She crossed her arms over her chest and arched her eyebrows. “Usually when you send me off into danger, you come along.”
“Yes, but there’s a room full of officers next door who have convinced themselves I’m the answer to all their woes. I’m not sure yet if they actually want my help, or simply want to toss my name at their enemies, but they might wet themselves if I were to wander off right now.” Starcrest gave her a warm smile. “Regardless, I’m positive that you’re more capable of independent competence.”
Komitopis shook her head, her long blonde braid swaying, and told Amaranthe, “I should have known I was in trouble back on Kyatt, when he asked if I’d packed my bow.”
To Amaranthe’s eye, the professor appeared more motherly and academic than athletic, so the admission that she had a bow was surprising. How well did she use it?
“Yes,” Amaranthe said, for Komitopis seemed to be expecting an answer. “That must have been a warning. I’m told men tell you to pack scented soaps and skimpy undergarments if they have romantic interludes in mind.” Though, she admitted, Sicarius would doubtlessly prove an exception there. No doubt, he’d suggest that romantic interludes should be punctuated with obstacle courses and knife-throwing practices. Though perhaps she should launder the “skimpy undergarment” Maldynado had foisted on her for the Suan costume. If nothing else, it would amuse Sicarius, and that was something that happened rarely.
You have to find him before you can amuse him, she thought. This mission would delay that. True, she didn’t know for certain that he was in trouble, or where to start looking for him, but if he was in trouble… she hated to abandon him.
“I fear the romantic interludes will have to wait a little longer,” Starcrest said.
“Yes, we finally get the children old enough to send off on their own—or to visit their Turgonian grandmother—and now you have five hundred soldiers toddling along after you.”
“We’re up to seven hundred now,” Starcrest said brightly.
“My bow,” Komitopis said. “Very well.”
“If you can thwart man-eating plants from the Lariat Islands and convince cannibalistic aborigines to run off down the beach, their tails tucked between their legs, I’m certain a few Turgonians won’t be any trouble.”
The statement—and the amused smiles of remembrance the pair shared—made Amaranthe quite certain that any fireside stories they might share would be riveting.
“I’ll ask Colonel Fencrest to send a couple of men with instructions that they follow your orders,” Starcrest went on, “and you’ll have Corporal Lokdon and whomever she’s willing to bring as well.”
Amaranthe was thinking about pointing out that she hadn’t agreed to go anywhere near the Behemoth again, but when Starcrest added, “Her team strikes me as eclectic and capable,” all thoughts of defying him evaporated.
“My team? You mean Books and Akstyr? Or have you met others?” And who that had impressed him so? Surely not Maldynado.
“A couple,” Starcrest said. “But mostly I talked to Sespian before he sat down at the table.” He waved at the wall—raised voices were audible through it. “As your comrade pointed out, he’s too young for me to have met before I left the empire, so I was curious to speak with him. He recounted his experiences over the last year, and you figured prominently in them.”
“Oh.” Amaranthe would have been curious to listen in on that conversation.
“I understand, among other things, that Sicarius works for you and not the other way around.”
Komitopis’s mouth dropped a centimeter or two at that statement.
Amaranthe cleared her throat. “Well, I come up with schemes, and he mostly goes along with them, because… it’s complicated, but he had his reasons.”
“Hm.” Another look passed between Starcrest and his wife.
Erg, Amaranthe had a feeling he was assigning her too much credit based on her command, if one could call it that—she wouldn’t—of Sicarius. They couldn’t know about all the tightrope walking she’d done in the last year to keep him going along with her schemes and how much of it had to do with Sespian.
“I don’t know where he is right now,” she felt compelled to add. “It’s been days since I’ve seen him. I can’t promise him as a guard for the professor.”
“I’m sure you and whatever men you can spare will be sufficient,” Starcrest said. “Tikaya can handle herself in a fight if need be, though I’d prefer she be allowed to study that ship without worrying about watching her back. She doesn’t, ah…”
“Doesn’t do both at once effectively,” Komitopis supplied dryly. “At all.”
