As if she could guess his thoughts, Amaranthe paused and gazed up at him. “I’m sorry, I’m dragging you all over the place. Would you prefer to find a nice tree to lurk beside?”
“Perhaps later.”
“I just want to make sure and see everyone before… Akstyr’s leaving in two days. Dear ancestors, I never thought I’d miss the boy, but he’s finally getting interesting.”
“If that is true—” Sicarius didn’t know if he’d go so far as to deem Akstyr interesting, “—then you have made him so.”
Amaranthe leaned against him. “We’ll see them again, right? Basilard and Akstyr? This almost feels like losing Books all over again.”
Sicarius had no way of divining the future, and anything he said would be useless conjecture, so he did not speak. But he wrapped his arms loosely about her, in case that would lend comfort.
Amaranthe turned her head to rest it against his collarbone. “You’re not leaving me anytime soon, are you?”
“No.” He waited until she snuggled close to add, “Who, then, would cut my hair?”
She snorted and swatted him on the chest. “Nobody, and don’t forget it. You look quite dapper today.”
The crunch of footprints alerted Sicarius to others’ approach long before the pair drew close—he’d noted their arrival a few minutes prior in a second steam carriage parked farther down the hill. But at the noise, Amaranthe turned.
“Good day, Deret. And Ms. Curlev. Thank you for coming.”
Mancrest and the Forge woman stood as one with their arms linked, each wearing expensive fur coats snugged up to their necks. Though it seemed Mancrest had found a new love interest, Sicarius couldn’t help but feel pleased that Amaranthe had taken his hand again.
“Of course, Amaranthe,” Mancrest said. “I regret that there wasn’t time to get to know him better. I’m pleased to hear that much of his work is being incorporated into the new constitution.”
“Constitution.” Curlev smiled ruefully. “There’s a notion that’ll take time to grow accustomed to.”
“Are you finding it… if not exactly what Forge wanted, a fairer government paradigm than what we’ve had for the last seven hundred years?” Amaranthe asked.
“Oh, undoubtedly so,” Curlev said. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe this, but I had very little knowledge of what was going on with Forge back here these last ten years. When we were… dreaming it up, it was to be about scholarships to empower entrepreneurs and lobbying for equality for businesses in the eyes of the law. What it became… I’ll regret the loss of so many of my colleagues, of course—” she threw a quick, wary glance at Sicarius, “—but I’m not positive you did the world a disservice.”
Sicarius noticed that Maldynado was still standing in front of Starcrest, gesturing vigorously while Yara stood back and rolled her eyes toward the bare branches of a tree overhead. Squirrels ran across the boughs, no doubt hoping some of these humans had brought food.
Sicarius could guess as to the nature of the words accompanying Maldynado’s gestures. A man recovering from an injury should not have to suffer such inanity. Sicarius squeezed Amaranthe’s hand again before releasing it, then headed over to Starcrest.
“I’m not certain a president, having less absolute power than an emperor, should do something so megalomaniacal as having statues commissioned,” Starcrest was saying when Sicarius drew near.
“What? Of course, you should,” Maldynado said. “Surely, it’s your prerogative to redecorate during your time in office.”
“It’s premature to assume I’ll be the one to take that position, but what exactly would you like redecorated?”
Sicarius stopped behind Maldynado and folded his arms across his chest, trusting him to notice eventually. Starcrest had already acknowledged him with a small wave of his hand—the other hung in a sling across his torso.
“In this case, it’d be more of an initial decorating,” Maldynado said. “We’re building a new government building to replace the Barracks, right? Stumps is known for its statues, however decapitated many of them are. Don’t you think the square in front of this new building will need a sculpture or two? Visitors from all over the world will stop by. You’d want the destination to reflect our culture and our veneration for the heroes of old. And new heroes as well. Perhaps even one of the heroes who helped bring down the pretender emperor. One of the more handsome heroes that is. After all, you wouldn’t want to scare away those tourists by sticking up some dour-faced assassin.”
