Blood and Betrayal

Chapter 14

After two days of shoveling coal, Maldynado’s back and shoulders ached so badly he was starting to envy his granny her cane. When Sespian had popped into the boiler room to ask for volunteers to do another search for Brynia, Maldynado had nearly fallen over in his haste to raise his hand first. Akstyr, who’d also been assigned stoker duty, had been equally quick to offer his services, though he’d spent more of the day “meditating on the Science” than he had shoveling, so he shouldn’t have needed a break. Ah, well. He might prove useful.

Maldynado and Akstyr left Basilard in the boiler room and spent an hour searching cabins and common areas. Maldynado wished he could invite Yara to join the hunt; he hadn’t seen much of her in the last couple of days. She’d been alternating shifts with Sespian in the wheelhouse, and since said wheelhouse perched by itself on the roof, it was hard to “happen to pass by” on the way to another destination.

Maldynado yawned so widely that his jaw cracked. He’d lost track of how many miles the steamboat had covered, but another night had come, this one dark, thanks to gloomy low-hanging clouds that smelled of rain. Lights dotted the farmlands on either side of the river, but only the ship’s running lamps pushed back the darkness on the waterway.

“I heard that,” Akstyr said from a few meters away. He and Maldynado were on the upper deck now. They’d started their searches on opposite ends and were working their ways toward each other.

“What?” Maldynado responded.

“You yawning. You should sleep more when you’re supposed to be on duty. You wouldn’t be so tired.”

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind.” Maldynado checked a suite. Empty. They had forced everybody overboard on the first day-the antagonistic sorts had gone feet first while more amenable passengers had been shuttled into lifeboats-and, though there’d been a few holdouts, he hadn’t seen anyone who wasn’t on the team for some time.

Akstyr stuck his head into a cabin a few doors down. “Nothing in any of them. She’s probably long gone.”

“I don’t think so. If she wants to get to this meeting, I bet this boat’s the fastest way there.”

“She’s doing a good job of hiding then.”

“On that point, I’ll agree.” Maldynado opened another suite door, this time pausing to regard the bed, specifically to share with it the yearning gaze of lovers kept apart for too long. “We’ve searched every cranny at least twice. She must be moving around, changing hiding spots often.”

Akstyr leaned against one of the doors, stuck his hands in his pockets, and turned toward the river. Maldynado finished checking the suites on his half of the deck and stopped a couple of steps away. From one of the waterside homesteads, a dog barked at the steamboat’s passage.

“Think Am’ranthe is still alive?” Akstyr asked.

“Yes,” Maldynado said.

Akstyr gave him a sidelong look. “Really?”

“Yes.” Maldynado wasn’t prepared to accept any other possibility.

“If she’s not… ”

“Don’t worry about it. Books knows about your deal with her, that you get some of that money the emperor brought so you can go to school.”

“That’s not why I was asking.”

Now Maldynado was the one to give Akstyr a sidelong look. “Really?”

Though the boy had a few unique skills and had proven useful to the group at times, Maldynado had never seen evidence suggesting he cared for anyone except himself. The team watched his back, so he did what Amaranthe asked. That seemed to be the extent of anyone’s relationship with him.

“Yes, really, all right?” Akstyr jammed his hands deeper into his pockets. “I don’t want some ugly Sicarius-type torturing her. She’s like… ” He scuffed the deck with his boot.

“A sister?” Maldynado suggested.

“I guess. I never had one. I never had anyone. You know my mother is trying to have me killed?”

“Someone mentioned that, yes. Because some hoodlums put a bounty on your head, right? And she’s trying to get a piece of the reward.”

Akstyr nodded. “When I was little, I wished I had a real family. Where people didn’t yell at you and hit you and… Well, that doesn’t matter now. It’s just that Am’ranthe was the first person to… ”

“Care?”

