Ashara felt a lump in her throat, his emotion, his words, so similar to thoughts she’d had over the last three years. She had chosen to leave her children with her mother-in-law in order to hunt for Elstark’s murderer. At the time, the quest had seemed noble, but bringing about that jealous woman’s death hadn’t filled any of the holes in Ashara’s heart. Nor had it resulted in her own name being cleared, as she had hoped it would.
Several years have passed now, Basilard signed. She was six when I was taken and her mother was killed. She is eleven now. I know from my last meeting with her, the first after my long absence, that she remembers me, but only a little. I had not been a part of her life for so long. She is almost a woman now, especially by my people’s standards. A few more years, and she will think of boys and marrying. Basilard smiled wistfully. She has been taken in by my wife’s family, and my grandmother is still alive and helps with the child-raising too. Even though it has been painful for me not to be there, when I came back this past winter, I saw that she was well cared for and thriving. She has surrogate parents. For me to take her away from that, it would serve my needs, not hers.
Even if he had not intended it, could not have known, Basilard’s words hit Ashara in the stomach like an arrow. She hadn’t even considered that Jiana and Khanrin might be better off without her. She believed she had been a good mother, as Elstark had been a good father, but she had questioned herself numerous times when she had left to find his killer. At the time, she had stood accused, so it wasn’t as if she’d had a choice in the matter. She’d slipped free of jail and hidden from the law while she’d hunted for that woman. But the result had been the same, nonetheless. Her children had gone to live with her husband’s family, been adopted into it and had come to see cousins as siblings. After three years, how would they feel if they were yanked from their family and their homeland to come live with her in Turgonia? They were still young enough that she could have an influence on them, care for them and show them that she loved them. Wasn’t that important enough to make up for any discomfort they might experience by being moved? And if she was able to start a successful business in Turgonia, even if that wasn’t truly where her heart lay, wouldn’t they be well cared for? As well cared for as they would be at home?
When my daughter was little, Basilard signed, perhaps not realizing all manner of thoughts were racing through Ashara’s head—perhaps lost in his own story telling, I always carried her around on my shoulders. She was strong and agile for such a young girl, and she would play a game where she pulled herself up onto the roofs of the huts, because they were just about this high. He gestured to his shoulder. She would duck down and hide, and I would pretend to not know where she had gone. That seemed to delight her to no end, to get the best of her father. He smiled. When I was at the presidential residence a while ago—only a few days ago, I suppose—I saw Sespian carrying his adopted daughter around on his shoulders. She seemed to be taking advantage of the situation and trying to bury a crayon in his ear. It reminded me of my daughter. It’s painful, feeling that loss. But when I was back home and saw her, and touched my shoulders, she smiled and seemed like she remembered that.
Basilard lifted his head, glancing toward the sky, which had brightened to full morning while they had been talking. I’m sorry. I answered far more than you asked.
“No,” Ashara said. “It was what I wanted to hear.” Well, maybe not what she had wanted to hear, but what she had needed to hear. She wasn’t ready to make any brash decisions, but she had things to ponder on the day’s walk. “I don’t know if it’s worth much to you, especially since I can’t answer your other question right now, but you have my word that I will keep an eye out for Mahliki and help her find your people.” She couldn’t promise about the blight yet. She had to think about that. She almost hoped that there wasn’t a way for her to help, so she didn’t have to worry about betraying Shukura or her people—or the ramifications of doing so.
Basilard stood up, stepped forward, and clasped Ashara’s hands, gazing earnestly into her eyes and nodding solemnly. Usually, she would pull away from such an intimate grip, but she found she didn’t mind the warmth of his hands. She even missed it a little when he let go to sign, Thank you.
Uncomfortable with the gratitude—she hadn’t done anything to deserve it yet—she changed the subject. “Perhaps in helping your people with this problem, they’ll come to see you as more than a dangerous fighter, and they’ll be more open to letting you have a relationship with your daughter sooner rather than later.”