Starcrest looked relieved that she’d said it so he wouldn’t have to. Remembering the way the professor had not noticed her husband’s entrance and subsequent conversation, Amaranthe could have guessed it on her own.
“With your team helping and protecting her, I’m certain you can take care of the ship,” Starcrest said, giving Amaranthe a single firm nod, then met his wife’s eyes. “And you should stop by the docks, too, and see if our other anticipated arrival has come in.”
Amaranthe barely heard the added comment. She was dwelling on his request and the fact that she’d accepted it so easily. Yes, she knew in her mind that getting rid of the Behemoth had to be the priority, but her heart… she wanted to go after Sicarius. He wouldn’t approve of her choosing him over Starcrest’s mission, though, and she knew it. And, independent of Sicarius’s theoretical wishes, she found herself wanting to prove that Starcrest was right, that she could take care of the professor and the ship. She wanted to earn the respect he’d thus far granted her, based wholly on what he remembered of Sicarius. And on whatever Sespian had said as well. How odd that Starcrest’s opinion should matter to her. She hadn’t read his books as a child. He had no true power here and certainly couldn’t offer her the exoneration she desired—earning his respect might be nice, but she shouldn’t fling herself at his feet in an effort to win favor. She ought to bargain for something; this was an opportunity.
Amaranthe lifted her chin. “I will help your wife, my lord, because what you want in this matter is what I’ve also been fighting to achieve, but… I would ask a favor in return.”
“Oh?” Starcrest did that unreadable expression well. Not so well as Sicarius, perhaps, but she wagered quite a few of his men had struggled to guess his thoughts in his command days. Or maybe they’d attributed great thoughts to him when he’d merely been contemplating lunch.
Professor Komitopis, on the other hand, had an open expressive face, and her lips quirked up at Amaranthe’s proclamation.
“I want you to help Sespian,” Amaranthe said.
Starcrest’s face remained guarded. “To reclaim the throne? I have not had time to fully assess the situation here. Putting aside his now questionable right to rule, I…” His brown eyes flickered toward his wife. “We aren’t certain a nineteen-year-old ruler would be best for Turgonia. When it was not my decision to make, and I was twenty years removed from the politics of the empire, I was content to let events unfold as they would, but if I am to have a hand in shaping the future, I should want to thoroughly consider where I place my support.”
The honesty was both appealing and alarming. Amaranthe appreciated that he didn’t have any interest in lying to her, but the notion that he might decide one of the lords general vying for the throne was a better candidate made her want to shout with frustration. Or maybe cry. Extemporizing, she said, “As it happens, I wasn’t asking you for that promise, my lord. That would be… if nothing else, a little out of scale in proportion to what you’re asking from me. But Sespian…” She glanced toward the door to make sure it was still closed, and nobody was standing at the window, staring in—Sespian might not appreciate her speaking so openly about him to a man who was, books and legends aside, a stranger. “It’s my impression—and he’s as much as confirmed it—that Raumesys was an indifferent and sometimes cruel father to Sespian. And Sicarius… who and what
he is makes Sespian keep him at arm’s distance. Besides, it’s only been a couple of weeks since Sespian learned about that truth. What I’m saying is he has had people conspiring against him since he was born and very few friends or allies. I believe he’s of two minds as to what he should be doing, going forward, and I think he’d very much appreciate some friendly advice from someone who is respected in the empire and experienced in the ways of the world. You also seem sage and serene in the face of all that’s happening. Sespian could use some serenity in his life.”
Amaranthe chomped down on her lip to keep from going on. She hadn’t meant to act the flatterer. The man didn’t fluster her quite as much as Sicarius, but she did feel off balance in his presence.
“Sage,” Starcrest said. “Hm. Sespian told me he had you in mind for a diplomatic position, should he find his way back to the throne. I thought it was some sort of idealistic infatuation, but perhaps not.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Komitopis said, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners, “she just called you old in the most lovely manner.”