“Yeah. I don’t get why she would, but I wish I’d told her… that it mattered, you know? If not for her, you and the others would’ve never… ” Akstyr shifted his weight and scuffed the deck with his other boot. “She’s sort of like a big hunk of chewed up chicle. Things stick to her, things that wouldn’t normally stick together otherwise.”

“Chicle?” Maldynado couldn’t help himself. The comparison of Amaranthe to chewing gum made him throw back his head and laugh. “It’s a good thing you’ve got talent as a wizard because you’d never make it as a poet.”

“Aw, eat street, Maldynado.” Akstyr scowled and stepped away from the door. “And they’re practitioners not wizards.”

Maldynado grabbed his shoulder. “Sorry. I know what you mean. I do. Truly.”

Akstyr’s scowled faded slightly, though his eyes remained suspicious.

“You’ll get a chance to tell her that you appreciate her… gum-like nature,” Maldynado said. “She’s alive, and Sicarius will find her, and we’ll all meet up again.” Where and when, he didn’t know, but Akstyr seemed to find some reassurance in the words, for he leaned against the door again, the tension seeping out of his shoulders.

“I can’t wait to finish up this stuff with the emperor,” Akstyr said. “I want to go study, and none of the gangs will be able to find me if I’m on the Kyatt Islands. That bounty isn’t big enough that anybody would go halfway across the world to get to me.”

“Probably not,” Maldynado said.

“You should visit me over there sometime when I’m studying. All of you. Well, maybe not Sicarius, but Am’ranthe and the others for sure. It’d be like a vacation. I heard some of the women go topless on the beach too.”

Maldynado probably shouldn’t poke fun at Akstyr, not twice in five minutes, but this uncharacteristic rambling tickled his sense of humor. “Aw, I see what this is about. We might be on our final mission together and you’ll get to leave soon, and you’re realizing you’ll miss us.” He slung an arm around Akstyr’s shoulders.

“I will not.” Akstyr shoved the arm away. “I just thought you might like the Kyatt Islands. That’s all.”

“Topless women, you say?” Maldynado decided not to tease the boy any more, at least not for expressing his feelings. His ancestors knew that opening up and making overtures of friendship to people wasn’t Akstyr’s strength. “You reckon you’d know what to do with one?” There, normal manly teasing, that shouldn’t bother him.

Akstyr crossed his arms. “I know what all the parts are for, yes.”

More jokes popped into Maldynado’s mind, but he restrained himself. He didn’t want Akstyr to feel overly punished for sharing his feelings. All he said was, “When we do reunite with Amaranthe, make sure you tell her the gum thing. Women can usually figure out that you appreciate them, but they like to hear it too.”

Akstyr’s eyebrow twitched. “Have you told Sergeant Yara that you appreciate her?”

“What? No. I mean, why would I?” Maldynado groaned inwardly. Why did that subject make his tongue fumble so?

“Uh, because you like her?”

“I barely know her. She’s only been with us… Emperor’s warts, has it even been two weeks since we started on this crazy adventure?”

“I’ve seen you talk a lot of women into beds, usually without paying-” Akstyr’s lip curled in envy or perhaps disgust, “-and you’re usually so smooth and confident that they don’t gag on your dumb lines, but you can’t talk to Yara without saying something stupid.”

“I hardly think that’s true. I-”

“Spelunking,” Akstyr said.

This time, Maldynado’s groan wasn’t inward. Seriously, had everyone heard that? Or had it simply gotten around? “Fine, fine, I’ll tell her I appreciate her next time she’s not insulting me.” He yawned. He needed to find some sleep. “You check that one?”

Akstyr turned around and tried to open the door he’d been leaning against. “It’s locked.”

“Oh? It wasn’t locked when we searched yesterday.”

At first, they’d encountered numerous secured doors with passengers hiding on the other side, unwilling to exit the steamboat prematurely. Maldynado and the others had evicted all of those folks, though, and he remembered all of the suites being unlocked on his last search.

Maldynado gave it a harder tug and, when it didn’t budge, knocked.

