The Emperor's Edge (a high fantasy mystery in an era of steam)

by Lindsay Buroker

  * * * * *

  The pair of steam carriages waiting down the block from the scrapyard featured modifications Amaranthe had never seen: massive caterpillar treads instead of wheels. The vehicles stretched longer than usual with room to seat more than a dozen men.

  Accompanied by two guards and a driver, Arbitan and Larocka took one steam carriage. The other fifteen guards clambered into the second, forcing Amaranthe and her men to join them. The closed passenger area had a single barred window in the door. Getting in was like crawling into a cave. Or a dungeon cell.

  Once her captors shoved her into a seat, Amaranthe found herself facing the scarred security leader. Basilard, Arbitan had called him.

  The modified machine easily climbed the steep, icy hills out of the industrial neighborhood. Nobody spoke. The rumble and hiss of the vehicle reverberated through the carriage. Despite the large interior, the number of broad, muscled people made scratching one’s nose difficult. Escape seemed even more unlikely. Amaranthe avoided looking at her men. She felt too ashamed. She had failed them. She had failed the emperor. And she had failed herself.

  Stop it. We’re not giving up yet. She had not given up when she was dying in the Imperial Barracks’ dungeon, and she would not give up now.

  Amaranthe lifted her chin and met Basilard’s eyes. A few guards held lanterns, and their light bounced off the wood-paneled walls, providing enough illumination to see his face. His cool blue eyes studied her in turn. Occasionally imperial citizens possessed light-colored eyes, but the paleness of his skin promised no conquering Turgonians had waltzed through his bloodline. An imported slave. Was he one still, or had Arbitan granted him his freedom?

  “Were you a pit fighter, Basilard?” she asked.

  He nodded once after apparently deciding the question posed no security risk.

  “How does that system work? Do you all train together until it’s time to entertain the wealthy gamblers? Then you’re dumped into a situation where you have to kill the other fellow?” She remembered the reluctance of the fighters she had seen in the pit. Also, she remembered Basilard’s chagrin at being the one who provided knives to arm them.

  He nodded again.

  “Ever have to kill someone who was a friend?” she asked. “Or who could have been, if things had been different?”

  He looked at the floor. Yes.

  Maldynado nudged her. “What are you talking to him for? Look at his neck. It’s all scarred up. I bet he can’t even talk back.”

  Basilard shot an icy glare at him. Amaranthe gave Maldynado a briefer stop-talking look.

  “I’ve recently had something like that happen myself,” Amaranthe said to Basilard, drawing his gaze back to her. She tried to ignore the large, muscled audience looking on. “A friend died because of a choice I made. Just because someone else manipulated the encounter doesn’t take away my responsibility for that person’s death, a person who didn’t deserve it. I might as well have killed him myself.” Thinking of Wholt, she did not have to feign the thick emotion in her voice. “It was the same with you, wasn’t it? Because of a natural instinct for self-preservation, you made the decision to take another’s life so that you could live. Probably more than once.” She eyed his scars. “A lot more than once. That kind of guilt is hard to carry. The only thing you can do now is make sure you do something worthwhile with your days, make a difference, justify your survival.”

  One of the guards snorted. “Want me to shut her up, boss?”

  Basilard made a few gestures with his hands. Amaranthe could not tell if it represented a language or simply some code he had worked out with his men. Either way, the guard shrugged and sat back.

  The steam carriage trundled to a stop before Amaranthe could finish her attempts to sway Basilard. Two guards grabbed her arms and shoved her into the night. Manhandled in a similar manner, her comrades followed.

  The back of the Forge mansion loomed, the crenellated roof dark against the starry sky. Icicles hung from the gutters like daggers. Piles of snow framed a driveway, and gravel crunched as they walked toward the house.

  The guards hustled Amaranthe and her men through drab utility hallways, down stairs, and into an unfamiliar part of the mansion. She watched for escape possibilities, but Arbitan must have ordered the entire contingent of men to accompany them. Even if her hands had been unbound and her team armed, the odds would have made a confrontation suicidal. Force would not free them.

  Amaranthe maneuvered herself close to Basilard as they descended another staircase into a windowless hallway with a concrete floor.

