Blood and Betrayal

Chapter 13

It was hard to hide from a swamp full of soldiers when one’s stomach was growling louder than a busy sawmill blade. Weariness dragged at Amaranthe’s battered body, and each step irritated the cut and bruised bottoms of her feet. Though she’d obtained a knife and a rifle, fate hadn’t been kindly enough to favor her with a chance to acquire boots or clothing. Everything from her feet to the bullet gash at her temple ached, and she wanted to crawl into a dark hole, curl up on her side, and hide until the pain went away.

She had lost track of how many times she’d evaded her hunters by inches, slipping beneath a pond full of lilies or scrambling between shrubs just before men passed. Luck wouldn’t favor her forever. Even now, they were herding her. She’d long since lost track of the trail and, not twenty minutes earlier, she’d glimpsed the massive dome of the Behemoth in the distance. She’d made no progress and was no better off than she’d been when she started out. Her earlier notion that she might, Sicarius-style, take down each soldier in the swamp one at a time seemed foolish now. After the first man had disappeared, the others had started searching in pairs. She’d thought of sniping from the treetops, but the alligator had stolen her soldier before she could search him for ammo, so she only had a few bullets.

For the fiftieth time, Amaranthe glanced toward the canopy, wondering if darkness would ever come and if she’d have more luck slipping through their net at night.

She stepped around a cypress tree and almost landed on a dead soldier lying face-down in the mud.

Stupefied by her weariness, Amaranthe could only stare at it for a puzzled moment. Another alligator, she thought, but wouldn’t an animal have dragged the man away to eat?

She shook away the cobwebs lacing her mind. She put her back to the tree and lifted her rifle as she scanned her surroundings. This might be a trap. Maybe the man wasn’t even dead; maybe he was a diversion while someone else crept up on her.

Nothing stirred the foliage around her, not even a breeze. Only mosquitoes buzzed about, flying through the humid air and giving Amaranthe another reason to wish she weren’t naked. She eyed the worn shirt and trousers on the still form at her feet. He didn’t seem to be breathing; if he was playing dead, he was doing a convincing job of it.

She propped her rifle against the tree, gripped the man’s arm and leg, and tugged him onto his back. Her breath caught. His throat had been slit.

Sicarius? No, she wanted to believe that, but he couldn’t have come so far in… She’d lost track of the days. Five? Seven? More? Even if he could have made it, how would he have found her in this place? Maybe she had some other ally out there. Whatever the case, she couldn’t stay in one area to contemplate it.

Knife in one hand, rifle in the other, Amaranthe stood up, ready to slip into the vegetation again. A dark figure stepped out of the brush ahead of her.

Pike. That was her first thought, but her visitor’s hair was blond, not white, its arrangement more tousled than usual, littered with cypress needles and moss tufts. The start of a scruffy beard covered his jaw, and his face seemed leaner than she remembered. Road grime coated black clothing plagued with holes and tears. Worn and dusty, his soft boots had little sole left to them. His garments hung more loosely than usual, and she imagined that he’d jogged all the way with little in the way of food and water. Looking for her.

A lump tightened Amaranthe’s throat, and tears welled in her eyes. She tamped down an urge to leap across the intervening meters and fling her arms about him. What if it was a trick, something else her enemies could do with that ancient technology, something designed to tease her from hiding?

Sicarius did not move except to look her up and down, his eyes full of concern and… pity. In that second, Amaranthe knew it wasn’t a trick. Pike and the Forge people never would have put emotion on his face. Indeed, she must look awful to have elicited it. For the first time, in the presence of someone who mattered, she felt self-conscious about roaming the wilderness stark naked except for a weapon in each hand.

“ Oh,” Amaranthe said, “are you supposed to wear clothing for skirmishes in an alligator-filled swamp?”

She barely managed to get the words out. Emotion, something bordering on hysteria, threatened to bubble out of her. She was tired of holding herself together.

When Sicarius lifted an inviting arm and said, “They are optional,” she nearly tumbled into his embrace.