Amaranthe almost blurted a protest—she hadn’t been thinking of his age at all, only of his reputation, and the fact that Sicarius, of all people, thought so highly of his achievements—but she caught herself in time, recognizing the teasing for what it was.
“Indeed,” Starcrest said, his own eyes crinkling a touch. “Sage. I prefer that to the term Fencrest used. What was it? Ah, yes, venerable. Ancestors, help me.”
Sensing that she’d won what she wished—or at least what she’d amended her wish to be—Amaranthe remained silent.
“Very well.” Starcrest offered a small bow. “I shall speak with the young man at greater length, though I confess I would have been pleased to do so in any event. You needn’t have wheedled for it.” The now-familiar half smile formed again, taking the sting out of the word wheedled.
“Now, now,” the professor said, “I thought that was quite wise, no, sage of her. You would have talked to the boy, yes, but most likely of engineering. Or submarines. Or… I saw that gleam in your eye earlier. You’re even now contemplating the chain of technological advances that would be required to send a rocket into outer space, aren’t you?”
“Not… right now,” Starcrest said.
“But your mind wandered at some point while she was talking, didn’t it?”
“Really, dear, I don’t think you should betray me thusly to people we’ve just met.”
Watching their easy banter, Amaranthe again felt a wistful pang. I want this with Sicarius, she sighed to herself. The ease at least. Asking him to trade jibes back and forth might be a bit much, though perhaps in twenty years…
You’d better find him first, she thought grimly.
Chapter 5
Amaranthe eyed the dim sky, the clouds hanging low over the waterfront. It’d be dark in another hour, and they hadn’t even left the city. Komitopis had some errand at the docks, and after that it’d be another five miles to Fort Urgot. Amaranthe wasn’t enthused at the idea of reentering the Behemoth at night, but, as the professor had pointed out, the artificial lighting inside would make the windowless tunnels appear the same no matter what time of day it was. And, as Starcrest had said, the sooner the better, insofar as getting rid of the ship went.
She caught Komitopis frowning thoughtfully over her shoulder, not for the first time.
“He’s a good fighter, Professor Komitopis,” Amaranthe explained, certain what had the other woman’s attention without looking. “Really.”
“I don’t disbelieve you—and please call me Tikaya; I was just wondering if that represented a fashion choice or if it had cultural significance. I study ancient cultures, of course, but am not abreast with current trends.” Tikaya glanced over her shoulder again.
The four guards Colonel Fencrest had detached to her command wore pressed uniforms and clean parkas, their rifles nestled into their shoulders in an identical fashion as they marched in unison. And then there was Basilard and Maldynado. Clad in unassuming brown and beige utility clothing and a bear fur coat, Basilard wasn’t a problem, but sometime during the hours that Amaranthe had been attempting to sleep, Maldynado had been shopping again. His clothing was sedate enough—a mix of black, forest green, and velvety gray—but the newest hat… it had to have been a dare. Amaranthe had been inured to tassels, so that wasn’t the problem, but the… she didn’t know what to call them. Tentacles? Tendrils? The colorful fabric appendages danced and writhed about his head with every step. There were bells at the end of each tendril, though he’d stuffed something into them to muffle the noise.
“No cultural significance that I’m aware of,” Amaranthe said, “though it does say he’s big enough and strong enough to fight off any bullies who might want to beat him up on principle.”
“Yara thought it was hideous,” Maldynado said. She didn’t know if he was close enough to have heard their quiet conversation, but he’d probably guessed at the significance of the glances.
“Thus you naturally purchased it.” Amaranthe wondered how long that relationship would last. Maybe they’d surprise everyone and get married. And have children. That was hard to imagine, but Yara had been uncharacteristically pleased to have Maldynado return from the dead.
“Naturally the shopkeeper gave it to me,” Maldynado corrected. “To model around town and drive sales.”
“Drive them… away?” Tikaya murmured.
“I notice the shop’s name isn’t visible anywhere on the hat,” Amaranthe replied. “Poor advertising if that’s what it’s meant as. Maybe it was some kind of… demonstration model that the proprietor wanted to get rid of.”