  “Emperor Sespian is a good man,” she said. “You would be able to see that if Hollowcrest wasn’t keeping him drugged. He wants to help people—workers, not wealthy business elitists. If he knew about the pit fights, he would put a stop to them.”

  Basilard halted. Amaranthe watched him hopefully, but he merely pushed open a heavy oak door. A black cell gaped before her. He gave a curt gesture, the meaning clear.

  Amaranthe entered but turned to face the hallway as soon as she passed the threshold. While Maldynado and the others slouched in, she tried one last time.

  “If you don’t do anything to stop Arbitan, you’ll be as guilty as he is for killing the first Turgonian leader to care about strengthening relations with other nations instead of destroying them. Arbitan, Larocka, and their figurehead of an emperor will bring dark and corrupt times. Can you live with yourself, knowing you’ll be a part of that?”

  The door closed in her face, plunging the cell into blackness.

  “Apparently you can,” Amaranthe muttered.

  “I think you were closer in the carriage,” Books said. “You sounded less...desperate.”

  “Thanks for the critique.”

  “This chews rat balls,” Akstyr announced.

  “I concur,” Books said.

  “Sorry, fellows,” Amaranthe said. “My plan was...fanciful at best, it seems.”

  “I believe Hollowcrest was ready to negotiate,” Books said. “Larocka, too, appeared worried. Arbitan was the one who was less concerned than he should have been at the prospect of losing his fortune.”

  “I know.” She shuffled around the cell and located—by thumping her knee painfully into it—a bench set into the wall opposite the door. “I thought maybe Arbitan was a Turgonian who had studied the mental sciences on trips to Nuria, but I had it backwards. He’s got to be a cursed Nurian wizard posing as an imperial businessman. That’s why he wouldn’t care about the money; devaluing our currency would only help Nuria. He must have infiltrated the business class and wooed Larocka into giving him a voice with Forge. He’s probably been spying for his government for the last year, maybe more.” Amaranthe stared into the darkness in the general direction of the floor. “What if he wants to kill the emperor and put a figurehead on the throne, not because he wants a leader who’s sympathetic to capitalist interests but because his government wants someone who can be manipulated into working for them, maybe even helping to set up an invasion? The Nurians might not hate us as much as the Kendorians or other nations we’ve conquered, but they would certainly gain a lot from our fall. Imagine their magic combined with our technology. They could control the world.”

  “That’s all supposition,” Books said. “Just because that crossbow quarrel didn’t strike him down doesn’t prove he’s a wizard with magical powers.”

  “Sure, it does,” Akstyr said. “That’s why I shot him.”

  Amaranthe shifted on the cold bench, turning toward his voice. “You fired the bolt?”

  “I thought it might catch him with his guard down, but even if it didn’t, it’d show everyone he was a wizard.”

  “A daring effort,” she said, surprised at his initiative.

  “Besides, Scar Head and his goons had me surrounded and were about to pounce on me,” Akstyr added.

  “Ah.” Amaranthe leaned back. She could feel the iciness of the brick wall through her hair. “How do you kill a wizard, Akstyr? If he
can deflect crossbow quarrels without even lifting a hand...”

  “Aside from creatures and tools you can make with the mental sciences, actual spells only last so long as you can keep thinking about them. Break his concentration and you can break his armor. Of course, he’ll feel pretty safe and free to concentrate so long as his soul construct is around, so you better plan on killing that first.”

  “And how does one kill a soul construct?” Books asked.

  “I dunno. I don’t think you do.”

  “Akstyr, you can’t suggest a plan of action that’s impossible to implement,” Amaranthe said.

  “I can’t? I didn’t know that was a rule.”

  “Women like to make up rules to befuddle you,” Maldynado said. “It’s part of living in their world. Get used to it.”

  “Give me some ideas, Akstyr,” Amaranthe said, ignoring Maldynado.

  “Well, you could probably kill it with powerful magic,” Akstyr said. “Once created, they’re very strong though. Even their makers can barely control them.”

  “Why would a wizard make something he couldn’t control?” Amaranthe asked.

  “The wizards can control them. Sort of. Soul constructs obey basic commands like ‘go kill that man’ or ‘watch my back while I work,’ but they’re made from the owner’s mind. Well, his soul, if you believe in that. They end up with the same temperaments as their creators, only they don’t know about laws and stuff. They’re just...”