Despite his worn appearance, the arms he wrapped around her were strong, and his body offered the solid dependability of a boulder. Or a steel slab. She wanted to bury her head against his chest and let him worry about Pike and the others. But the memory of her failure arose in her thoughts, bringing forth the tears that had only threatened before. She’d have to tell him, and as soon as she did…

Maybe Sicarius already sensed that she’d failed him in some way, for his body grew rigid beneath her arms, and tension radiated from him. More than tension. Anger.

Amaranthe wiped her eyes and stepped back. She searched his face, trying to guess what he knew.

“Thank you for coming,” Amaranthe said carefully. It occurred to her that his being here instead of with the team might mean that Sespian hadn’t made it. Maybe rage, and a desire to avenge his son’s death, had driven Sicarius down here as much as a need to find her. “Is Sespian… Did he survive the crash?”

“Yes.”

Relief washed over Amaranthe. “Thank his ancestors.”

No similar relief expressed itself on Sicarius’s face. He looked her over again, more slowly this time, as if he were memorizing every detail. “Stay here. Hide. I will find Pike.”

His words were short and clipped. His anger, Amaranthe realized, wasn’t directed at her. He was furious with Pike on her behalf.

“Sicarius, I… have to tell you something.”

“Later.” Face hard and grim, Sicarius looked like a man with murder on his mind.

Amaranthe had no argument for sparing Pike, but the rest of his men might not deserve the wrath of a deadly assassin. “Without the head, the wolf will die,” she blurted after him.

Sicarius disappeared into the brush without a comment or backward glance.

“Hide,” Amaranthe mumbled to herself.

It seemed like good advice, but she didn’t think she could bring herself to cower under a tree while Sicarius faced Pike. The emperor’s old master interrogator hadn’t moved with Sicarius’s sinewy grace, but who knew if he had more of that superior technology with him, ready to use in an emergency? At the least, he had a weapon capable of firing numerous shots without being reloaded, and he wouldn’t be alone.

Amaranthe eyed the rifle she’d taken from the dead soldier. It had five shots remaining. Maybe if she climbed a high tree, she could see out over the swamp and watch the confrontation. If Pike gave Sicarius a hard time, she could shoot the bastard.

“For once, I’ll have your back, Sicarius.”

Nodding to herself, Amaranthe headed for a cypress with the girth of a small house. A thorn gouged her thigh. Reminded of her vulnerability, she went back to the dead soldier to remove his clothes. She tucked the knife into a belt sheath, and, a couple of moments later, started up the tree, this time wearing green and gray clothes with the cuffs rolled up. The boots she left at the base of the trunk for later. A number of sizes too large, they would only hinder her on the climb.

Normally, scaling the tree wouldn’t have winded her. Now… her muscles quivered before she’d risen five feet. Amaranthe continued up doggedly, digging her fingers into the furrowed bark, and pulling herself from branch to branch with the rifle slung across her back on a strap. If Sicarius had traveled hundreds of miles to help her, she’d darn well figure out a way to climb a tree for him.

Amaranthe kept an eye out below as she pulled herself higher, aware that the foliage wasn’t as dense as that of the firs and cedars up north. The surrounding trees and leaves should make it hard for anyone to see her from below, but Sicarius would think her an idiot-rightfully so-if she’d survived all she had only to be shot by someone glancing upward.

The thought gnawed at her mind, and Amaranthe was on the verge of climbing down when something moved on the other side of a muddy inlet. A pair of people were hunting in a field of waist-high grass and cattails. One man gazed out at the water while the other bent to check the earth. The one looking at the water wore black; it wasn’t Sicarius this time.

Rage filled Amaranthe as she glowered at Pike. She could argue for sparing the men working for him, but, after what he’d done to her-and to Sicarius all those years ago-she wanted him dead. Not just for her sake, but for the good of the empire. Such a man shouldn’t be allowed into a position of power again, a position that would let him continue to torture people.

Amaranthe eased out onto a thick branch and lay belly-down along it. Once horizontal, she eased the rifle off her back, moving slowly so she wouldn’t stir the leaves. The two men were conversing and looking in the other direction now, but two more had walked into view on the far side of that field.

