Blood and Betrayal

by Lindsay Buroker

  Her fingers scraped against rock. The ceiling? The water seemed brighter ahead. All too aware of how deep they were and how little air she had, Amaranthe angled in that direction, hoping her eyes weren’t tricking her. As she swam, she kept one hand on the rocky surface, using it as a guide. It ended in at a jagged edge. The hole leading upward, she hoped. What else could it be?

  With that optimistic thought, Amaranthe angled her body into the passage. All of the edges were jagged, and she had to twist and writhe to find a route upward. At least she hoped it was upward. Maybe she’d merely found the tunnel, and she was swimming deeper into the complex and farther from the surface. And air.

  No. The tunnel wouldn’t have any light, and those sharp, jagged edges hadn’t been formed by erosion or machines. They were fresh.

  Again, Amaranthe bumped against someone—this time her knuckles brushing a boot. Someone was above her. That gave her further hope. If others were going that direction, it had to be the way out. As she continued on, the brightness grew stronger. There was no current in the crevice, but she could feel her natural buoyancy helping her ascend as well.

  Finally, the dark stone walls disappeared. The water made her sight blurry, but she could see reds and greens—seaweed. She’d reached the bottom of the lake. None too soon either. Her lungs were pleading for air.

  Not sure how many feet down the bottom was, Amaranthe kicked for the surface. Her long dress tangled about her legs. Had she the breath, she would have snarled at the impractical garb. She kicked harder and stretched her arms toward the surface, longing to break through and gasp in fresh air.

  A dark shadow blotted out the light coming from the sky. At first, Amaranthe thought she might be coming up under a log, so she veered to the side. Then the “log” dove down and slammed into her.

  The force drove her several feet to the side. Her last vestiges of air escaped in an explosion of bubbles even as she tumbled through the water, head over feet.

  Amaranthe clawed for the short sword that usually hung at her waist, but only found a knife. It’d have to do. She yanked the blade free. The dark shape had come around; it swam straight toward her. It looked like a giant eel. It had to be the creature from the underwater pool, the one that had feasted on the guard.

  Her lungs ached to suck in a breath, and the surface waited, tantalizingly close, but she dared not turn her back on the eel. At this depth, plenty of light filtered down to reveal its maw as it neared, how it opened up, displaying two fences of fangs bigger than swords… .

  Amaranthe gripped her knife tighter, the short blade paltry in comparison.

  The eel’s tail undulated, and the beast surged forward. She tried to fling herself to the side and lash out as it swam past, but it was too fast. This was the eel’s milieu, and that maw whipped about to follow her as quickly as one of Sicarius’s sword strikes. It would have—should have—chomped down on her, but the creature halted mid-attack. It reared back, and Amaranthe didn’t question her reprieve. With her lungs screaming for air, and blackness encroaching at the edges of her vision, she swam for the surface.

  When she burst through, her desperate gasp drew in as much water as air. Coughs wracked her body. Dagger still in hand, Amaranthe spun in a circle, trying to spot the creature—or nearby land so she could sprint to a beach where it couldn’t reach her.

  “You all right, boss?” came Maldynado’s voice from twenty meters away. He was treading water and supporting Yara. She’d succumbed to a bout of coughing as well. Closer to shore, Basilard lifted his arm. Thank his ancestors, Akstyr had revived enough to swim out; he treaded water with Basilard’s support.

  “I think so,” Amaranthe answered.

  Something churned beneath the surface, agitating the water.

  “Find the others,” Amaranthe called. “Get everyone to land.”

  Afraid one of “the others” was down below, fighting that creature to help her, Amaranthe took a breath and dropped below the surface again. When the giant eel had been above her, its dark shape contrasting with the light from the sky, she’d had no trouble making it out, but she struggled to see anything against the dark depths.

  Though her muscles were reluctant to comply, Amaranthe stroked downward. Swim to the beach, the sane part of her mind said, but if some comrade had come to help her, and now needed her help…

  The water grew still. Uneasiness swam into Amaranthe’s stomach. What if her unseen savior had sacrificed himself to distract the creature from eating her? If it had been Books… He’d come a long way in the last year, but he still wasn’t a natural fighter. Dealing with powerful, inhuman monsters surely wasn’t his forte.