  “Creatures possessing all the evil of man without any of the restraints society places on us?” Books suggested.

  “I guess,” Akstyr said. “They’ll obey their creator’s orders, but they’ll do it their own way.”

  “Sounds like Sicarius,” Books said.

  “Sounds much worse,” Amaranthe said. “Sicarius may have been trained to put pragmatism ahead of feelings, but I think he’s fairly innocuous as long as you don’t get in his way. To be honest, he seems kind of mellow to me.”

  Maldynado snorted.

  Akstyr snorted.

  Books had the audacity to say, “For the first time, I think you’re letting your feminine side blind you. You’re romanticizing him.”

  Amaranthe blushed. “Fine.” How had they gotten on this subject? “You don’t have to agree with me on that. I’m more concerned about Arbitan and this creature at the moment.”

  “Maybe you could sway Larocka to help us,” Books said. “If she knew what Arbitan was, would she still support him? If she’s a native-born Turgonian, you’d think she would feel more loyalty to the empire.”

  “I don’t know.” Amaranthe shrugged. “Arbitan is a handsome man, and they seem...close.”

  “How could she fall for a slimy Nurian wizard?” Maldynado asked.

  “Even an intelligent woman can be taken in by a pretty smile,” Amaranthe said.

  “Really?” Maldynado asked. “Because every time I try my pretty smile on you, you put me on watch or give me work.”

  “Not now, Maldynado,” she said. “Let’s focus.”

  “Been wondering if I should be looking for a girl for you,” Maldynado grumbled.

  Akstyr snickered.

  “Perhaps her interests are simply elsewhere,” Books said. “Remember, she thinks Sicarius is mellow.”

  “Mellow,” Maldynado said. “Oh, sure. Throw a girl in his bed, and he’d probably start doing push-ups on her breasts.”

  The snickers intensified to guffaws, and not just from Akstyr.

  “I’m glad everyone’s enjoying this dungeon bonding time,” Amaranthe said, “since we’re probably going to be tortured to death in a few hours.”

  That stilled their guffaws. Silence descended on the cell. Amaranthe was glad for the darkness, since her cheeks felt a tad warm again.

  “Think there’s any chance of Sicarius coming to break us out?” Akstyr asked.

  Amaranthe felt a similar hope, but... “Now that we’ve executed the plan and failed, he has no reason to risk himself for us. It would be more logical for him to try something on his own, and he is nothing if not logical.”

  Maldynado snorted. “Why don’t you just say we’re of no more use to him, so he’s leaving us to be tortured?”

  “I think I did say that. Regardless, we’re going to have to get out of here ourselves.” Amaranthe stood up and groped around. If she could find a puddle of water or something slippery, maybe she could loosen her bonds. “Anyone have any ideas?” She bumped into somebody’s head.

  “Certainly,” Maldynado said from beneath her. “Come sit on my lap and we’ll discuss them.”

  She paused thoughtfully.

  “Amaranthe.” Books sounded scandalized at her silence. “Please assure me you’re not considering succumbing to this troglodyte’s advances.”

  “Well,” she said, “I was debating the merits of certain fluids as a means of loosening ropes, but let’s, ah, explore other possibilities first.”

  Footsteps sounded beyond the door. Frowning, Amaranthe turned. She had hoped they would have longer.

  The lock thunked as a key turned in it. She shuffled forward, tensing to spring if an opportunity arose.

  The door swung open. Basilard stood in the hallway. Alone.

  Amaranthe held her breath, barely daring to hope. She studied his face, searched the eyes behind all those scars.

  Basilard pulled a knife from one of numerous sheaths. Maldynado jumped in front of her, lowered into a defensive crouch.

  Never breaking gazes with Basilard, Amaranthe stepped to the side and extended her arms. He carefully sliced through the ropes and waved her into the hallway. After an indecisive pause, he cut Maldynado’s bonds as well. Books and Akstyr lined up for the same treatment. As soon as they were free, the men charged for the stairs. Amaranthe hesitated.

  Basilard lowered his knife and stared forlornly at the shreds of rope on the floor. Surely, his choice tonight had condemned him. Originally, Amaranthe had only hoped to talk him into freeing them. After his act of kindness, she felt compelled to see him to safety. But then, she was not going anywhere safe.

