Sicarius gave her a sharp look. She ignored it. Surely turning one’s enemies into allies was a military strategy with a long tradition.
“Ingratiating isn’t quite the word I’d use,” Suan said, “but, yes. I spoke with Lord Starcrest. I understand political changes may be in the air. If they are, it’d be wiser for me to work with the new regime rather than against it. I imagine someone who gets in early could have a substantial say in the way businesses are treated by the government going forward.”
Huh. Starcrest must have tried to plant the same seed. “I imagine that might be the case,” Amaranthe said.
“Excuse me, please.” Suan glanced at Sicarius again, then released Deret’s arm and stepped away. “I told Lord Starcrest I’d write up a proposal.” She hustled away, and Amaranthe wondered if her sudden urge to do homework had something to do with Sicarius looming nearby.
Deret gazed after her for a moment, then frowned at Amaranthe when she tried to pass him. “Are we still keeping her as a prisoner?”
“I don’t think I’m in charge here any more,” Amaranthe said. “Why don’t you ask Admiral Starcrest?”
Deret looked toward the offices at the top of the stairs. “I wouldn’t want to bother him, but…”
“Deret, old boy, hasn’t any plucky young private shot you yet?” came Maldynado’s voice as he approached from across the factory floor.
Deret’s lips flattened. “Not yet.”
His lips flattened even further when Maldynado, who was passing Suan, gave her backside a speculative eyeing.
“Given the size of your head,” Deret said, “I’d think you’d make a more appealing target.”
“I’ve been out of the city on an important mission. They can’t shoot me if they can’t find me.” Maldynado winked at Amaranthe.
Sicarius headed up the stairs, apparently disinterested in listening to the old friends banter. Remembering her own mission, Amaranthe waved to the men and followed after him.
“So,” Maldynado drawled to Deret, “that Forge girl is cute. Have you ever considered crashing your train into her bunker?”
Deret made an exasperated noise, but allowed himself to be drawn in. “Isn’t the expression gliding your train into her station?”
“Yes, but that sounds terribly sedate. I suggest something more vigorous.”
“I see. Your Yara appreciates that?”
“She’s not an inhibited woman.”
Their conversation faded from hearing as Amaranthe reached the landing. Sicarius slowed so they could walk side-by-side to the well-lit center office.
“Still think I’m crazy?” she asked.
“Did I say you were? Recently?”
“I sensed the thought in the look you gave me.”
Sicarius gripped the knob to open the door for her, but he paused. “I have occasionally dwelled upon your unique interest in attributing feelings, emotions, and thoughts to my impassive stares, stares that other people find unreadable.”
“They only find them so because of the menacing under-layer; it discourages analysis.”
Sicarius did not respond, though he did give her a long scrutinizing look. It failed to achieve menace status, though she did wonder what he was thinking.
“Are you saying I’m incorrect in my assumptions?” Amaranthe asked. “That you weren’t thinking I was crazy?”
“No.”
“I thought not.” She pointed to the doorknob. “Are you going to open that or stand there caressing it until dawn? I only ask because such effort seems wasted on a door.”
He stared at her, neither removing his hand nor responding to the comment… until he said, “I am vastly pleased that you are not dead.”
Amaranthe bit down on her lip to restrain the toothy grin that wanted to dance across her face. Vastly. Not even Sespian had earned such a riotously enthusiastic adverb from him. Still, she couldn’t help but tease… “I appreciate the sentiment very much, but when you say things like that, you should bounce on your toes or wiggle your hips or let out some physical manifestation of your emotional exuberance. It helps relay the message.”
Sicarius looked down at himself. “My… hips?”
“Never mind.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek before dropping her hand to his. They opened the door together.
She’d figured everyone inside would have their heads bent over the table, intent on their plots and machinations. But Starcrest spread a hand toward them as soon as they entered.
“Precisely who I wished to see.”