Amaranthe tucked the stock of the rifle into her shoulder and lined up her sights, targeting Pike’s back. Had she still been alone, she would have fired, but, knowing Sicarius was out there, she hesitated with her finger on the trigger. If she missed, Pike would be extra alert. And missing was a possibility, not necessarily because of the distance, but because her hands had started to sweat, and her heart seemed to be thundering with enough force to send tremors through the branch beneath her.

One of the men on the far side of the field disappeared from view. It happened so quickly that Amaranthe hadn’t the reason for it. One second he was there, the next gone. His partner, walking a couple of paces ahead and hacking at tall grass with a machete, hadn’t yet noticed.

Sicarius at work, Amaranthe presumed. She eased her finger away from the trigger. She’d let him handle the situation and only back him up if he needed it. Maybe it was small and weak of her to let someone else take out-no, not take out, kill — Pike for her, but Sicarius might relish the opportunity to get rid of a man who’d tormented him throughout his youth. He’d suffered more at Pike’s hands than she had.

The second man on the far side turned around and called out his partner’s name. Pike and his comrade heard.

“You see her?” Pike asked.

“No. I lost Bronc.”

Before Pike and his partner had taken more than a step in that direction, something grabbed the lone man’s leg and pulled him down. His head disappeared beneath the grass.

Pike and his comrade broke into a sprint. They reached the spot in seconds, but, from the way they turned in circles, it was clear they didn’t see Sicarius or their missing man. Pike frowned at the earth and knelt. Tracks in the mud?

When he stood again, his eyes were narrowed. Amaranthe had a feeling Pike knew now who he was dealing with. At the very least, he must suspect that hadn’t been her work.

Pike whispered something to his comrade, and the man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He rotated in place, his rifle clenched in his hands, his gaze darting in every direction. Meanwhile, Pike’s head bent for a moment. Amaranthe tensed. She couldn’t see his hands but thought he might have pulled something out of his pocket. If Sicarius was keeping his head below the weeds, he wouldn’t be able to see that.

Pike pulled out something black and dropped it. He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled-yes, it was definitely a stroll-a few paces.

“What is he doing?” Amaranthe wondered. She also wondered if she ought to simply shoot him. At this point, Pike knew someone was out there, killing his men, so even if she missed, it wouldn’t matter. It might even distract him for a moment so Sicarius could swoop in and take him down. “Not that he needs my help for that,” she muttered.

But she wasn’t that sure. Pike dropped something else several feet away from the first thing. Yes, he was definitely up to something devious. The other man kept spinning about, jerking his weapon in one direction and then another. Pike seemed as calm as a panther sunning itself on a rock.

Amaranthe rested her cheek against the stock of the rifle and lined up the pair of sights, centering the crosshairs on Pike’s chest. Her finger found the sleek, cool metal of the trigger. And she hesitated. She wiped a bead of sweat out of her eye. For all the evils he’d done to her, and countless others, Sicarius included, she had to wrestle with her instincts to nurture instead of kill. In her heart, she knew the man was beyond reform, and yet…

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself.

Pike wasn’t worth the self-doubt. If she and Sicarius failed to kill him, and he went on to become Ravido’s Commander of the Armies, with power over thousands, his ancestors only knew what harm he might do.

Amaranthe took a deep breath and found the trigger again.

An instant before she flexed her finger, something cold brushed her bare foot. She almost fell out of the tree in surprise. A startled squawk arose in her throat, but she clamped her mouth shut before her vocal cords could betray her.

Barely managing to keep the rife-and her perch on the branch-Amaranthe craned her neck about. A black-and-tan snake with a body as thick as her thigh was slithering across her foot on its way to…

She swallowed. It was coming out on the branch with her.

Its yellow irises stared into her soul, and she knew without a doubt that it wanted her for lunch. With a head that large and a maw that fang-filled, the snake could swallow her whole. She tried to pull her leg away, but it had already coiled halfway around her calf, pinning it to the branch. Its weight surprised her.