  “Do you want to come with us?” she asked.

  He rotated his head, turning sad blue eyes on her. He shrugged ambivalently but followed when she headed for the door.

  They caught up to the others on the floor above where the stairs bisected a hallway. Books and Maldynado had stopped to argue.

  “The exit is this way.” Maldynado pointed one direction.

  “We can’t just leave; we have to do something.” Books pointed the other way.

  “I am doing something,” Maldynado said. “I’m leaving.”

  Amaranthe pushed past them and into the hall leading deeper into the house. She was surprised when all of the men followed.

  “Do you know where we can find Larocka?” she whispered to Basilard. “I just want to talk to her, see if she’ll reveal what’s been set into place as far as the emperor’s assassination.”

  Basilard lifted a shoulder but took the lead.

  The group climbed a dark staircase and entered a short hallway. At one end, black night pressed against a frost-rimmed window. They had reached the ground level. A door marked the other end of the hall. The sound of voices and a staccato of footfalls came from behind it.

  Surely, their escape couldn’t have been detected already.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Amaranthe whispered to Basilard.

  He shook his head.

  She eased the door open and peered into a vast, dimly lit kitchen. When she spotted no one, she led the men inside. They passed multiple fireplaces and stoves. Storage bins, mixing bowls, and giant cauldrons cluttered rows of tile counter tops. On the other side of the kitchen, light leaked under a second door. The voices grew more pronounced as Amaranthe neared it. Though she could not make out words, a definite urgency edged them. Different speakers seemed to be moving in and out of the area.

  When she hesitated, Basilard moved past her and slipped through the swinging door. She
hoped that meant he was bringing back information. In the meantime, she considered looking for another staircase leading up, since the one she had used on her previous visit was in the midst of the commotion. Although, if something important was happening on the ground floor, Arbitan and Larocka would likely be the middle of it.

  Amaranthe cracked the door and peered through. Someone blurred past her narrow angle of vision.

  A loud crunch came from behind and she jumped. The door swung closed and almost smacked her on the nose. She turned to find Maldynado eating, practically in her ear.

  She glared at him.

  “What?” Maldynado stuck a hand out, displaying a row of crackers. “You want one?”

  Books grabbed the crackers out of Maldynado’s hand. “This is not the time for snacking.”

  “This could be my last meal,” Maldynado said.

  “And you chose crackers?” Akstyr said around a full mouth.

  They turned to find him noshing on a piece of frosting-drenched cake.

  “Oh, excellent,” Maldynado said. “Is there more?”

  Amaranthe leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door jamb. Maybe she should have asked Basilard to leave them in the cell.

  Basilard reentered, clutching a pen and paper. He scrawled a note:

  Hollowcrest brought a shaman to break through the wards and has surrounded the house with a company of soldiers. He is waiting to negotiate with Arbitan in the Upstairs Parlor.

  “What about Larocka?” Amaranthe asked.

  More scrawling. No one knows.

  “We could escape in the chaos,” Books pointed out.

  “Probably, but where does that leave us?” Amaranthe asked.

  “It leaves us escaped,” Akstyr muttered.

  “And the emperor still in danger.” She turned back to Basilard. “Would it be possible to spy on the meeting in the parlor without being seen?”

  Basilard’s hand rocked in a ‘maybe’ motion.

  “Let’s try.”

  Basilard found a lantern, led them back to the hall behind the kitchen, and eventually to a spiral staircase. Two floors up, they entered a series of attached rooms and a closet that turned out to be a secret entrance to a narrow passage. Dust-cloaked and cobweb-draped, it twisted through the house like an abandoned mine shaft. Amaranthe pinched her nose to stave off sneezes.

  Basilard stopped at a wall comprised of wide wood panels. He put a finger to his lips for silence. He slipped a knife into a seam in the wall, then turned down the lantern. Blackness swallowed the passage, but the seam soon expanded as he eased the panels apart a couple inches.

  Amaranthe pressed her face to the gap.

  Hollowcrest stood by a large window, looking out at something—his troops perhaps. Gaming tables, sofas, and club chairs stood between him and the secret entrance. Kerosene lamps illuminated his side of the room, but no lights brightened the back half, and Amaranthe hoped she could observe without drawing attention.