He, Ridgecrest, a pair of colonels, Books, Sespian, Tikaya, and Mahliki all sat around the table, with the two women sharing a corner opposite the window. Mahliki was smirking, and Amaranthe would have calculated the angle required for her to have witnessed that conversation and quick kiss—surely the door had blocked her and Sicarius’s private moment together?—but Starcrest was pinning her with his serious, legendary-admiral gaze.
“Sir?” she asked. “Or did you mean…” She nodded toward Sicarius. Given how much Starcrest meant to Sicarius, he’d probably appreciate being the one the retired admiral wished “to see.”
“Both of you,” Starcrest said. “Especially Sicarius.”
Though he stood behind Amaranthe, she sensed him straighten to rigid attention. “Sir?” he asked.
She smiled, warmed by the earnestness in the single syllable. Would Starcrest recognize the feeling in it? Few people she’d met read the faint nuances in Sicarius’s seeming monotone.
Yes, the “sir” caused genuine warmth to spawn in Starcrest’s eyes, she was certain of it. He understood. Even if his wife never would. Tikaya was shifting uncertainly at this first face-to-face meeting with Sicarius since their adventure—misadventure?—twenty years earlier.
“Flintcrest is dealing with our diversions,” Starcrest said. “The loss of his wizard hasn’t derailed him.”
No, Amaranthe thought, if the expression she’d seen on Flintcrest’s face when he’d been arguing with the Nurian had been typical, he’d appreciate the loss of the wizard.
“Heroncrest has troops in the streets,” Starcrest continued, “but we also believe he’s scheming up something, an attack with the tunnel-boring machines perhaps. Marblecrest is holed up in the Barracks with his most trusted forces. It seems this brave soul is worried about food and water shortages and, rather than venturing out to do anything to this perceived threat to the city, has decided to hide and wait out the chaos.”
“There are several months’ worth of food and water in the Barracks,” Sespian said. “Enough to supply the entire staff and guard regiment.”
“Marblecrest will have more people in there than that,” Books said, his fingers laced on the table, “but the stores will still keep them supplied through a short siege.”
“What a heroic individual,” Tikaya said. “Is he truly related to your comrade who helped us in the ship?”
Amaranthe nodded. “Maldynado’s older brother.”
“Remarkable.”
“Does the older brother wear silly hats too?” Mahliki asked.
“I don’t know,” Amaranthe said, “but the only time I’ve seen him, it was in a clothing store.”
Starcrest lifted a hand and the room fell silent. “Strictly speaking, controlling the Imperial Barracks doesn’t offer a military advantage, but it is symbolic, and now that the civilians are in the streets, many taking up arms, it could be important to make a visible move that resonates in the minds of the populace. Also, capturing one of our enemies and convincing him that no, he does not want the position of emperor, would simplify things.” He’d been speaking to everyone, but now he focused on Amaranthe and Sicarius. “I understand you’ve both been in the Barracks and are aware of alternative entrances.”
“I’m only aware of escaping the Barracks,” Amaranthe said.
“We can get in,” Sicarius said.
“Won’t those wards have been reset?” Books asked.
“We can take Ak
styr,” Sicarius said. “He can further refine his system for altering the plane on which the wards operate.”
“You’ll want to take your whole team for this,” Starcrest said.
“You want us to do more than sneak in and kidnap him?” Amaranthe asked.
“That’s a possibility, but I’d prefer having the Barracks taken over and the doors thrown open for us.” He nodded, in particular, at Sespian.
“Didn’t you say there are thousands of people in there?” Amaranthe asked.
“Yes, I imagine it’d take some unique scheme to get the best of them. I understand that’s your specialty.”
Books smirked at Amaranthe. “How’s it feel having your own spiel played on you?”
“Odd,” she admitted. “I suppose once one had control of Marblecrest, one could control his legions. They might desert on the spot after realizing they’d chosen to side with the wrong candidate. Though it’d be nice to have some kind of distraction to keep people busy while we swoop in and locate the general.”
Starcrest nodded, encouraging her, she thought.
