dawn, knowing she didn’t have to worry about anyone hurting her. But perhaps, for the conversation they needed to have, distance was better. While she debated how to broach the subject, she chewed on the corner of her bar, grimacing at the fact that her teeth felt loose in their sockets. Was that from a week’s worth of malnutrition? Or was her body simply that much of a mess? Relieved the cave lacked a mirror, she resolved to avoid clear pools of water for a while.

  “Do you want a bath?” Sicarius asked.

  Surprised out of her musings, Amaranthe gaped at him. Her first thoughts bounced back and forth between tantalized speculation and outright disbelief—had he truly offered to bathe her?—but they all crashed to the ground under the weight of reality. How could she accept the spa experience when she was wondering how to tell him she’d betrayed him? Remembering the last time he’d assisted her with a bath—and the ice cubes floating about on the surface—spa might not be the best word, but still.

  Sicarius was waiting for an answer. Amaranthe groped for something.

  “Are you saying I don’t smell good these days?” Ugh, that was a horrible thank-you for his sweet offer.

  Sicarius held up a canteen and a damp rag that had probably been a soldier’s shirt. “You look like you could use… ” He was too tactful to tell her she was a wreck.

  “Tender ministrations?” Amaranthe raised her brows. “Are you offering?”

  Sicarius gazed into her eyes. “Whatever you wish, Amaranthe.”

  He’d never voiced those words before, and, in another situation, they would have flooded her with warmth, but she suspected they were born out of pity, or maybe guilt. She wasn’t sure why that word came to mind. What did he have to feel guilty about? Maybe it bothered him that it’d taken days to catch up with her and that she’d been tortured in the meantime. If so, that wasn’t his fault. She was the fool who’d gotten herself thrown out of the dirigible and washed up onto the beach where Pike and his men happened to be loitering.

  “It’s not that bad now,” Amaranthe said.

  Sicarius eyed her, and she remembered that he’d seen her sans clothes.

  “Did Pike have a shaman?” he asked.

  “A concoction that a shaman had made.”

  Sicarius grunted. “Advances in Science.”

  Amaranthe tried to decide if there was bitterness in his tone. Did he know about her newfound knowledge of his past? He must suspect. Would he be concerned that she’d think less of him? Or had he long since put the experiences behind him? A selfish part of her wanted to remind him of the indignity, if only so he’d be more understanding when she admitted her failure. Before she could think better of it, she said, “I… understand you were as much his victim as his student.”

  Sicarius’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  “Not that you’re worried about it, but I wouldn’t… judge you for anything that happened back then.” Amaranthe paused. When she didn’t rec
eive a response, she lightened her tone and said, “Your own personal shaman, eh? I often wondered how you’d gotten so far in your career without gaining any scars. Until you met me, anyway.” She waved toward his back and the soul-construct claw marks that lay beneath his shirt.

  “Yes. The wounds were healed by an expert.” His tone had grown unreadable.

  Fearing she was angering him, she finished with a soft, “The ones on the outside, anyway, eh?” and resolved to leave it there.

  Sicarius nodded and turned dark eyes that had grown somber in her direction. He came around the fire to sit on the boughs beside her. Amaranthe realized that, while she was talking about him and his internal scars, he must think she referred to herself and what she’d suffered. She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. For so long, she’d dreamed of him lowering his defenses and letting her see what lay beneath that flinty exterior. Now, he was finally doing it when she least deserved it. She wanted to bury her face in her knees and cry.

  “Before you take up the hobby of offering ministrations—” Amaranthe’s voice cracked, so she pointed to the canteen and rag, giving herself a second to recover, “—you should know I… may not be deserving of your care.”

  His eyebrows dove for his hairline. It was the greatest indication of surprise she’d seen from him. She tucked it away, along with the image of his eyes full of concern, to remember later, in case his icy, expressionless demeanor returned soon.

  “I… did my best,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t mean to make excuses, but I want you to know I am disappointed in myself. You always think you’re tough before you’ve been tested and that you’re too smart to be tricked.”

  “Of what do you speak?”

  Right, Amaranthe thought, get to the point. As Basilard said, cleaning a fish didn’t get any more pleasant for having put the task off.

  “I resisted Pike, but Ms. Worgavic’s assistant had some Kyattese device that got into my head and… ” Amaranthe poked at some of the needles on the boughs beneath her. “I didn’t know how to thwart it. By now, Ms. Worgavic may know and perhaps all of Forge does. Pike certainly did.” She risked a glance at Sicarius.

  He wasn’t giving much away, but she got the feeling that he wasn’t certain what she was talking about. He’d heard Pike, hadn’t he? The suggestion that Sespian had never been meant for the throne?

  “They know Sespian is your son and not the rightful ruler of Turgonia,” Amaranthe said.

  “Yes, I gathered that.”

  “You did? I mean, I thought you should have, but you didn’t react. You didn’t… ” Amaranthe swallowed. “Aren’t you… angry with me?”

  The long look Sicarius gave her reminded her of those she’d often received from the men upon announcing her crazy schemes, the ones where they wondered if her brain existed in the same world as theirs. “You are the one with the right to anger,” he said.

  “Uhm?”

  “You were captured because of me. You endured torture because you held my secrets. All along, your difficulties in achieving your goals—in earning your exoneration—have come because you’ve chosen to associate with me, because you’ve been trying to help me achieve my goal.” Sicarius picked up a branch and prodded at the fire. “In the beginning, I stayed because I thought you could help me with Sespian. Later, when you ceased to simply be a means to an end for me, I thought to leave because I knew I was making your journey more arduous, but I found myself unable to walk away. I… ”

  Amaranthe had so rarely seen him uncertain about anything. She found herself holding her breath, waiting for his next words as he nudged one half-burned log closer to another.