  No one else occupied the parlor yet, and only the crackle of a wood fire in a hearth on the far wall broke the silence.

  Amaranthe chewed on her lip. Maybe she should talk to him, see if she could turn him into a temporary ally. He had men, a magic user, and every reason to want to stop Arbitan and Larocka.

  A dark figure stepped out of the shadows behind the main door. Sicarius.

  Amaranthe twitched with surprise. Hollowcrest, still facing the window, did not notice the movement. Sicarius glided around the furniture and stopped on a shaggy rug in front of the fire. His reflection appeared against the dark window. Hollowcrest’s startled jump was impressively high considering his advanced years.

  “Sicarius,” he blurted.

  Hands clasped behind his back, Sicarius regarded him without expression. Back to the fireplace, he had positioned himself so he faced Hollowcrest, yet kept the other door within view.

  “Where have you been?” Hollowcrest said. “Didn’t you get my message? Did you know what that enforcer girl was doing? Why didn’t you kill her when I sent her to you? Never mind. That’s not important now. It’s good that you’re here. Forge must be eliminated. I want the whole insidious group terminated, Arbitan in particular.”

  Amaranthe felt hope that Sicarius had not run straight to Hollowcrest after receiving that letter. Whatever the exact nature of their estrangement was, it seemed Hollowcrest’s promise of forgiveness had not alleviated it. She wondered who had originally broken whose trust.

  “I do not work for you anymore,” Sicarius said.

  Good.

  Hollowcrest patted the air. “Just because we had a...disagreement a few years ago doesn’t mean we don’t still need you. I’ll drop the charges Sespian placed on your head, remove the bounty. The boy won’t be a problem.”

  “Yes,” Sicarius said softly. “I understand you’ve been drugging him.”

  “All we need you to do is help with Forge,” Hollowcrest said. “And then it’ll be as it once was. Simple, efficient times where the—”

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Sicarius vaulted over a sofa, landed without a sound, and blended into the shadows behind the door again. When Arbitan entered, he gave no indication of realizing Sicarius was in the room.

  “Hollow.” Arbitan poured a glass of brandy from a decanter. “I thought I told you to get out of the city.”

  “I don’t take orders from common-born sewer rats.”

  “Common. I assure you, I am anything but—where I come from.” Arbitan sniffed the brandy, took a sip, and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. He did not offer Hollowcrest a glass. “You’ve brought quite a few soldiers with you, I see. Wherever did you find a shaman gifted enough to slip your men past my wards?”

  “You forced this on yourself,” Hollowcrest said. “Did you really think I would stand aside and let you replace my emperor and dictate policy for Turgonia?”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t plan for your every contingency?” Arbitan smiled, a frigid smile that sent a chill through Amaranthe even though she was not the recipient. “This house is protected by more than wards.”

  The creature.

  “Your shaman is insignificant, and your army will not survive the night,” Arbitan said.

  Hollowcrest snorted. “You’re bluffing. There’s no—”

  Outside, someone screamed.

  “Run!” multiple voices cried.

  The smiling, superior expression that branded Arbitan’s face left little doubt to who was responsible.

  Hollowcrest turned back to the window. His fingers came up and pressed against the glass, and his jaw dropped. More screams pierced the walls of the house, cries of pain and terror. Amaranthe’s stomach sank. Without looking, she knew what carnage Hollowcrest witnessed.

  Curses in a foreign language rose over the din. The voice switched to screams, which broke off abruptly.

  “Oops, was that your shaman?” Arbitan asked.

  “What is that...thing?” Hollowcrest demanded.

  “A pet.” Arbitan sipped from his glass. “I instructed it to eat your shaman first, but it’ll chase down and slay all your men shortly.”

  Amaranthe wondered if this might be the best time to make a move. The creature was distracted, and Arbitan might not be prepared for an assault. Too bad the guards had taken her team’s weapons.

  She scanned the room, searching for inspiration. Her gaze landed on the shadows by the door. Maybe if she charged out of the hidden passage, it would distract Arbitan—break the concentration he needed to weave his defenses—and Sicarius could sink a knife into his back. Of course, it might also see her incinerated by wizard fire or whatever magic Arbitan could throw.

  She had to take the risk.