“When I escaped from the dungeon, I distracted my guards with jars containing… I’m not certain I ever got the real name, but they called them Fangs. They transmit Hysintunga, a fatal disease. I was already infected, so the bugs didn’t matter to me, but they terrified the guards. Of course, I only had to scare four people then, not four thousand.”
“Fangs?” Mahliki perked up. “You mean Mexisahil creatat order eractus?”
“Ugly black bugs, halfway between a lizard and a wasp?” Amaranthe asked.
“That’s them.”
“Know where we could find any around here?” For a second, Amaranthe had a vision of thousands of soldiers fleeing the Imperial Barracks, their arms flailing about their heads as they strove to ward off attacks. Then she remembered the men she’d shared a cell with, men she’d watched die from the disease. “No, never mind. I wouldn’t wish that punishment on anyone, certainly not fellow Turgonians.”
“They’re native to the equatorial regions anyway,” Mihlaki said, “though there are other insects with properties that could be exploited in… interesting manners.” She tapped her chin.
“I like interesting,” Amaranthe said encouragingly.
“As do I.” Starcrest gave his daughter a fond smile.
Mahliki opened her jacket, causing dozens of tiny clinks. Amaranthe couldn’t guess when she’d found time to dig under the ice or whatever she’d been doing, but she’d filled a number of those vials. “Not these… We’d need… Hm, I need to think. I’m not as familiar with this area as my own climate, but I have a bunch of books in the submarine. And Lonaeo has been studying entomology longer than I have. He might have some ideas. I’ll go talk to him.”
“If you’re able to come up with a useful solution,” Tikaya said, “make sure their team can employ it without needing an entomologist along on the incursion.”
“Mother.” Mahliki touched her fingers to her chest. “Whatever are you implying? That I’d deliberately come up with a plan that forced me to go off on some interesting new adventure?”
“I’m implying you’re too young to go on an infiltration of a building full of belligerent marines. Turgonians aren’t—” Tikaya glanced around the room, the Turgonian-filled room. “Not all Turgonians are like your father.”
Starcrest was leaning back in his chair and watching this exchange, a bland expression on his face.
“It’d be a strange nation if they were,” Mahliki said. “Not that I was planning to get myself invited on their mission, but I’m sure Father was infiltrating buildings—or probably ships—full of belligerent marines when he was seventeen.”
Amaranthe observed with amusement as Professor Komitopis, a woman who reputedly knew dozens of languages, in addition to having all that cryptographic expertise, floundered for an inoffensive way to say, “It’s different for girls.”
“Actually, I was still at the military academy when I was seventeen.” Starcrest smiled at his daughter, but made a shooing motion with his fingers. “Get to work, and let’s see what you can come up with.”
“From the stories you’ve told me,” Tikaya said, after Mahliki left, “I doubt your academy years were devoid of belligerent marines.”
“Belligerent instructors, perhaps. The infiltrations were all sanctioned, a part of my training, with little possibility of loss of life. Unless one did something stupendously stupid. That did happen on occasion.”
“How often did it involve you?” Tikaya asked.
“Me? Never. I was a tranquil and studious cadet, much loved by my instructors.”
Tikaya folded her arms on the table and raised frank eyebrows.
“I was, admittedly less well loved by my older, larger, stronger schoolmates,” Starcrest said. “Still, I maintain that Cadet Badgercrest, that brutish fellow who kept trying to stuff my head in Colonel Pondcrest’s humidor—as if a simple volume equation wouldn’t have told him that was impossible—burned down the upperclassmen’s barracks all by himself. I merely failed to point out the flammable nature of lacquer when he came up with his super-quick-automatic-floor-buffing scheme.”
Amaranthe found this aside amusing, though it tickled her more that Sicarius listened with the attentive mien of a bird dog focused on a rustling bush.
“Tell them who modified the automatic floor buffer,” Tikaya said.
Starcrest cleared his throat. “I might have tinkered with it. That old model was in need of a performance boost.”
Hm, if his daughter took after him at all, Amaranthe supposed she should plan on having something interesting—and possibly volatile—to use on their infiltration. She had better assemble and brief—warn—her team.