Yara had noticed Sicarius standing there, and he thought she might warn Maldynado to sew his lips shut, but she merely smirked and waited.
“Not that anyone would think an assassin heroic enough for a statue anyway,” Maldynado said. “People would probably come up in the middle of the night and drape washout paper all over it. Now if you want someone that would invite visitors into the building with a warm smile and a noble pose…”
Maldynado propped one hand on his hip and lifted his other to his forehead as he gazed toward a distant horizon. In turning toward that horizon, he finally noticed Sicarius standing behind him. He skittered backward, and his heel caught on an icy patch. He slapped his arms down, legs coming up in an unarmed combat fall designed to protect the body from injury, but the commotion irritated one of the squirrels overhead, and it fled from its branch. Clumps of snow fell in its wake, one sizable ball landing on Maldynado’s forehead.
“Oh, yes,” Yara chortled. “That’ll make a fine statue.”
Sicarius gazed coolly down at Maldynado. “Washout paper?”
“Er. Uhm. Yes, to polish it of course. To make sure it stays shiny.” Maldynado scrambled to his feet and offered Yara his arm. “My lady, I need to say a few words to my fallen comrade before the pyre lighter comes to free his spirit. Will you join me?”
“I better. Someone has to keep you from offending the spirits of the dead as well as the living.”
“Sicarius,” Starcrest said by way of a greeting when they were alone. Mostly alone. His wife and children stood nearby, talking to some of the other funeral attendees, while Akstyr lurked on the edge of the group, trying to muster the gumption to chat with the younger daughter.
“Sir.” Having only intended to rescue Starcrest from Maldynado, Sicarius hadn’t planned anything grand to say to the admiral. “Have you decided to take the position of president?”
“There’s a vote to be held in a few days, and I understand there are other candidates who are scrambling to make cases for themselves, but the limited time frame will make it difficult for them to become suitably known by the populace.”
“That is good,” Sicarius said. “You are what Turgonia needs now.”
“Hm. That’ll remain to be seen. At least Tikaya has allowed that a few years living here wouldn’t be the worst fate in the world. Either that or she feels guilty about objecting to living in Turgonia after I spent all these years in her homeland. Not much of a sacrifice admittedly. A very pleasant island once the people get over wanting to kill you. We will have to watch the girls carefully here. Imperial men are more forthright than Kyattese men, and I don’t tower so fearsomely over people here, insomuch as you can tower fearsomely once all your hair turns gray.”
Sicarius did not know how to respond to this effusion of familial material. He wondered if Starcrest would like to discuss one of his texts on strategies or perhaps new work that had been published in the field. Sicarius hadn’t found time to keep up to date this last year, but he’d been reading most of the publications by notable military professors and field officers before then. Would it be rude to suggest a detour in the conversation? He’d never cared about inflicting rudeness upon people before, but Starcrest was different.
“You seemed chipper at the state funeral this morning,” the admiral said.
Sicarius stared. “Chipper.”
“By your standards. There was an uncharacteristic springiness to your step.”
This was not the new course of conve
rsation Sicarius had had in mind. Further, he found it disheartening that others had so easily read his mood. He’d kept his face neutral, as always, but springy steps? He’d never had to worry about such betrayals from his body before.
“Do I gather that you and your lady have found yourselves, after due consideration, as compatible as you’d hoped?”
Sicarius supposed he couldn’t respond with a question of his own along the lines of, “Sir, did you read Earnestcrest’s paper on insurgencies and counter-insurgencies, and did it influence your decisions at all as you sought to take control of the capital?” Instead he reverted to his simple, “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent,” Starcrest said. “What are your plans going forward? I regret that it may be difficult to place you in employment to the thro—presidency, if that is something you desire. At least for a time. Your work for Flintcrest, however inadvertent, did add once again to your notoriety, and the general population will not understand the concept of being under a practitioner’s control.”