  Only Sicarius’s eyes moved, watching the interplay between the two men. She willed him to look her direction, but as Arbitan lifted his glass again, seemingly oblivious to any threat, Sicarius blurred into motion.

  One of his throwing knives whirled toward Arbitan’s back
, and a second weapon appeared in his hand instantly. He raised his arm, poised to strike again.

  Arbitan was not as defenseless as he appeared. Like the crossbow quarrel, the knife stopped before it sank into his torso.

  It bounced away as if it had struck a stone wall and landed on the plush carpet with a soft thump. Amaranthe sagged against the panel. She, too, had hoped he wouldn’t have his defenses up here, in his sanctuary.

  Sicarius’s arm drooped. He did not throw the second knife.

  “Your pet is not as effective as mine, Hollow,” Arbitan purred. He glanced over his shoulder. “Come out of the shadows, assassin.” Arbitan turned his head to look at Amaranthe. “And the escaped prisoners lurking in the passage may as well come out too. Along with my treasonous Basilard.”

  Scuffles of surprise sounded behind Amaranthe. After recovering from the shock of being discovered, she considered fleeing instead of obeying, but Arbitan’s sure gaze conveyed the futility of such an action. She pushed the panels farther apart and stepped into the parlor. Her team slunk after her. Basilard hung his head like a beaten hound.

  Arbitan pointed for the group to join Sicarius.

  Amaranthe ended up in front of the fireplace, its burning logs warming her back. Hollowcrest stared out the window doing nothing useful. She felt a stirring of disgust; he could at least try to barter for the lives of his men.

  And what am I doing that’s so helpful?

  She eyed a set of fireplace tools next to the hearth. Maybe she could still provide the distraction that would lower Arbitan’s defenses. Her hand drifted toward the poker.

  “Well, my dear.” Arbitan’s gaze pinned her and she froze. “The counterfeit money would have been fun to play with, but you’re too troublesome to keep around.” His eyes flickered toward Basilard and back to her. “You’d probably subvert the torturer I sent to interrogate you.”

  Amaranthe swallowed. She recognized a death sentence by now. Time to take a chance.

  She grabbed the poker and leapt for the wizard.

  And was flattened to the floor. The rug mashed her cheek. It felt as if the ceiling had fallen on her, compressing her torso, her head, and every limb. She could scarcely breathe.

  The poker pulled free from her hand and returned to its place amongst the tool set.

  Out of the bottom of her eye, she saw her comrades similarly flattened. All except Sicarius. He was on one knee, knuckles pressed against the floor.

  Fight it! Amaranthe wished she could. She exerted every muscle, trying to press her chest up from the floor. She couldn’t budge.

  Sicarius managed to rise from his knees, though his back bowed from the effort. Jaw clenched, face reddened, he glared at Arbitan and inched higher.

  She needed to help him. Somehow.

  Amaranthe stopped struggling. It was getting her nowhere, and if Sicarius were rising on muscle strength alone, Maldynado, with his powerful bulk, should have been able to force himself up as well. This was a mental battle, she realized, remembering Sicarius’s history lesson on the Hunters. Too bad she had no such training to call upon. Suspecting the effort in vain, she tried to will herself up.

  Sicarius staggered forward a step. Amaranthe sensed the wave of force lessening around her as Arbitan shifted more of his focus toward Sicarius. She wished she could see the wizard’s face. Was he tiring? At least sweating a bit?

  She closed her eyes and imagined herself swimming in the lake during the summer. She slipped under the surface and stroked to the depths, cutting through the water’s resistance with ease. Her head inched off the carpet. Her shoulders and neck trembled under the weight. In her mind, she skimmed along the lake bottom, algae-slick pebbles passing beneath her. Then she angled for the surface, and the buoyant water carried her toward the sunlight. She wedged one elbow under her chest to prop her torso up, and then, with a gargantuan effort, lunged to the side and grabbed a burning brand from the fireplace.

  Embers seared her flesh. The pain gave her a jolt of energy, and she used it to hurl the log.

  It sailed at Arbitan’s head. He threw his arm up reflexively, and in that instant his magic dissipated.

  Amaranthe surged to her feet in time to see Sicarius ram a dagger into Arbitan’s chest. It glided between the ribs and pierced vital organs. Shock widened Arbitan’s eyes and stole the arrogant smile from his face. He crumpled to the ground, fingers clutching uselessly at the dagger hilt.