“Do you actually expect a stowaway to answer the door?” Akstyr asked.

“No, but it seems polite to knock before barging into someone’s room. Can you use your magics to tell if someone’s inside?”

“Magics,” Akstyr muttered, clearly disgusted at Maldynado’s ongoing irreverence for words related to his studies.

Maldynado made a note to continue using the term.

Disgusted or not, Akstyr placed a hand on the door and closed his eyes. “Yes, I think so. One person.”

“A woman?”

Akstyr tilted his head, brow furrowing. “Yea. She doesn’t have, uhm, yea.”

Curiosity piqued, Maldynado asked, “What exactly do you see when you do that?”

“Stuff.” The boy had mastered the art of being vague and unhelpful.

“ What stuff? Can you see me through my clothes?”

“Ew, no, why would I want to?”

“I’m just wondering… ” Maldynado sighed. “Never mind. I don’t suppose you’d like to bash down the door? I’ve done a bunch of them over the last couple of days, and my shoulder’s bruised and sore.”

“Can I use the Science?”

“Sure,” Maldynado said, envisioning him picking the lock somehow.

“Really?” Akstyr’s eyebrows flew up, and Maldynado realized they might not share the same vision.

“Wait, how would you do it?”

“Well, the door’s made of wood, and wood burns… ”

“Never mind,” Maldynado said and applied his shoulder. Three jaw-rattling thumps later, the door flew open, crashing against the inside wall.

Maldynado expected darkness inside, but a couple of lamps burned at low levels, creating two soft bubbles of light in the seating area. The suite appeared identical to the one Mari had occupied, though no thoughtless intruders had shot up the furniture in this one.

Akstyr stepped past him, halted, and grunted in surprise. Expecting an enemy, Maldynado pulled out his knife while missing his rapier anew. Akstyr wasn’t staring at an enemy poised to attack, though; he was ogling a woman’s undergarments that were draped across a chair beside a door leading to the sleeping area. As if drawn by a string, Akstyr stumbled forward. He held a dagger, but it drooped, forgotten, by his waist. Maldynado hung back. While he found the notion of a naked woman as intriguing as the next man, he doubted Brynia would be lying on the bed, waiting for them.

Akstyr stopped at the doorway, his posture rigid. Maldynado started to ask if there was a problem, but Akstyr waved for him to come closer. Maldynado checked behind the furnishings in the outer room and inside a large clothes trunk before joining Akstyr. If Brynia had shot Mari, she was a dangerous woman.

Still standing in the doorway, Akstyr hadn’t moved an inch. He was staring past the bed at an opaque screen set up between a wardrobe and the lavatory door. A lamp burned behind it, illuminating the silhouette of a woman’s body, a woman’s naked body, one with voluptuous curves that tantalized even the thoughts of such a seasoned bedroom warrior as Maldynado.

Akstyr crept forward. Only his ancestors knew what he thought he’d do when he reached the screen, but he was stalking over there as silently as a cat.

Again, Maldynado hung back. This had to be a trap, a trap designed to capture horny male outlaws. Without advancing an iota, he looked about, checking the room’s nooks, shadowy corners, and even eyeing the dark recesses of the ceiling.

A premonition flicked at the back of his neck. Maldynado spun around as a slender figure dressed in black slipped through the outer doorway. Though she’d changed clothing, and added a sleek black hat to her ensemble, the fitted garments didn’t disguise feminine curves. Brynia.

She saw him at the same second he saw her. Her arm lurched up, a pistol in her hand. Maldynado threw his knife at her even as he flung himself behind the sofa. She lunged to the side, evading the weapon, but the movement threw off her shot. The bullet struck a lantern on the wall, almost knocking it onto Maldynado’s head. He caught it before it hit him, doused the flame, and threw it to distract Brynia while he slipped around the other end of the sofa. With only one light left in the room, the shadows hid him. He crept forward three steps, sprang over a cider table, and leaped at her.