  When she didn’t spot anyone—or anything—Amaranthe turned a circle, afraid she’d misjudged the source of the agitation.

  Something dark floated in the water a couple of meters away. Amaranthe almost dropped her knife. Swearing at herself, she recovered, bringing it to bear in case the eel attacked. But it wasn’t moving. Blood clouded the water.

  Amaranthe swam back to the surface. She spotted Books in the distance, paddling toward shore.

  A few feet away, Sespian bobbed, treading water. He waved a knife. “It’s dead, right?”

  “You did that?” Amaranthe asked, then, realizing that might sound offensive, added, “I mean, yes, I believe it’s dead. Thank you for your help.”

  Sespian smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I thought I should practice proving myself useful, given that I’m unemployed now.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, let’s find someplace dry and talk about that.” Dry and safe, Amaranthe thought. There might be more of those giant eels about.

  The rest of her team had paddled for Marblecrest Island, the nearest piece of land. Amaranthe counted heads and accounted for all but one. A blond one.

  She tried to lock her emotions away, reminding herself that he had chosen to leave the group against her wishes. If he hadn’t found a way out, it was his fault. Except it wasn’t. Not really. He had been trying to protect Sespian, and probably her as well, the only way he knew how.

  Amaranthe wiped water out of her eyes. Don’t get maudlin yet, girl, she told herself. He’d find another way out.

  “I must apologize for dragging your team into this,” Sespian said. “You must believe me when I say I had no idea about… I had no idea.”

  “I know, Sire.”

  He sighed. “At least you were paid well for your time.”

  “We were?”

  “I gave your men the money I promised.” His laugh sounded forced. “Better spend it before Forge’s plan goes into effect and it’s worthless.”

  “I’m sure they’re only planning to inflate the currency a few percent a year. Besides Maldynado probably already spent it on hats.”

  Amaranthe ought to swim to shore—Basilard had already crawled out and was waving the others over—but she kept expecting Sicarius to pop up. Unless a passage led to an exit on Marblecrest Island somewhere, anyone who didn’t come up soon… wouldn’t ever. Though maybe he’d made it back to the underwater vehicle. All of the Forge people were probably trying to escape that way—if they’d had time. It wouldn’t take that water long to flood everything. A grisly thought came to Amaranthe. What if her explosion had, however inadvertently, killed everyone down there?

  Sespian mumbled something.

  “Pardon, Sire?” Amaranthe asked, glad for a distraction.

  “I’m having a hard time believing this and wondering if they might be wrong. Maybe they made it up.” Sespian shoved his bangs away from his forehead. “I mean, I knew my fa—Raumesys and I didn’t have anything in common, but I’d never heard any speculation… I wouldn’t have guessed… ”

  Amaranthe didn’t mean for her face to give anything away, but Sespian was watching her and frowned at something he saw there.

  “You aren’t surprised by any of this,” he said. “You didn’t… know, did you?”

  Avoiding his eyes would be suspicious, but Amaranthe couldn’
t help it. She’d always feel guilty about being the one who had given up the information to Forge.

  “You did,” Sespian whispered. “For how long? Did you know when you decided to go through with my kidnapping request? I know you didn’t do it for the money.” He waved toward the cove where the steamboat had crashed. “You didn’t even ask about it.”

  “I believe you’re a good man, Sire, and that your ideas are what the empire needs going forward.”

  “You can stop calling me, Sire. If I’m not Raumesys’s heir, then I’ve no claim to the throne. Goodness doesn’t matter.”

  “It should be the only thing that matters.”

  “Very few in the empire will agree with you. Unless my real father has warrior-caste blood and a link to one of the old imperial lines… ” Sespian was watching her again. “You don’t know who it is, do you?”