Amaranthe thought to maneuver the rifle about and shoot the beast between the eyes. But that would give away her position more surely than a scream. She glanced toward the clearing. Pike’s partner had disappeared. In the second she watched, Pike dropped a final item and then stepped to the left. The air shimmered, defining the walls of a cylinder with him inside, then winked out, the view returning to normal. Not good. While Sicarius had been picking off his men, Pike had been creating some sort of protective cage around himself. One Sicarius wouldn’t be able to see unless he’d happened to poke his head above the weeds during that second when the “walls” had been visible.

The snake moved up to Amaranthe’s thigh. She shifted about as best she could-she needed to leave one hand gripping the branch, lest she plummet thirty feet-and lifted the rifle above her head. She angled the butt, intending to smash the snake between the eyes. It wouldn’t harm such a massive creature, but maybe it’d deter it.

The snake saw the blow coming. Its head whipped to the side, evading the attack easily. An angry hiss pierced the air. Its mouth opened and saliva-or was that poison? — glistened on its fangs.

Amaranthe swung the rifle, using it like a club. She connected this time, but the snake didn’t budge under the blow. It hissed again, the sound dripping with ire. Its head reared several feet in the air, then it darted for Amaranthe’s throat, quicker than lightning.

She swung the rifle back again, abandoning her grip on the branch to throw all her weight into the blow. It deflected the attack-barely. The snake’s fangs bit into the branch, inches from Amaranthe’s ear. Already off balance from the defensive move, she shifted too far to get away from those fangs, and she slipped from her perch.

Amaranthe would have fallen all the way to the ground, but the snake still had its body coiled around her calf. A jolt of pain lanced through her knee as all her weight came to hang from that leg. Her face smacked into a lower branch, and she lost her grip on the rifle. It fell several feet, landing in the crook of another branch. That left only the knife. Great.

As she yanked it from its sheath, the snake slithered down her body, its head angling for her neck again. Hanging upside down, Amaranthe gripped the knife like a lifeline, knowing she’d only get one chance.

The beast’s massive maw gaped open, again displaying that row of fangs. Amaranthe plunged the knife upward, stabbing at the flesh on the roof of the snake’s mouth, angling the blade toward its brain. The jaw snapped shut. She yanked her hand out before teeth closed about her wrist. The knife remained, wedged in the snake’s mouth.

Heart pounding in her ears, she stared at the creature. Had the knife done enough? Had she reached the brain?

For a long moment, the snake didn’t move. Then it slumped, head thumping against Amaranthe’s chest. Seeing that massive maw so close to her neck almost made her pee on herself-and wouldn’t that have wonderful implications when she was hanging upside down? — but a dullness had come over those vibrant yellow eyes, and she knew she could relax. Sort of. She still had to retrieve her rifle and check on Sicarius.

Amaranthe expected that, with death, the snake’s grip on her leg would loosen, but its muscles remained tight, and it held her fast. She swung her arms below her head and managed to reach the rifle. Then, with lack of a better idea, she used the snake’s body like a rope, climbing back up to her perch. It took precious time to pry her leg free. With its grip finally broken, the snake fell out of the tree, landing with a thud that sent birds flying. Bloody ancestors, she might as well have shot the thing if it was going to end up causing that much of a stir.

Amaranthe wriggled back onto her belly and was horrified but not surprised when she found Pike gazing straight at her. His knowing stare sent a chill through her, but, after surviving the advances of a woman-eating snake, she refused to act cowed. She didn’t know how many details he could make out over the intervening distance, but she gave him an insouciant smile and a cheery wave. Rude gestures might have been more appropriate, but she thought a bright attitude from a former captive might bother him more.

Pike lifted a long-barreled pistol, and Amaranthe dropped her hand, ready to scurry backward and use the tree trunk for cover if he aimed it at her. He bent his elbow and let the barrel rest against his shoulder, the muzzle pointing skyward. A man ready to fire, not at her but at whomever approached him. He gazed out at the clearing.