Perhaps, Basilard signed, though his expression wasn’t optimistic.
Sicarius walked over and nodded to Basilard. “You wish to train before the next phase of the mission?”
Train? Basilard signed.
Behind Sicarius’s back, Maldynado was shaking his head and waving his hands vehemently.
“Have you been practicing at hand-to-hand combat and blade work lately?” Sicarius asked.
No, but it’s probably too late to work on honing rusty skills.
“It’s never too late. Maldynado also informs me he requires training.”
“No, I didn’t,” Maldynado called, dropping his hands when Sicarius looked back, though he did not stop shaking his head. “All I said was that I hadn’t been in the rings for a while.”
“Precisely.”
Amaranthe wore an unsurprised half smile as she watched the conversation.
Perhaps it was a good time to leave. As Mahliki cinched up her pack, she looked over at Ashara. She must have already been told what the plan was.
Ashara put away her arrows and pushed herself to her feet, the nerves jangling in her stomach again. She shouldn’t feel nervous about going to find some Mangdorians—it wasn’t as if they would threaten her with violence when she arrived—but the idea of walking into one of their villages without an escort aside from another foreigner did make her uneasy. Perhaps because they would ask her why her people were destroying their forests. And what would she say to that question?
Chapter 11
Sicarius was making Basilard nervous.
He kept stopping and gazing back the way they had come, up a trail following a stream flowing through the center of the canyon. For most of the trip, Sicarius had been scouting ahead of the group, but every mile or so, he returned and looked thoughtfully behind them.
Do you believe we’re being followed? Basilard asked.
“No.”
Basilard stopped. Then why the long looks toward the rear?
Amaranthe and Corporal Jomrik had been walking behind Basilard, so they, too, stopped. Amaranthe did not appear confused or mystified by Sicarius’s gazes. Maybe he had confided something to her.
Sicarius didn’t answer immediately. Indeed, he looked to Amaranthe, as if she could articulate the answer more clearly than he could. Or perhaps he was wondering if he needed to answer at all. The man was known to simply stare emotionlessly in response to questions.
“He’s not sure we made the right choice in sending Mahliki with Ashara,” Amaranthe said.
Oh. Basilard had always considered Amaranthe the better of the two at reading people, but maybe he had some insight into Ashara that they had not considered. You believe she might try to do something malicious?
“I have no reason to trust her,” Sicarius said. “I also have no reason to believe she would be an adequate bodyguard for Mahliki if they run into trouble.”
She’s a capable archer and fighter, Basilard signed. We saw evidence of that numerous times on our way here.
“But would she risk herself on Mahliki’s behalf?” Sicarius said. “Does she have a reason to?”
“Mahliki can take care of herself,” Amaranthe said firmly. “We discussed this.”
Sicarius’s expression did not change much, but Basilard had the impression that he was not pleased.
I did not know that Mahliki’s welfare was a concern of yours, Basilard signed, trying to find a tactful way to point out that Sicari
us usually didn’t care one way or another whether people lived or died, with Amaranthe and his son being the rare exceptions. Is it because she is the president’s daughter?
Sicarius did regard Starcrest highly. Even if the old emperor had been training him from birth to be an assassin, something that had left Sicarius with more than a few personality quirks, apparently, he had read Fleet Admiral Starcrest’s books on strategy in his youth and idolized him.
Sicarius cocked his head. “Sespian has chosen to mate with her.”
Jomrik made a choking noise. Basilard did not know if it was because this wasn’t a usual topic of conversation for the taciturn assassin or because Jomrik had been entertaining mating thoughts involving Mahliki himself.
“Ah, it all makes sense now,” Maldynado said with a wink toward Basilard. “Sicarius is playing the role of overprotective father-in-law.”
Sicarius gazed coolly at him and did not comment. As far as Basilard knew, Mahliki and Sespian were simply dating, so notions of in-laws seemed premature. But Amaranthe smiled slightly and nodded.