“I understand. I had thought to take a break—” Sicarius glanced at Amaranthe, who seemed to be getting along fine with Mancrest and the Forge woman, “—a vacation regardless.”
Starcrest smiled. “I thought that might be the case.” With his good hand, he fished in his pocket, jangling something as he pulled it out. “Allow me to facilitate.”
“Sir?” Sicarius held his hand out when Starcrest made it clear he wished to give away the item.
A set of keys dropped into his palm. “Corporal Lokdon knows where it’s berthed. You’ll need to requisition some supplies and remove my daughter’s… collections—and please take care not to kill anything she has caged, cached, or otherwise netted up in there. There’s a technical manual full of operating instructions—I have a Kyattese gentleman to thank for that, as they insist on documenting everything over there—and I’m confident that you’ll be able to master them quickly. Take as long as you like out there. There’s a journal penned in Tikaya’s hand that points out some of our favorite spots along with their latitude and longitude. Do read the entries before deciding on one. A handful would be suitable for… vacationing, but some are favorite spots because of the archaeologically significant finds she located there, beaches full of cannibals wearing finger-bone necklaces not withstanding. Ah, but I’m rambling. You’ll figure it out on your own.” He patted Sicarius on the shoulder and headed toward the bier, where more people were gathering in preparation for the ceremony.
Sicarius stared at the keys in his hand, the meaning of the admiral’s monologue sinking in.
“What’s that?” Sespian asked, walking up.
“I believe it is… a vacation.” Huh. They wouldn’t even need to find a remote beach to take advantage of privacy. Simply descend ten meters in any lake or sea, and who would bother them?
“For you and Amaranthe? That’s good. She could use it for sure.”
Sicarius lifted his head. “Only her?”
Sespian eyed the scar at his temple. “I’d say you, too, but do you even know how to… vacation?”
“I will learn. She will help me.”
“Good. Ah, how long do you think you’ll be gone?”
Sicarius wondered if that meant Sespian would miss him and wanted him to return eventually. “I do not know.”
“It’s just that I talked to Rias, and mentioned that I’d had a position in mind for Amaranthe. That diplomatic spot.”
Rias? Sespian was calling Fleet Admiral Starcrest by his first name? How much time had they spent together while Sicarius had been… unable to return?
“Do you think she’ll want it?” Sespian asked. “If Starcrest is elected, he said it’d be simple enough. He has a few contemporaries in mind for positions, but agrees that some young blood would be healthy.” The way Sespian smiled suggested he’d been the one to point this out.
“I do not know if she wishes to remain,” Sicarius said. “We have not discussed much beyond the vacation.”
“Do you actually do that?” Sespian asked.
“What?”
“Discuss. You’re often… monosyllabic.”
“She discusses enough for both of us.”
“Ah.”
“Are you remaining in the capital?” Sicarius asked, wondering if Sespian, too, sought a position or if he wanted a break from government. Sespian had launched a few speculative gazes toward Starcrest’s oldest daughter.
“For a while,” Sespian said. “It’s strange though, that I don’t have a place to live now. Or any money. Or a job. I hope Trog’s last couple of months roaming free in the Barracks have prepared him for a life of scraps instead of choice kitchen treats.”
“What happened to the money you paid us for your kidnapping?”
“Oh, Amaranthe was good about toting it around—we’d figured we might need it to buy weapons and bribe troops—and she had it stored in a safe nook in the factory. I understand the molasses flood rather thoroughly took out bedrolls, rucksacks, and suitcases of ranmyas.”
“It’s on the bottom of the lake?”
“Most likely,” Sespian said. “And encased in a sticky goo.”
Sicarius wondered how deep Starcrest’s submarine could descend. He doubted Sespian cared overmuch about the money, but retrieving it might prove a good training exercise, a chance to learn the boat’s capabilities.
Sespian noticed someone’s wave and started walking toward the bier. The director had come with a lantern and the oil-doused lighting torch. They were ready to begin.