  Amaranthe slumped against the fireplace mantel. Sicarius looked at her.

  “Good to see you,” she said.

  His mask had returned, but he inclined his head. “I believe he is an undercover Nurian wizard, sent by their government to create chaos and plant a compliant heir on the throne.”

  “Amaranthe figured that out in the dungeon.” Maldynado sent a smug look at Books.

  “Really.” Sicarius regarded Amaranthe with...respect?

  She bit her lip to hide her smile.

  “Excellent work, Sicarius,” Hollowcrest crooned. “As expected. You were always invaluable. Good to have you back. Arbitan was the most dangerous, but I’ll need someone to remove the remnants of Forge. That Larocka woman is a pest as well.”

  Amaranthe frowned at the old man. Did he think Sicarius had killed Arbitan for him?

  “Sicarius, you can’t help Hollowcrest,” Books said. “He’s the one who had my son killed. Amaranthe says—”

  “Amaranthe says?” Hollowcrest snorted. “Sicarius doesn’t take orders from street trollops. He’s always worked for the throne—” Hollowcrest nodded at Sicarius, “—and he will again.”

  “Perhaps so,” Sicarius said, inscrutable.

  His agreement gave Amaranthe a horrified start, until she realized “the throne” meant Sespian these days.

  “The first thing I’ll need you to do is eliminate these witnesses,” Hollowcrest said. “We don’t want the papers sensationalizing this debacle.” He prodded Arbitan, who still twitched on the floor.

  Despite the mortal wound, Arbitan was slow dying. His mouth kept opening and closing, as if he was trying to utter one last snide comment. Amaranthe hoped he could not use his power to somehow heal himself. Surely, all that pain provided the ultimate distraction.

  Nobody else paid Arbitan any heed. Books watched the two men, teeth clamped on his lower lip. Maldynado and Akstyr, too, seemed worried that Sicarius would take up with Hollowcrest. Their concern, etched so clearly on their faces, made Amaranthe doubt her own certainty.

  Am I wrong?

  Sicarius crossed the room and stopped an arm’s-length away from Hollowcrest. His face offered no hint of malice. He reached for no weapons.

  “Excellent. Now...” Hollowcrest waved at Amaranthe and the others. “Kill this riffraff.”

  “I knew it,” Maldynado muttered.

  Akstyr backed toward the door. Books’s shoulders slumped, as if the battle was already lost.

  “You’re drugging Sespian,” Sicarius said, eyes locked on Hollowcrest.

  Hollowcrest waved a placating hand. “Only to make him compliant to the empire’s needs. Besides, it shouldn’t matter to you. You always worked through me more than Emperor Raumesys. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Sicarius,” Amaranthe said, “ask him the name of the drug. Is it something that causes long-term consequences?”

  He did not look at her. His stony gaze remained fixed on Hollowcrest, who frowned as he watched Sicarius. For the first time, uncertainty took the edge off his haughty expression. Hollowcrest tried to take a step back but bumped into the windowsill.

  “What drug are you using on him?” Sicarius stepped forward. He stood nose-to-nose with Hollowcrest. “Zawyat?”

  “You’re not going to take orders from her, are you?” Hollowcrest squeaked.

  Sicarius glanced briefly her direction. “They’re more like suggestions.”

  Amaranthe might have smiled, remembering the time she had explained it the same way, but the tension between the two men stole her mirth.

&n
bsp; “What drug?” Sicarius asked.

  “Iklya Bark,” Hollowcrest whispered, his back pressed against the window.

  “Why—why would you use something so potent?” Sicarius asked, his mask slipping briefly, his dark eyes stunned. “That would kill him eventually.”

  Amaranthe felt sick. How long had Sespian been on the drug? Had years already been stolen from his life?

  “I tried Zawyat, but the boy resisted it,” Hollowcrest said. “His lifespan doesn’t matter. Sespian isn’t suited to rule a nation. He’ll live long enough to produce an heir.”

  “He’ll live longer than you.”

  True to his nature, Sicarius made the kill swiftly, but he seemed to take more satisfaction in it than usual. The snap of Hollowcrest’s breaking neck echoed through the room, lingering along with the savage fury in Sicarius’s eyes. Amaranthe shivered. She was relieved when a twitch from the still-dying wizard distracted her.

