The man’s chin tilted upward, toward the roofs drifting past on the side of the street. “That was amazing. Are you burglars or outlaws? Wait, I’ve seen your face before. You are an outlaw. That female one who runs with Sicarius.”
“Uhm.” Amaranthe lifted her head to check on the soldiers. They were a few blocks behind the trolley now, and she relaxed a bit. “Possibly. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention you saw us.”
“Hm.” The man’s head dropped out of view.
“Was that a hm of assent or a hm, I wonder if there are any enforcers on board?” Amaranthe wondered.
“I think he liked you,” Maldynado said. “Even with the mustache.”
The man’s head reappeared. This time he held a pen and a piece of paper. “Will you sign this, please?” He thrust the page into her hand before she could respond.
Amaranthe found herself looking at her own face. Tack holes dotted the corners of the familiar wanted poster—dear ancestors, were they hanging her likeness in trolleys now? The man waved the pen, a wide grin across his face.
Well, at least he wasn’t threatening to turn them in. She took the pen and signed her name at the bottom. What could it hurt? By this point, any of her enemies who were paying attention knew her team was back in town.
“Thank you!” the man said when she returned the pen and paper.
Maldynado propped himself up on an elbow and touched his hand to his chest. “Do you want my signature?”
The man considered him for a moment, then said, “No, thank you,” and dropped out of view again.
Maldynado sniffed. “How disappointing.”
“Sorry,” Amaranthe said.
Yara rolled her eyes.
The trolley rounded another corner and the lake came into view, frost edging the banks and the pilings on the docks. Their abandoned molasses factory was only a few blocks away.
“Time to get back to work,” Amaranthe said.
“Yes, but in the meantime you—” Maldynado was farther ahead on the rooftop and had to use his toe to nudge Amaranthe, “—should remember that you have options. Just wait until we get Sespian back on the throne and it comes out that you were instrumental in saving his life and putting him there. You’ll have men lined up, hoping for a lot more than signatures. No need to stick with a humorless, glowering assassin.”
“Shall I let him know you said that?” Amaranthe asked.
“Ah, no. That’s not necessary.”
“You are an oaf,” Yara told him.
Chapter 8
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the dusty windows of the molasses factory, gleaming on the brass rails of the catwalks and brightening the cement floor below. Sicarius was perched in the rafters, waiting for Amaranthe to return and observing a knife-fighting practice session led by Basilard. The two new recruits were his students, though one was too injured to do much. When Sespian had walked through a few minutes earlier, he’d joined in. His face set with concentration, he seemed far more determined to learn the skills than he had as a youth. Perhaps he’d decided that he wished the throne back after all, no matter who his father was and how slanted the odds were against them.
One of the side doors squeaked open, and three figures walked inside. Maldynado came last, identifiable, as always, by his swagger, though the emerald-green hat, its band glittering with tiny gems, and armful of shopping bags would have marked him as well. After a second, Sicarius recognized Amaranthe and Yara, too. They were wearing military uniforms, so his first thought had been that Maldynado had been captured and was leading officers to the hideout.
“…supposed to know there was a squad of soldiers standing in the alley?” Maldynado was asking. “You two had gone out that way.”
He, Yara, and Amaranthe headed for the stairs leading to the second-story offices. When Basilard paused and signed a question, Amaranthe waved for him to continue with the training.
“Why didn’t you check before bursting out of the shop?” Yara asked. “The fact that we’d been gone so long should have told you to be wary.”
Sicarius glided along the narrow support beam, heading for the catwalk so he could intercept Amaranthe. He’d been keeping an eye on Curi’s Bakery, and their forged letter had been picked up by a young woman in business attire who’d also collected a box of pastries. Sicarius had followed her to the yacht club. She’d disappeared into a building at the end of one of the docks and hadn’t come out again.
“You weren’t gone that long,” Maldynado said.
“Lokdon was under those racks for eons,” Yara said as the trio climbed the stairs. “I think she forgot she was spying on Ravido and started dusting.”
Sicarius, almost to the landing, paused. How had they chanced across Ravido when they’d gone costume shopping?