Amaranthe eyed the area as well. Even from her lofty perch, she couldn’t see through the grass and cattails to spot Sicarius on the ground. She searched farther about, in all the directions she could monitor from the tree. She’d best not forget that there were dozens of men out there hunting for her.

A dark spot behind a tree drew her eye. Sicarius. He wasn’t in the clearing after all, but some fifty meters away from Pike. He seemed to be… tying a shoe? No, when he stood, she spotted Pike’s partner. The man wasn’t dead but tied to the base of the tree with a gag in his mouth. The two other men Amaranthe had assumed Sicarius killed shared the spot. Huh. She hadn’t been certain Sicarius had heard her comment about only needing to take care of the wolf’s head, but he must have. This time he was going to do as she wished and not kill every enemy he crossed.

However inappropriate the timing, emotion swelled in Amaranthe’s throat. He was doing his best to please her when she’d utterly failed him.

Sicarius stood, using the tree for cover, and gazed toward Pike. Amaranthe wagered he hadn’t seen that protective cylinder flash into existence, not if he’d been busy dragging men away to tie to trees. She had to warn him.

Amaranthe scooted out farther on the branch and propped the rifle in a crook. She lined up the shot and, this time, had no trouble firing. A small burst of orange flashed a few feet in front of Pike’s head. He didn’t so much as flinch. It took Amaranthe a second to realize what the orange represented. Flame. Her bullet had been incinerated.

She glanced at Sicarius, hoping he’d seen. Still behind the tree, he lifted a hand in acknowledgment. Amaranthe jerked her gaze away, realizing she risked giving away his hiding spot. Indeed, she caught Pike glancing in that direction. Sicarius had already disappeared, though, back into the grass.

Perhaps Amaranthe shouldn’t have been watching him, for, as she refocused on Pike, he fired the pistol. At her.

A bullet tore off a branch above, and leaves and twigs pelted her. The pistol cracked again. Amaranthe scooted back and buried her face, one arm slung over her head for protection. If she let go with the other, she’d end up on the ground next to the dead snake. Of course, with someone shooting at her, maybe that’d be a better place to be.

Four more cracks sounded, somewhat muted by distance and the heavy swamp air, and bullets peppered the tree all around her. Fortunately, only leaves and broken twigs hit her. Given the hundred and some meters separating them, she ought not be surprised by the pistol’s lack of accuracy, but she thanked her ancestors for it nonetheless.

After the sixth shot, silence returned to the swamp. Absolute silence. Not so much as a mosquito whined.

Amaranthe lifted her head. Pike was reloading, his hands steady as he methodically slipped bullets into the revolving mechanism that held them. He wasn’t worried about Sicarius getting to him, and why should he be with that shield? If Sicarius even touched it, he might be incinerated. A quelling thought, that one. She was glad he’d seen her warning.

If she hadn’t been busy holding branches and weapons, she would have nibbled on a fingernail. Pike’s cylindrical barrier had flashed so briefly that she had a hard time remembering the dimensions. Six feet wide or so and perhaps fifteen feet tall. She didn’t know if it was open on top or closed. If it was closed, there’d be no way to get at Pike, unless Sicarius burrowed under like a gopher. And for all they knew, the barrier might extend underground as well.

Out in the field, not a blade of grass rustled, but Amaranthe knew Sicarius was somewhere nearby, studying Pike, figuring out a way to reach him.

Pike knew it too. His pistol again rested on his shoulder and he gazed around calmly. “I’m not the one you want, Sicarius. I’m not trying to kill Sespian. I don’t care if he lives, so long as he abdicates the throne.”

A new concern stampeded into Amaranthe’s mind. Had Retta volunteered what she’d learned? Or had Pike encountered her and, angered that his prisoner had disappeared, forced the information from her? Either way, Pike might be about to share his new knowledge with the whole world-or at least the one person that Amaranthe didn’t want to hear it. She would have told Sicarius that she’d let the information escape, but having an enemy tell him first… Her shoulders slumped and all the fight drained from her. She stared at her rifle, at the finger that had hesitated, giving the snake time to divert her. If she’d fired at that moment, Pike wouldn’t have gotten his shield in place, and he wouldn’t be talking now.