“But are you sure they’ve actually mated?” Maldynado asked. “Sespian is the gentlemanly type, someone who might take matters slow with a lady. Or so I assume. He always refuses to answer my questions on the topic.”
“Good,” Amaranthe murmured, waving that they should continue down the trail.
“Does he answer your questions on the matter, Sicarius?” Maldynado resumed walking, but his mischievous grin said he wasn’t ready to give up the conversation.
“My questions?” Sicarius said flatly and uninvitingly.
“Yes, fathers and sons are supposed to discuss women, work, and drinking. He’s led a sheltered life. He may need your advice on womanly matters.” Judging by the gleam in Maldynado’s eyes, he did not truly believe this statement.
Amaranthe gave him a warning glare over her shoulder, but Maldynado chose not to notice.
“I only give him advice on matters related to combat and fitness,” Sicarius said. Basilard thought that would be the end of the conversation, but he looked to Amaranthe, as if wondering if Maldynado’s words held truth and he was failing at some familial duty. Sicarius might be a killer with few feelings toward humanity in general, but he always did seem interested in doing right by his son. Given that Sespian was twenty now and that they had interacted little during Sespian’s upbringing, Sicarius didn’t always know what right was. Sadly, Basilard imagined himself interacting with his daughter someday, when she, too, was grown, and feeling just as awkward and inept.
“That’s fine,” Amaranthe said. “I’m not sure he even wants that advice.”
“When I have attempted to interject on other matters, he has appeared uncomfortable,” Sicarius said.
“Such as?” Maldynado asked.
“I suggested that his adopted daughter, as a Nurian living in Turgonia, should learn self-defense.”
“Isn’t she seven?”
“I offered to make her a wooden training sword,” Sicarius said. “Sespian gave her a paint set instead.”
“Odd,” Maldynado said.
“Yes.”
Basilard had resumed walking, but he increased the pace. They were close enough to the Kendorian encampment that they should be paying more attention to their surroundings. Besides, he felt a kinship to Sicarius in the matter of children, and he did not wish to see him teased. Not that Maldynado’s teasing would likely bother Sicarius—if it did, Sicarius would batter Maldynado senseless in a “sparring” session along the way.
They came to an area where the trail was muddy, the grass growing alongside saturated. The river had backed up for miles with the water spilling over the banks. Eventually, they saw the reason.
A briar patch of logs, branches, and mud thrust outward from each bank, causing the river to narrow. It continued to flow between the barriers, but the water was higher behind the partially constructed dam than in front of it.
Amaranthe stopped to tap her thigh and consider the blockage.
Beavers, Basilard signed, though he suspected that was obvious, even to his city-dwelling comrades.
“They’ve been busy,” Amaranthe noted.
Basilard expected her to continue on—they were nearing the end of a wide loop they had made so the group could enter the Kendorian camp from upriver, and so that Amaranthe could, as she had requested, see the area. The canyon walls rose to either side of the river, but fertile green earth stretched along both banks. There would have been room enough to graze sheep, not that Basilard thought the Kendorians had any intention of raising livestock here.
The canyon narrows farther downriver, Basilard signed. Where the Kendorians are, there isn’t much grass. Just rocky ledges, rocky ledges that now lead to new mine shafts. He wondered how much progress the intruders had already made. Were the tunnels in their incipient stages, or did a huge maze of them already wind through the cliffs?
“Does it?” Amaranthe nodded, still tap-tap-tapping with her fingers.
Sicarius had gone ahead again, scouting for Kendorians who might be standing guard on a perimeter, but he jogged back to check on the delay. He glanced at the logs, glanced at Amaranthe, and seemed to know right away what she was thinking, because his lips thinned ever so slightly. Disapproval? His face was always so stolid, so hard to read, but Basilard thought he had it right.
“What are you thinking?” He handed her something wrapped in brown paper.