“I did not forget that I was spying.” Amaranthe stepped onto the landing and headed for the door of the office she’d claimed.
“You’ll note she’s not denying the dusting,” Maldynado said.
“How can I? It was filthy down there. If I hadn’t cleaned away a few dust balls, I would have sneezed all over your brother’s boots.”
“You say that as if it’d be inappropriate,” Maldynado said.
Sicarius hopped off the beam and landed in front of Amaranthe’s door. Yara jerked in surprise. Maldynado dropped a shopping bag on his foot and cursed. Amaranthe gave him a you-can’t-be-bothered-to-use-the-stairs-eh eyebrow quirk.
“I have news.” Sicarius flicked his gaze at the others. “Private news.” In truth, the news about the letter pickup wasn’t anything that couldn’t be shared, but he wanted to speak to Amaranthe about the meditation training and assumed she would not want to discuss her sleep issues in front of Maldynado and Yara.
“Let me drop off the boss’s bags, if it won’t disturb you terribly.” Maldynado took as wide a route around Sicarius as the confines of the landing would allow.
“Thank you, Maldynado,” Amaranthe said. “Yara, why don’t you grab some lunch, then see if you can find Books and Akstyr? We’ll all need to try on our costumes and discuss our infiltration plans.”
“I don’t see why you’re not planning to take me.” Maldynado gazed soulfully at Yara, as if it’d eat at him like an iraki fungus if he had to be parted from her for a few days.
Yara folded her arms over her chest and returned his soulful gaze with a deadpan stare.
“I told you,” Amaranthe said, “Sespian is going to need our best fighters. Where I’m going… well, if we start playing fisticuffs with Forge, it’ll likely mean we’ve already failed the mission.”
“Guess I’ll take a nice nap until someone needs me then,” Maldynado said, heading for the stairs.
“Actually…” Amaranthe met Sicarius’s eyes. “Are you planning to take Sespian to see General Ridgecrest tonight?”
“Yes.” Sicarius had an inkling of what her next words would be and made his tone forbidding.
“Why don’t you take Maldynado with you?” Amaranthe asked, undeterred by his tone. “If Ridgecrest hasn’t picked a side, Maldynado ought to be able to come up with family gossip to completely discourage the general from falling in with Ravido.”
“You want me to go off alone with him?” Maldynado pointed at Sicarius. “At night?”
“Sespian will be there too,” Amaranthe said. “It’ll be fun. Like a boys’ night out.”
“The proper place for a boys’ night out is a brothel, gambling hall, or drinking house,” Maldynado said. “Not a dark forest with a soul-devouring monster roaming about.”
Sicarius had no interest in taking Maldynado either. Even if his self-aggrandizing babble weren’t grating, Sicarius had been looking forward to an outing alone with Sespian. Without others around to talk to, Sespian should be more likely to talk to him.
“He is disowned,” Sicarius said. “It is unlikely General Ridgecrest will listen to him.”
“Or,” Amaranthe said, lifting a finger, “Maldynado will irritate him so thoro
ughly that Ridgecrest will be doubly certain that no Marblecrest blood should make it onto the throne. Either way would work.”
Maldynado’s wry smile wasn’t triumphant. He’d doubtlessly rather spend the night engaged in coitus with Sergeant Yara.
“Of course, it’ll be up to you to convince Ridgecrest that Sespian is the candidate he wants to side with,” Amaranthe said.
“Me,” Sicarius stated at the same time as Maldynado asked, “Him?”
“You three. As a group.”
“That’ll be a unique conversation,” Yara said.
“I’m confident they can do it,” Amaranthe said.
“All right, all right, I’ll go.” Maldynado sighed dramatically and slouched to the door. “Women,” he muttered. “Might as well put one of them on the throne. They’re the ones running the shop anyway.”
Yara’s hand twitched as she followed him out, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should smack him on the back of the head or pat him on the shoulder for accepting the truth.
Sicarius closed the door. Amaranthe tilted her head, waiting expectantly. Thus far, he’d said nothing about the women’s costumes, but he found his humor piqued by the overlong trousers slumped about her ankles, the sleeves draped to her knuckles, the ill-aligned buttons on the lieutenant’s jacket, and the crooked mustache drooping from her upper lip. Whatever scheme had precipitated the need for what must have been a hasty clothing change, he doubted it had worked as planned.