  “Though I have studied psychology and am familiar with the notion of love, it has always been an academic familiarity, not a personal experience. Perhaps because of this, your loyalty has perplexed me at times. I have not always… appreciated it as I should have. Or, more correctly, I have not always… demonstrated my appreciation of it. But I have appreciated it.”

  Sicarius captured her gaze with his, and Amaranthe had to fight not to melt into a puddle in his lap. Easy, girl, she thought, he’s not declaring his love. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d just said he didn’t know how to feel love. But from him, appreciation was something, wasn’t it? Especially if he’d never appreciated anyone else… .

  Sicarius seemed to notice he was fidgeting with the logs and laid down his poker. “I have on occasion admonished you for impulsive actions.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Amaranthe said dryly, then wished she hadn’t said anything. He was speaking of feelings, for the first time ever, and she was rewarding him with irreverence. “I’ve deserved it,” she added in a more serious tone.

  “My reaction, upon finding out that Forge was responsible for implanting Sespian with that device… ” Sicarius’s expression remained neutral, but he took a deep breath, as if struggling to calm himself in the face of the memory. “I had the impulsive thought that I could forgo playing Tiles with Forge in favor of destroying the organization all at once. Or, if that wasn’t possible, I wished to hurt them badly enough that they would consider going after Sespian too much of a risk.”

  “I know. I don’t have any children, but I’m sure I would feel similar frustrations if I did. Perhaps not to the extent of, er, slaying people, but I can understand impatience and… ” Why couldn’t words ever come out in an intelligent, flowing manner when she spoke to him on important topics? Amaranthe sighed and scooted closer to lay a hand on his forearm. “I might be… distressed by some of your choices, and I don’t expect I’ll ever stop trying to convince you to use more humanitarian means, but I’m not angry with you, nor have these events changed how I feel about you.” There, that sounded halfway decent. Didn’t it?

  Sicarius exhaled a long, slow breath, and Amaranthe wondered if he’d actually been concerned about that, about what she would think in the aftermath of Pike’s attention. She patted his arm and leaned against him.

  “I may never understand why you value the lives of those who have declared themselves your enemies, but… ” Sicarius slipped an arm around her back and pulled her closer. “I am sorry that my choice resulted in pain for you.”

  Amaranthe felt her eyes widen so far they were in danger of plopping out of her head and into his lap. He had never apologized to her. She’d never heard him apologize to anyone. From him, it was almost… better than a proclamation of love.

  “Thank you.” Amaranthe leaned her head against Sicarius’s chest. “I’m sorry you had to endure Pike’s… cruelty as a boy. No one should have to deal with something like that, much less a child. He’s one enemy I’m relieved to see dead.”

  Sicarius did not respond. If it had been someone else, she might have wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but she doubted he would relax that completely while out in the wilds. Or anywhere.

  “Are you the one who gave him that scar?” Amaranthe asked.

  “Yes.”

  Ah, there he was. “The boy got old enough to decide what he would and would not endure?” she asked.

  “Something like that.”

  Amaranthe tilted her head to gaze up at his face. “You know… when you have a woman snuggled in your arms, that would be an appropriate time to open up and tell stories.”

  “Story-telling is what a man is supposed to do when he has a woman in his arms?” Sicarius’s eyes glinted.

  Heat scorched her cheeks. “Well, I… Uhm.”

  Sicarius laid a hand on the side of her face, being careful not to touch any of her bruises. “You have enough horrors of your own in your head now. You don’t need to add mine.”

  Amaranthe swallowed. “I was surprised that, after what you endured, you didn’t make Pike suffer more in the end.” She knew it was little of her, but she couldn’t help but feel that a “master interrogator” not only deserved death, but a painful one at that.

  “After seeing what he did to you… it did occur to me to prolong his death.”

  “And?”


  “I did not think you would approve.”

  “Oh.” Amaranthe didn’t know what else to say. Somehow he thought her a better person than she was. “I wouldn’t have begrudged you some degree of… comeuppance to avenge your past.”

  “Actions taken in the present cannot change those received in the past. Hollowcrest was the master smith, forging my destiny. Pike was merely one of the many tools he employed.”

  Amaranthe dropped her chin. It seemed strange that an assassin was giving her a morality lesson, but there it was. No, not morality—that had never been a concern for Sicarius—but practicality. A lesson in practicality and moving on with one’s life. She hoped she’d be able to put Pike behind her as effectively.

  “Was anyone kind to you as a boy?” Amaranthe asked.

  “That was not encouraged.” Sicarius used his hand to lift her chin again. He brushed his fingers across the skin of her forehead, as if to remove the furrow of disapproval there. “Not everyone was like Pike. Tutors came and went, so I wouldn’t form attachments, but most were tolerable.”

  Tolerable. What an accolade.

  Heaviness weighed upon Amaranthe’s eyelids, and keeping them open was a struggle. But she found herself reluctant to sleep, to miss the moment, the fact that Sicarius was stroking her face and, for once, answering her questions. What if his reserve returned in the morning?

  “Amaranthe?” Sicarius asked softly.

  She opened her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them. Sicarius had lowered his hand, though he was still watching her.

  “Yes?”

  “I must speak to you of one more matter.”

  “Oh?”

  A twinge of concern ran through her body. Such a preamble could only signal bad news. Indeed, wariness had entered Sicarius’s eyes. “It is in regard to Sespian. And you.”

  Amaranthe sat up, a jolt running through her body. Meddling ancestors, he wasn’t going to offer to step aside or some other nonsense, was he? She remembered that he’d seen them together on the dirigible, that brief second when she’d grabbed Sespian’s hand. He must think… Emperor’s warts, who ever knew what he thought? Now that he was finally showing her warmth and affection, she’d be burned at a funeral pyre before letting him disappear over some misunderstanding.