“I don’t care about Forge,” Pike called. “I just want my old job back and, all right, maybe a little more. Ravido has promised me Hollowcrest’s position along with the reinstatement of my title and lands. I’ll be Commander of the Armies, and the Marblecrests will be back on the throne. It was never meant for Sespian. You know that. You’ve always known that.” Pike cocked his ear, as if listening for a response. Even protected by his shield, Pike had to be worried. He couldn’t stand there forever. He’d run out of food and water eventually, and he must know Sicarius had the patience to wait. “You could take Sespian and disappear,” Pike said. “I have enough sway over Ravido to make sure neither of you are hunted. So long as Sespian can be publicly declared dead, he need not truly die. I’m the only one who can make you that offer. Now that Forge is ready to move, they want the boy dead.”

Amaranthe shot at Pike again. The shield ate the bullet, but the attack surprised him to silence, at least for a moment. She told herself she’d fired to distract Pike, in case Sicarius had thought up a way to attack him, but in truth she wanted to shut him up. She didn’t want him talking about how she’d blabbed. The bastard would probably take credit for getting the information out of her.

Pike faced her, a weary sneer twisting his mouth. But there was no fear or concern in his eyes. It was the type of sneer one gave to a mosquito. A mosquito might be annoying, but it had no power to kill.

“Eat street,” Amaranthe muttered and fired again, this time with more thought guiding her hand. She aimed for a spot about six feet above his head, trying to find the vertical boundary of the shield.

Another orange flash ate her bullet. For a moment, Pike looked like he might fire at her, but he returned his attention to the field.

Amaranthe fired again, higher this time. The bullet passed through without being incinerated, but a slight shimmer disturbed the air before it disappeared. Odd, that had been on the other side of Pike. Had she fired over the top of the barrier, but, because of her elevated position, caused the bullet to zip downward at an angle and catch the shield on only one side? Pike could obviously fire from inside. She tried to remember if the shield had shimmered when he’d been shooting at her, but she’d been too busy ducking to notice. No matter. She suspected she’d just proved that the cylinder was open on the top. Unfortunately, at fifteen feet or so, even Sicarius wouldn’t be able to leap that high, not when he’d have to throw his entire body over it without touching the barrier. Still, it was a starting point. If they could make an explosive of some kind and hurl it inside…

Lest Pike notice her silence and attribute it to scheming that he should worry about, Amaranthe fired another shot, aiming for his nether regions this time, for amusement’s sake.

Pike stuck a fist on his hip and faced her, leveling his pistol at her again. Unlike with the earlier rapid-fire shots, he took his time in lining up his aim. Amaranthe scooted backward on the branch, thinking it might be a good time to find Sicarius and explain what she’d learned.

Before Pike fired, a dark figure rose from the cattails several meters behind him. Sicarius. He sprinted for Pike, a long stick-a sapling? — in his hands. Before Amaranthe could guess what he intended, Sicarius planted the flexible pole in the ground and used the leverage to vault himself into the air. Amaranthe’s heart surged into her throat as he released the stick at the apex and soared toward Pike’s cylinder.

She gulped and held her breath. If he misjudged the spot by an inch…

Sicarius dropped out of the air without bursting into flame or disturbing the shield. At the last second Pike, perhaps watching Amaranthe’s expression, looked up. But he was too late. Sicarius landed on him like a boulder falling out of the sky. Both men disappeared beneath the tall grass and cattails.

Amaranthe tried to stand on her branch, to better see what was happening, but her foot slipped, and she almost fell again. She caught the trunk and steadied herself.

A scream tore through the swamp, only to end abruptly, cut off with a gurgle that left little doubt as to what had happened. Amaranthe was surprised, and, she admitted, disappointed at how brief that scream had been. For what he’d done to her-and to Sicarius-Pike had deserved to suffer, to have his own medicine forced down his throat.