“Very funny, Bas,” Maldynado said.
Tikaya looked back again, this time studying Basilard’s hand signs. Keeping an eye out for soldiers and enforcers, Amaranthe missed half of the quick comments, though she did catch something about Sicarius applying his knife to the hat much the way he had to Akstyr’s hair.
Sicarius. Amaranthe shifted her focus from the streets around them to the lake and the fields and foothills in the distance on the other side. Was Sicarius out there somewhere, even now? Still hunting the soul construct to ensure it couldn’t harm Sespian? She couldn’t help but feel he should have found it by now if he sought it, for it’d happily seek him with its claws and fangs blazing as soon as he drew close. If he was… still alive, he should have returned by now. What else could he be doing? Hunting the practitioner that had summoned the construct as well? A dangerous mission for one man, even one as formidable as he.
“What is that language?” Tikaya asked, walking backward now, watching Basilard’s half of the continuing conversation. “It reminds me of the Mangdorian hunting code, but—” Her heel slipped on the slick cement street, and she stumbled, arms flailing.
Though startled, Amaranthe reacted reflexively, catching the professor’s elbow and shifting her weight to keep her from hitting the ground. Barely. Arrows spilled from Tikaya’s quiver, and her rucksack slid halfway off her back. Maldynado and Basilard rushed forward to help right her. The soldiers, no doubt under orders from Starcrest to keep his wife safe, rushed forward, too, and Amaranthe found herself pushed out of the way.
“I’m fine,” Tikaya said, straightening her pack and waving away the small legion trying to help her. “Thank you.” The freckles and pale skin did little to hide her reddening cheeks. “I believe I’ll walk facing forward now.”
“Always a good idea when visiting a foreign nation, my lady.” Maldynado smiled at her and bowed, the felt tendrils flopping about his face.
More usefully, Basilard picked up her fallen arrows and handed them back to her.
“Thank you,” Tikaya said again, returning them to the quiver. “Good advice, yes, though I can trip when I’m facing forward too. Rias is usually around to catch me, fortunately, and I’ve yet to break any bones. Though I imagine sprains are slow to heal here without the use of—are practitioners still forbidden here?”
&n
bsp; “Not so much forbidden as hanged when spotted,” Amaranthe said as they resumed walking. “Would you like me to carry anything?”
Thanks to the professor’s six feet of height, the rucksack didn’t seem oversized or unwieldy on her, but it was bulky and heavy, with jars or something similar pushing bumps into the canvas. In addition, the longbow and quiver were attached to it.
“I can handle it, thank you.” Tikaya waved. “You have your own load.”
“Just food and water and first aid supplies. You’re right in that nobody here can fix a sprained ankle with his mind.” Amaranthe thought of mentioning Akstyr, but he was still sleeping at the factory and hadn’t come along. Amaranthe ought to be sleeping, too, but she’d woken from a nightmare during her attempt at an afternoon nap and had had no wish to return to her bed.
Basilard moved up to walk on Tikaya’s other side, so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck around to observe him. He signed, Hunting code. Yes. With additions. He raised his eyebrows. You understand?
“The original language, yes,” Tikaya said. “Additions, interesting. Because you can’t speak?”
Basilard touched the scar tissue at his throat and nodded.
“Ah, I’d be most curious to learn what you’ve done with the simple code. Has it been documented anywhere?”
Basilard shook his head. It’s all made up. Nothing real.
“That’s how all language starts,” Tikaya said. “Words are born out of necessity to communicate.”
But only a few of us speak it.
Tikaya couldn’t know anything except the original terms, but she seemed to read between the lines—or the signs, as it were—and picked up the gist of Basilard’s sentences now that she knew what she was looking for. “In the Pasas Unius Chain, there are only seven people left alive who speak the aboriginal tongue of D’skhmk Mk.”
Amaranthe blinked at the name or word or whatever it had been. Had there been any vowels? She didn’t think so.
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