Amaranthe eyed the offering. “Another one?”
“You did not eat breakfast.”
“I was hoping Basilard would make us something sumptuous.”
That morning, Basilard had been too nervous to think of foraging or cooking. Like the others, he had eaten dried Turgonian trail rations.
“The Kyattese doctor suggested one bar a day,” Sicarius said.
“Yes… I haven’t forgotten what she said. Or the utter feeling of betrayal that came over me when she suggested that.”
“What’s this?” Maldynado asked.
“You remember how we went to the Kyatt Islands before starting our missions for the intelligence office?” Amaranthe asked.
“About the, ah, womanly issue?” Maldynado waved in the general direction of Amaranthe’s abdomen.
“If having one’s innards half ripped out by a makarovi can be called womanly, yes.”
“Well, they were your womanly innards, weren’t they?”
“Something like that. Anyway, she was, indeed, more experienced than Turgonian doctors—thank her ancestors, there wasn’t a single suggestion of leeches to exhume the evil vapors.”
Basilard blinked. He remembered that Amaranthe had been wondering if she would be able to have children after that mauling she had taken the year before, but he hadn’t heard about the leeches. Or evil vapors. For all of the engineering and metallurgy knowledge Turgonians had, they could be quite primitive in other areas.
“She was able to heal the womanly innards, as you call them,” Amaranthe said.
“What did she call them?” Maldynado asked.
“Fallopian tubes and ovaries.”
“Ew.”
Amaranthe snorted. “She did, however, recommend waiting a couple of years before trying to have a baby. And to spend those years eating foods that promote fertility.”
“And Sicarius’s nasty bars are on the list?” Maldynado asked.
Sicarius’s eyes narrowed slightly, though it may have simply been a defense against a gust of wind that came down the canyon.
“She said to limit tarts, pastries, and anything that actually tastes good,” Amaranthe said. “And to eat oily fish, eggs, and some kind of seaweed they have there that tastes like a mix between rancid octopus and the inside of a soldier’s boot.”
“She also recommended liver and other organ meats,” Sicarius said.
“Yes. The secret ingredients in Sicarius Bars.”
“I’m glad we haven’t seen any makarovi out here,” Maldynado said. “I’d hate to get maul
ed and have to eat those nasty bars.”
Basilard shuddered, more at the idea of makarovi than of eating Sicarius’s travel rations. Makarovi could make grimbals look cuddly by comparison, and they sought human woman above all other prey, preferring the taste of their organs. Normally, Basilard would never consider natural animals sinister, but makarovi were an exception. He hoped that the Kendorian shaman didn’t know how to find any.
Amaranthe sighed and unwrapped Sicarius’s bar. “You should team up with Basilard and see if you can improve these.”
“Improve? They are shelf stable, compact, and contain all of the nutrients necessary when traveling.”
“I’m talking about the taste. Basilard?” Amaranthe held up the pinkish-gray meat bar. “Please introduce Sicarius to seasonings.”
“They are salted to assist with preservation.”
“Please, Basilard,” Amaranthe implored again.
Basilard spread his hands. He had sampled the bars before and agreed that they were not overly palatable, even to someone who had grown up on traditional hunter-gatherer foods, rather than the “civilized” foods preferred in Turgonia. They did lack seasoning, and some of the organ meats Sicarius chose had a pungent taste that not everyone cared for. However, when Basilard had once suggested that a garlic chili pepper or basil citrus flavor might be well received, Sicarius had only given him that flat, unfriendly stare of his.
“How far away are we from the Kendorian encampment, Basilard?” Amaranthe waved toward the beaver dam.
Three miles.
“And you said the canyon narrows as you go deeper?”
Basilard held his hands up parallel to each other and a couple of feet apart to demonstrate their current position, then narrowed his hands to six inches apart.
“I’m guessing a flood would be unpleasant for them,” Amaranthe said.
Diplomats and Fugitives Page 20