Sicarius thought about finding a tree to lean against, but Amaranthe, standing with Tikaya and Yara, met his eyes across the bier. There was no request or demand in them, but he thought he read a hint of vulnerability. Maybe he simply wanted her to need him. Either way, he chose to walk over and stand beside her before the pile of logs and branches arranged, as was tradition, in the shape of a shield. Bearers laid Books’s body across the wood, as a fallen warrior might once have been carried off the battlefield on his shield.
Though Sicarius watched, he was also aware of Sespian coming to stand beside him. They listened in silence as the director spoke at length of Marl “Books” Mugdildor, pulling up information from his past that Sicarius hadn’t known. He wondered if Amaranthe had given the history to the director, or if he’d researched independently.
“Who will speak before his spirit is sent into the next world?”
Akstyr mumbled, “He saved my life,” but shifted uncomfortably under everyone’s gazes and didn’t say anything further.
Maldynado stepped forward, removing a sedate beaver fur cap and pressing it to his chest. “Books was the sort to harass you with lectures, but I think it was because he was stuck in a situation where he didn’t know how to interact with any of us uneducated louts, and he did the best he could. I wish he’d surviv…” Maldynado’s fingers curled into a fist. “Cursed ancestors, Books, what’s wrong with you? Why couldn’t you have made it another night? Another hour? We were almost done with every—” He broke off, blinked rapidly, then brought the fist to his chest in a salute and bowed. More softly, he said, “Goodbye, Booksie.”
Maldynado stepped back. Yara took his hand, and they leaned against each other.
After a silent moment, during which Amaranthe and a few others wiped their eyes, Basilard stepped forward. He nodded to Amaranthe and she translated his words for those who didn’t understand the signs.
Though fate forced him down a road on which he reluctantly turned himself into a warrior, Books had the heart of a peaceful man. He would have been liked and honored among my people. Perhaps one day, Mangdoria as well Turgonia will benefit from the documents he constructed.
When Amaranthe translated the mention of Mangdoria, Basilard lifted his head, meeting Starcrest’s eyes. They must have discussed Basilard’s issues at some point, for Starcrest returned the nod. The idea of the number of deals, negotiations, and overseer duties waiting for the admiral, assuming he took office, was enough to make
Sicarius glad nobody would put his name on a ballot for anything. He’d rather go through the rest of his life with that bounty on his head than spend a year in charge of a nation.
Amaranthe stepped away from his side to speak at the head of the bier. “I regret that Books—Marl—didn’t live to see his work adopted or the results that we as a team fought so hard for this last year. It’s been a far bloodier resolution than any of us would have wished, but I have hope that the future will be a good one, one that will make our sacrifices—his sacrifice—worth it.” She wiped her eyes again and took a deep breath before continuing. “I wish he’d known more happiness in his life, but I hope his spirit will find a peaceful rest with the awareness that he made a difference. Losing his son always plagued his heart, and one of his biggest regrets, he once told me, was that his last words to Enis were harsh. It ate at him that he didn’t get a chance to say, ‘I love you’ one last time before his son’s loss. I hope that they’ll find each other and make amends in the afterworld.”
Basilard shifted his weight, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Sicarius found it odd that a people could deny the belief in deities, magic, and other mysticism, but had no trouble accepting that the human spirit was eternal and lived on in some everlasting incarnation. Perhaps the other things weren’t required for the sanity of the human mind, but the idea of mortality being final was too depressing a concept to accept for those who inevitably drew closer to such an end themselves.
He noticed Sespian watching him, but when he turned to make eye contact, Sespian lowered his gaze.
“Does anyone else wish to speak?” the director asked.
Those who had not known Books that long or that well deferred. Maldynado, Amaranthe, and Basilard all looked at Sicarius though. They expected him to speak? What would he say? No words could change the fact that Books was dead, nor did he require some ceremony to accept a person’s passing.
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