  Raindrops splashed onto the lake. We really ought to get out of the water, Amaranthe thought, but she didn’t make a move to the shore. They were alone. Maybe it was time to tell him. She’d always thought Sicarius would be the one to do it, but he’d had opportunities and hadn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. For all the dangers he’d fearlessly faced in his life, he’d never had to deal with the crushing feeling of disappointing a family member—a loved one. As long as Sespian didn’t know, Sicarius could imagine… Who knew what he imagined? Some noble future with Sespian ruling the empire and him at his shoulder, guarding his back against anyone who might do him harm. A chance to be a better man at Sespian’s side than he ever was before? Whatever notion he had in his head, the dream could only live so long as Sespian didn’t squash it.

  Sespian touched Amaranthe’s shoulder. “Please, Amaranthe. If you know, you must tell me.”

  The others were all on the beach now. When Amaranthe looked that way, Maldynado held out his arms in a what’s-the-delay gesture. Nobody was in earshot, unless one counted the dead eel, which had floated to the surface, its bloated body dark beneath the cloudy sky. Movement stirred the water near the mouth of the river, a flash of gray, and then it was gone. One of the Forge submarines escaping? If so, then the world would soon know of the Turgonian emperor’s flawed heritage. Sespian had already heard enough from strangers. Time to tell him the truth.

  “Sicarius,” Amaranthe said.

  Sespian jerked his head around, checking behind him.

  “No, he’s not there,” Amaranthe said. “That’s who your father is.” She refused to contemplate that the tense on that verb might be incorrect.

  Sespian’s head swiveled back to her, and he shook it, denial taking up residence behind his eyes. “That’s not very slagging funny.”

  “I know.” Amaranthe waited to see if he had questions, but he merely stared at her in silence. “We better get out of this water,” she said and paddled for the shore.

  Sespian didn’t follow.

  Epilogue

  When Amaranthe walked onto the beach, water sloughing from her drenched clothing, the men were arguing. She would have preferred someone be standing watch, but, given the topic of conversation, she could understand how they wouldn’t find security the priority.

  “He’s not the emperor?” Maldynado asked. “What’re you talking about, Basilard?”

  Amaranthe ignored the flurry of hand signals in favor of squeezing water out of her hair and re-tying her bun. She didn’t want the rehash. Out in the water, Sespian had finally started swimming toward shore, though he was angling for a landing spot farther up the beach. Amaranthe wanted to talk to him eventually, but he needed time to digest what, in his eyes, must be an extremely unpalatable meal. There was still no sign of Sicarius. They’d come ashore near the cliff underneath the hot springs, and she watched the trees near its base, expecting him to stroll onto the beach at any moment.

  “We don’t know that those Forge yokels were telling the truth.” Yara propped a boot on a log.

  She’d retained her footwear, though not everybody had. Akstyr was wandering around in sandy socks, gripping his injured shoulder. Maldynado had lost his shirt. Though that might simply be an excuse for him to show off his physique in front of Yara.

  “Did the emp—Sespian say anything to you out there, boss?” Maldynado asked, and all eyes turned toward Amaranthe. “Did he know anything about this?”

  “Nothing.” She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t want to discuss this. Not with them, not now. She eyed the trees again.

  “Has all our work been for nothing?” Maldynado asked. “This was all about helping him. And getting our names cleared. Cursed ancestors, boss, he won’t have the power to remove your bounty now, will he?”

  If he brought up his stupid statue, Amaranthe didn’t think she’d be able to keep from smacking him. Wasn’t anyone else concerned that Sicarius hadn’t reappeared? He’d saved all of their lives before. They owed him more than disinterest. She caught Basilard looking around, a hint of concern in his eyes. That was something at least. And Maldynado didn’t mention the statue. Maybe he was genuinely more concerned about her and her bounty.

  “What are we going to do now?” Akstyr asked. “If he’s not the true emperor, do we even care who’s on the throne?”

  “We care,” Books said, joining the conversation for the first time.

  Amaranthe remembered the look he’d given her up on the ledge. He’d seemed to know about the Sespian-Sicarius link.

  “We want someone in charge with the foresight and wisdom to manage the future’s changing currents in a manner that will empower the people, not impoverish them.” Books glowered at Maldynado, as if he, because of his older brother, was responsible for Forge’s scheme.