  Arbitan’s lips were moving, repeating something. Amaranthe edged closer and knelt to listen before he finally stopped breathing.

  “What does armon atask ku mean?” she asked.

  “Return to me,” Books and Sicarius said together.

  Akstyr cursed. “The soul construct. He called it back. It’s going to—”

  A familiar shrieking howl came from the street. Amaranthe’s stomach descended into her boots. She had assumed killing the wizard would destroy the creature as well.

  “Avenge its master’s death,” Akstyr finished.

  Amaranthe looked at each of her men, who in turn stared back at her, as if brilliant solutions would soon flow from her lips. Only Sicarius’s gaze rested elsewhere. His expressionless mask back in place, he stared at the door, calm, accepting.

  He’s already given up. She clenched her jaw. Well, I’m not going to.

  “How do we kill it?” Amaranthe demanded.

  “Impossible,” Sicarius said. “They’re impervious to blades and firearms. My old dagger might have cut it.” He opened his hand, palm up.

  The dagger she lost. Of course.

  “Go,” Sicarius said. “It’ll be after me, not you.”

  “Bye.” Maldynado headed for the door.

  “Stop,” Amaranthe said.

  He surprised her by obeying.

  She stepped over the fallen wizard and grabbed Sicarius’s arm. “You’re coming with us.”

  “I cannot. It will know whose hand slew its master. It will follow me. There’s no escape.” He retracted his arm. “Go.”

  Maldynado, Akstyr, Basilard, and Books looked askance at Amaranthe. She could not tell them to sacrifice themselves to a hopeless fate. Besides, their mission was not over yet. Arbitan said the emperor’s assassination had already been arranged, and Larocka was still alive somewhere.

  Amaranthe turned back to Sicarius. “What happens after it kills you?”

  “It continues doing what its master created it for,” he said.

  The howl came again, this time from the yard directly below. She looked outside and reeled back at the blood, dismembered bodies, and entrails spattering the snow.

  “Terrorizing the empire?” she asked.

  “Apparently.”

  “Unacceptable,” Amaranthe said. “We have to stop it.”

  “We can’t,” Sicarius said quietly.

  A loud splintering echoed through the house. The front door being broken down, Amaranthe guessed. Feminine shrieks traveled through the intervening floors. Apparently the servants were not exempt from the monster’s attentions.

  “Amaranthe,” Books said, “we have to go.”

  “No. Akstyr, there’s got to be a way to kill it. And don’t tell me about powerful magic being required, because we don’t have any!”

  “Uh.” Akstyr shrugged helplessly.

  “Maybe...” Books started.

  Amaranthe whirled on him. “What?”

  “It’s a physical creature living in our physical world, so even if it’s magic, surely it must obey laws of physics, right? Like if you dropped it to the bottom of the ocean or collapsed a mountain on it, the pressure would have to crush it, wouldn’t it?”

  “Drop a mountain, brilliant.” Maldynado kicked the door to the hallway shut. “Why don’t we do that right now? Oh, wait—no mountains in the parlor. Drat!”

  Claws scrabbled on the hardwood floor of the hallway. The door to the parlor shattered inward and threw Maldynado against a table. The soul construct loomed, its bulky dun-colored body crusted with snow and gore.

  The beast blazed into the room, straight at Sicarius.

  He shoved Amaranthe out of the way. The construct leapt at him. He ducked and rolled to the side, and it crashed through the glass window.

  Startled, Amaranthe jumped to her feet and stuck her head out. The three-story fall did not faze the creature. It hit the snow on its feet and twisted back toward the front door, running through the torn bodies of soldiers it had slain.

  “It’ll never stop,” Sicarius said.

  “At least we know it’s not smart,” Amaranthe said.

  And with that, an idea came. She grabbed Sicarius again.

  “Distract it for fifteen minutes,” she said. “Lead it on a chase. Then bring it to the basement.”

  “Lokdon...”

  “Do it! That’s not a suggestion.” She released him and waved to the others. “Follow!”

  Amaranthe grabbed a lamp from a table and dodged around the sofas to return to the secret passage.

  “To do what?” Akstyr asked, but thankfully he and the others chased after her.

  “Make a mountain fall.”