“I was going to offer to stand guard for you again tonight,” Sicarius said, “but if that’s what you’re wearing, I might be less motivated.”
Amaranthe blinked a few times. Though she was the one encouraging him to develop a playful side, she always seemed surprised when he attempted to make jokes. He could conclude little except that he was inept at it. Practice was required. As with knife throwing and any other skill, he supposed.
“Stand guard?” Amaranthe leaned against the desk, the corners of her lips twitching as she regained her equilibrium. “If that’s what you’re planning to do, then, yes, I’m wearing this. Now, if you wanted to come inside my room and pursue a more active endeavor, I might be persuaded to wear less…” Another woman might have wriggled her hips, touched her chest, or made some otherwise suggestive motion, but Amaranthe looked like she’d gone farther down the road than she’d planned and didn’t know how to finish the journey. Or wasn’t sure if she was ready to.
“Facial hair?” Sicarius suggested.
“Yes.” The relief was evident in her tone, when he responded with a joke rather than… naked interest. She surprised him by crossing the room and wrapping her arms around him.
It was, he sensed, a thank-you-for-understanding hug. He returned it, though he once again wondered how things might be between them now if he hadn’t pushed her away for so long. Pike’s torture would have been devastating regardless of the physicality of their relationship, but perhaps he would have a better idea of how to help. That reminded him of his idea—the meditation.
Sicarius stepped back so he could look into her eyes. “I wish to teach you a Nurian meditation technique. It is useful in finding peace and rest in times when the mind would otherwise be busy.” And filled with memories of old pain and fear of new pain, he added to himself, remembering his own days with Pike. He’d endured pains enough as an adult too. He’d not been caught often during his missions, but there had been a few instances when all his rigorous childhood training had been required to survive, escape, and regain equanimity in the days and months after. As he held Amaranthe’s gaze, he trusted she knew what he meant, even if he left the words unsaid.
Indeed, Amaranthe’s face grew speculative. “This meditation, can it replace sleep?”
“It lessens the need for sleep. I have often found it more restorative than unconscious slumber.”
“And you think I could master it?”
“You may find solace in the study and pursuit,” Sicarius said.
“That’s… a no, right?”
Sicarius responded with the bland stare the question deserved.
“If you’re willing to teach me, I’ll give it a try. Regardless, I…” She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to his chest.
He knew she didn’t intend the lip bite to be alluring, certainly not when she was wearing that lopsided mustache, but he found himself watching it intently. Distractedly.
“I would appreciate it if you stayed with me,” Amaranthe finished. “I know I’m not much… fun right now. Well, maybe a little during the day.” She smiled at some memory. “But at night, uhm, I guess you saw.” She swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “I keep telling myself to forget about it, that it’s over now, and he’s dead, so it’s never going to happen again. But… myself won’t listen. In my mind, I keep reliving… things.”
“I know.” It seemed an inadequate thing to say, but words would do nothing to help her, and it wasn’t in him to utter inanities.
“I know you do.”
Maldynado’s voice, as obnoxious as ever, sounded from downstairs, a lewd comment about the nature of all-male knife-training sessions.
Amaranthe stepped back, returning to the desk. She tugged off the mustache, wincing at the glue’s bite. “This plan of mine, I figure it’ll either be therapeutic—returning to the Behemoth and facing the source of my nightmares—or it’ll destroy me, and I’ll end up curled up in a tight ball under a table, crying out for my father.” She spoke the words nonchalantly, removing the military jacket as she did so, but Sicarius didn’t miss the concern, the naked truth, within them. She truly didn’t know if she’d mentally survive walking those alien corridors again.
He simmered with irritation at the situation. He should go with her, so he could stand at her back if she needed him. But, as she’d said, he couldn’t walk away from Sespian, not with a soul construct stalking the streets. Maybe they could figure out a way to destroy it before Amaranthe left. They’d killed, or at least incapacitated, one before. If they had time to set a trap, they ought to be able to do it again. After that, if they could secure Ridgecrest and, through him, Fort Urgot’s support, Sespian would be in a strong enough position that Sicarius could risk leaving him for a few days. Except what of the letters at the bakery? Worgavic would be expecting this Suan’s arrival soon.