An uneasy thought slithered into her mind. What if that scream hadn’t belonged to Pike? What if he’d been waiting for Sicarius with another trick in hand. She held her breath, waiting for the victor to rise.

Time trickled past, and nobody appeared. Amaranthe shook her head. What was going on? They hadn’t killed each other off, had they? They couldn’t have…

She had reconciled herself to the idea of climbing down and going over there to look for herself when a familiar voice called up from below.

“Hiding is generally done from the ground, under or behind an object that can serve as cover as well as camouflage.” Sicarius stood beside the dead snake, at the base of her tree, gazing up at her. “Leaves provide camouflage but not cover. We have discussed the difference.”

Amaranthe grinned so hard it hurt her cheeks. “I was afraid to hide on the ground because of the snakes.”

Sicarius regarded the dead creature in the mud. “This appears to have fallen from a great height.”

“How odd.” Still grinning, Amaranthe tossed the rifle to him and shimmied down the cypress.

In her haste, she missed a branch and tumbled the last ten feet. Sicarius caught her and drew her into a hug that was far gentler than she would have preferred. Though her wounds protested, she snaked her arms around him and demonstrated how fierce a hug should be. She buried her face in his neck. His hug was a relief-maybe he hadn’t realized, from Pike’s words, that she’d betrayed him. She’d have to tell him eventually-soon-but she needed to feel safe for a while first. The words “cathartic collapse” floated through her mind. No, it was more than that. She needed to be held by someone who cared.

Sicarius laid his chin on the top of her head. He was being careful not to disturb her injuries, so it was hard to tell, but she thought the hug might mean as much to him as to her.

Too soon for her tastes, he drew back, though he didn’t let her go. Amaranthe braced herself, expecting him to question her about Pike’s speech, to demand an explanation.

“You were following a fresh trail through the swamp,” Sicarius said. “Are its makers the priority? Or is it the craft?”

“The craft?”

“Do you wish to destroy it so Forge cannot continue to use it against us? Or is it more important to follow those who left the trail?”

“Oh. I… think destroying the Behemoth may be beyond us. Remember that submerged laboratory? This thing makes that look like something a clumsy child assembled on the playground.”

Sicarius’s eyebrows twitched. “The Behemoth?”

“My name, not theirs.” Amaranthe supposed it was possible that she and Sicarius could do something to disable the craft, if they could figure out how to get inside, and if they could find Retta and question her. Amaranthe didn’t even know if Retta was still alive. She might have crossed paths with Pike when she shouldn’t have. Amaranthe shied away from the thought. Even if Retta had stolen secrets, she’d saved Amaranthe’s life. “I think the meeting is the priority,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret the choice later. “Ms. Worgavic and other Forge founders will be there. I heard a few things, but no details. Somehow they intend to control the future of the empire. To hear Ms. Worgavic talk, maybe the future of the world. We might want to put a stop to that.”

“Ms. Worgavic?” Sicarius asked.

He must find it strange to hear Amaranthe add the title to the name; she was probably even saying it with a tinge of that old student-teacher respect.

“She’s one of the Forge founders. I only knew her as my economics instructor at the Mildawn Business School for Women.”

“I see.” Sicarius’s gaze shifted to something beyond her, reminding Amaranthe that there were still soldiers on the hunt. The wolf’s limbs might not yet know that the head was missing.

“We should-” Amaranthe started.

“Go, yes. The trail is already cold.” Sicarius stepped away from her and gave her another look up and down.

Amaranthe attempted to appear sturdy enough for the road, even if her knees wanted to buckle and her body craved nothing more than a hot bath followed by a bed smothered with feather-filled comforters. Alas, both were hard to find in swamps.

“Your pride would object to your body being carried?” Sicarius asked.

Amaranthe cringed at the idea of him burdened by her weight when he’d so obviously traveled a long, arduous road to find her. “How about we walk side by side and lean on each other for support?”

The barest hint of a smile ghosted across Sicarius’s face, and he offered her his arm. Amaranthe accepted it, and, if she was leaning more heavily on him than he was on her as they set out, he didn’t mention it.