  Maldynado lifted his hands, pointing a finger at Akstyr. “He asked, not me.”

  Now that it’s possible there are choices, Basilard signed, are we certain a nineteen-year-old boy is the person with the ‘foresight and wisdom’ of which Books speaks?

  “Perhaps not,” Books said.

  Akstyr scowled at Basilard, perhaps objecting to the notion that young people couldn’t have foresight and wisdom.

  “Let’s not abandon him yet.” Chin up and back stiff, Yara appeared miffed at how quickly people were dismissing Sespian.

  Amaranthe shared the feeling, though she wasn’t sure it mattered. Would Sespian want anything to do with the throne now that he knew he wasn’t the rightful heir? What if he simply walked away? Though she didn’t know him well, she had a hard time believing he’d do that. Even if Sespian knew he couldn’t be a part of the ruling future, she thought he’d want to try and thwart the Forge and Marblecrest scheme. Besides, he still had a claim to the throne, albeit a muddled one.

  Books came over and touched Amaranthe’s shoulder.

  “Wait,” Maldynado said before Books spoke, apparently in response to Basilard, “who is Sespian’s father? Does anybody know?”

  “Some kitchen boy, probably,” Akstyr said.

  “Don’t be crude,” Yara said.

  When Amaranthe didn’t speak, Books’s eyebrows rose. “Are you going to say anything?” he asked.

  “How long have you known?” she murmured.

  “I’ve had a hunch it was something like that for a while, but the exact puzzle pieces didn’t snap into place until Sicarius threatened Maldynado if he didn’t keep the emperor safe.”

  “Ah.” At least she hadn’t been the one to give it away. Right, Amaranthe told herself, you can keep secrets from friends, just not from enemies.

  “I have been working on ideas,” Books said, “for a new form of government.”

  “A new government?” Amaranthe had only ever wanted to help Sespian retain his position. Now Books was proposing… she didn’t even know what. Revolution?

  “It was only an exercise until this information came out,” Books went on, “but the antiquated notion of an empire might not be what Turgonia needs as it goes ahead into modern times. So much of the strife between the old warrior caste and the new entrepreneurial class is born out of mutual resentment, which n
ever would have been a factor if land and power were not hereditary, gifts given to those loyal families who have been willing to support totalitarian rule over the centuries.”

  Maldynado strolled over, and, for once, Amaranthe was glad. She wasn’t ready to think about spearheading a revolution.

  “What are you two discussing?” Maldynado asked. “Some sort of… ” His gaze shifted over Amaranthe’s shoulder.

  Sicarius strode out of the trees, as grim and deadly as ever. Relief flooded Amaranthe, though, with so many witnesses present, she didn’t run to him. He wasn’t looking approachable anyway. He wasn’t wet, so he must have found a back way out, but Amaranthe wished he were wet, as the water might have washed the blood stains off his hands and out of his hair. She’d seen him gore-covered before, but, given Sespian’s new knowledge, she wished he looked less like a soldier straight from the front lines. An assassin, she thought, not a soldier.

  Sicarius spotted Sespian further down the beach, and a hint of the starkness faded from his eyes, though an uncommon stiffness accompanied his gait. It might have been an injury or simple tension.

  “Glad you could join us.” Amaranthe forced a smile. She didn’t want to open with accusations, but she had to know what he’d done down there. “Did you, ah… ”

  “There was a translucent barrier further protecting their meeting area,” Sicarius said. “I found another way around, but they sent their bodyguards to delay me. I dealt with them and was catching up with the Forge people when the tunnel collapsed.”

  “Tunnel collapse?” Amaranthe asked, her heart sinking.

  “There were several after an explosion sounded.” Sicarius looked at her, as if he knew she’d been responsible. And why not? Who else did he know that was crazy enough to blow up tunnels from within? “Water flooded inside, causing structural damage. I reached the docking pool too late to retrieve our vehicle. I had to find another way out.”

  A swollen bruise on his temple made Amaranthe wonder if, for once, the blood spattering him didn’t belong to someone else. Dust caked his black clothing, and numerous scrapes abraded his hands.