“You’re not saying anything,” Amaranthe noted. “Does that mean you think the worst of those two scenarios is likely?”
“No.” Hoping he wouldn’t regret it, Sicarius added, “Your letter was picked up at the bakery.”
“Ah, good. Then they’ll be expecting Suan Curlev to visit soon. Thank you for the report.” Amaranthe lowered her voice and said, “Let’s hope this isn’t the rope with which I hang myself.”
After he’d been considering similar possibilities, her words slammed into him like arrows striking a bullseye. Emotion was something he’d long ago learned to lock away, knowing it had no place in his work, but he couldn’t deny the surge of concern that welled in his chest.
“You will not hang yourself,” Sicarius said, the words coming out harsher than he wished.
Amaranthe drew back, her brown eyes distressed as she searched his face. “No, I… that’s not the goal certainly. I’ll be careful.”
Sicarius closed his eyes. What was he doing? He needed to batten down his emotions again, but some uncharacteristically impulsive thought stalked into the forefront of his mind: give her a reason to return. He would have shoved the words away, reminding himself that he’d promised to wait for her to initiate physical relations, but she’d responded with interest to the experimental kiss he’d offered on that steamboat. More than interest, he thought, remembering her enthusiasm. If not for those enforcers and their mission…
Sicarius opened his eyes and stepped toward Amaranthe, resting a hand on her waist. Scant inches separated their chests. He lifted his other hand to her face, brushing her cheek, drawing a self-deprecating smirk when he scraped away the remains of the mustache glue. The smirk was a
good sign, he thought. Though she was watching him too, trying to read his intent, he sensed.
As his fingers roamed, he tried to soften his face and gentle his eyes. He had so little experience with it that it took conscious effort. He’d so rarely cared if anyone thought of him as anything except a monster trained to kill. He’d certainly never thought the opinion of a woman would matter. For him, sex had always been a physical release, nothing more. A biological need to be taken care of, nothing bound up in emotions. The need to consider another’s feelings left him less certain than usual, more likely to hesitate, especially now, in the aftermath of Amaranthe’s time with Pike. If in his haste, or even in innocence, he hurt her further, he would not forgive himself. He’d never quite understood why she felt loyal to him, but that loyalty had never wavered, even when it should have, when his methods veered onto different tracks than her morality rode down. So often he’d been on watch, or otherwise observing from the shadows, when she’d spoken on his behalf to the others and, more recently, to Sespian. He’d listened to every word outside that boathouse on Marblecrest Island, and her conviction that he wasn’t a rapist when she had no way of knowing the truth, that Marathi had chosen him… It filled him with—he didn’t know what to call it. Gratitude, he supposed, and an equally deep sense of loyalty toward her. Not even Hollowcrest, for all he’d attempted to indoctrinate loyalty in him, had inspired such devotion from him. The difference between a relationship founded on fear and one based on mutual respect. And love, Amaranthe would say.
“Sicarius?” Her voice broke into a squeak in the middle of his name.
This time his face softened of its own accord, and his lips stretched in a faint smile at the satisfaction her reaction gave him. After her earlier uncertainty, he’d not known if a kiss would be welcome, but he’d been letting his fingers wander as he considered his thoughts, his—yes, he admitted to himself—feelings, and how to approach her. His upper hand had drifted to the back of her neck, and he was massaging the taut muscles, easing the tension bunched there. She’d let her chin droop and was leaning against him. Though their layers of winter clothing stole most of the sensation of having her soft breasts pressed against his chest, he’d seen her naked often enough to have little trouble imagining how they would feel, his flesh against hers. His lower hand had slipped beneath her jacket and his fingers were tracing warm bare skin. Less of a massage and more of a promise in line with his “give her a reason to come back” thought. The ministrations of that hand, he suspected, were responsible for the hitch in her voice.
Forged in Blood I Page 17