“How soon do you need the Barracks secured, my lord?” she asked.
“I’d say by dawn, but that’s only a couple of hours away. Plan to go tomorrow night. And plan to be careful. Going by the reports I’ve received, it’s getting dicey out there in the city. The gangs are rearing their heads, and the black market is thriving. As soon as we can remove Marblecrest and Flintcrest from the equation, someone on our side will very publicly and very heroically find a way to repair the supposedly broken aqueduct, put engineering teams to work on the bridge—teams that won’t be harassed the way Heroncrest’s men are sadly being—and find emergency rations from little known imperial reserves.” Starcrest was gazing at Sespian as he spoke this last sentence.
“Me?” Sespian blurted. “You want to set me up to be the hero in charge of all of that?”
Amaranthe was almost as surprised. When last she’d spoken to Starcrest, he hadn’t been certain he wanted to back Sespian as a candidate for the throne. Tikaya nodded firmly at this exchange though. Had she been whispering in her husband’s ear? Something along the lines of, “Straighten this mess out and put an acceptable candidate on the throne so we can go home, dear?”
Books was frowning, but he didn’t speak.
“The will to solve struggles with claims of superior blood is a familiar one, for it simplifies the issue and ensures certain agencies remain in power,” Starcrest said, “but we’ve entered an age where more and more Turgonians are literate, and though the education system is designed to create good soldiers and factory workers, not future rebels and anarchists, I think you’ll find that the civilians are ready for a change.” Starcrest nodded toward Books, causing his frown to fade into a thoughtful nod. “If not in this generation, then in the next. Regardless, the common man has always been ready to accept a hero as a leader.”
“But I wouldn’t be a hero,” Sespian said, “I’d be a fraud. We made this problem. For me to come in and supposedly fix it, it wouldn’t be honest.”
“Honesty and politics rarely ride in the same wagon,” Books said.
“You don’t approve of this scheme, do you?” Sespian asked him.
“I… don’t know. It’s not ideal, but I would not fault you for taking advantage of an opportunity.”<
br />
Sespian looked to Sicarius, as if to ask his father for advice, but he must have decided against it, for he stared at his hands instead. Amaranthe checked Sicarius’s face, wondering what advice he might give to his son. Take the chance, or walk away from it all for a safer life? He’d mentioned something along those lines to her once, that he wished he’d taken Sespian away from Raumesys and from the Imperial Barracks, figuring out a way to have him raised as his own man, one who’d have a choice in the careers he picked. She couldn’t read past Sicarius’s mask though, not at this moment.
“Sespian,” Starcrest said, “I’ll not pressure you into a decision, but might I point out that you merely requested the assistance of a military adviser, trusting in him to find a solution to what couldn’t be, given their numbers versus our numbers, anything except guileful?”
“I requested?” Sespian touched his chest.
“Your father did, then.” Starcrest nodded toward Sicarius. “Fathers have been attempting to do what they believe is right for their children since time immemorial. I posit that there’s no blood on your hands here. If there are critics of my methods, I’ll take the blame.”
“Mmm.” Amaranthe touched a finger to her lips and shook her head at Sespian. She thought about signing the rest of her message, but Tikaya didn’t have much trouble reading Basilard’s code. Might as well make her comment public. “If you want the throne, take the credit for this, or at least for hiring the admiral. I suspect… The food isn’t truly gone, nor is the water, and it sounds like the railroad damage is minor. I think this will be seen as a guileful plot, yes, but smartly so. If not next week, when people are feeling duped and affronted, then in the months and years ahead. There’s a reason the Nurians call him foxy, eh?”
One of Starcrest’s gray eyebrows twitched. “Enemy Chief Fox is the phrase they use.” And not, his tone seemed to say, anything so effeminate as “foxy.” At his side, Tikaya lifted her gaze ceiling-ward.
“I concur with Amaranthe,” Books said. “I don’t think the military or the populace will see this as dishonest, not in the long run. Sespian… if you want the throne back—” his lips twisted downward, “—this is your opportunity to have it.”
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