The movement drew Brynia’s attention away from the sofa, and she lifted the pistol for another shot. It was too late. Maldynado crashed into her, bearing her to the deck. Despite her willingness to shoot people, she lacked combat experience, and he soon had her disarmed and face down on the floor.

“It’s a stupid doll,” came Akstyr’s voice from the doorway.

“What?” Maldynado looked up.

Akstyr held up a shapely doll. “It was propped in front of a candle, making the shape look big on the divider.”

“Don’t you think the fact that the silhouette wasn’t moving should have been a clue?” Maldynado pulled Brynia to her feet. “Congratulations, my lady. You’re our prisoner again. The emperor still wishes to see you.”

Brynia lifted her head. The hat had fallen off and her straight blonde locks tumbled about her face. She smiled up at Maldynado and leaned back, pressing her body into his. “What’s the hurry? It’s a long trip downriver.” She spared a smile for Akstyr too. “The doll is based on the real thing, my handsome young fellow. Perhaps you’d like to see?”

Akstyr stared at her, then at the doll, then at her. “Uh, really?”

“We need to get you a woman, Akstyr,” Maldynado said.

“That can be arranged,” Brynia said.

Maldynado gave her a warning shake and, without relinquishing his grip, readjusted her so a couple of inches of air separated their bodies. A flash of irritation crossed her face, but she molded it into an interested smile and kept beaming it in Akstyr’s direction.

Maldynado turned Brynia around, intending to march her out the door. Something pink on the deck made him pause. A feather. He gawked. “That’s my hat. You stole my hat?”

“Not at all,” Brynia said. “I claimed it after its owner abandoned it.”

“Abandoned it? I was knocked unconscious.”

“The truth is elusive, depending on who speaks it, isn’t it?”

Maldynado shoved the woman outside. She was slipperier than wet soap. They’d have to watch her closely for the rest of the trip, maybe have Sergeant Yara guard her. He hoped Sespian was brighter than Akstyr and wouldn’t fall for those batting eyelashes.

Amaranthe had no memory of collapsing on the trail or falling asleep, but when she woke up cradled in Sicarius’s arms, she knew it must have happened. Cicadas droned from the trees, and twilight had finally come to the swamp. At least, she hoped it was twilight and that she hadn’t been asleep for hours, forcing him to carry her all night. But, no, he was following the muddy prints and cleared foliage that the Behemoth team had left. He wouldn’t have been able to do that in the dark. Probably. It was Sicarius, after all.

His long, sure strides covered the ground efficiently. Amaranthe wondered how many miles had passed beneath his feet in the last week. His arms supported her knees and her shoulders, bearing her weight easily, as if she were a toddler. She had no memory of wrapping her own arms around his neck and laying her head against his shoulder, but she had to admit, despite the aches pulsing through her body with each step, it was a nice place to be. Bandages made from torn strips of clothing wrapped her wrists where those pins had pierced. She sensed the support of other bandages around her shoulders and thighs. Thinking of the intimacy those bandages implied made her flush.

Amaranthe lifted her head. The slight movement brought fresh pain, something reminiscent of the blasting headache one might suffer after a night carousing with Maldynado. Not that she’d been foolish enough to do that. More than once anyway.

“We will stop soon. It has been some time since I heard sign of pursuit.” Sicarius’s dark eyes lowered to meet hers, and a little flutter teased Amaranthe’s gut. Given what she’d endured, she probably shouldn’t be in the mood to melt over looks from men, but they hadn’t spent a lot of time with their heads close together, and his eyes held a gentleness she’d never seen in them before. It seemed impossible to believe, but he must not have pieced together the fact that she’d betrayed him. Maybe he’d been too busy figuring out how to thwart Pike.

Amaranthe broke eye contact and cleared her throat. “They probably stumbled across Pike. I assume from that scream that he’s dead.”

Sicarius’s focus returned to the trail. “Yes.”

“Thank you for not… eliminating anyone else.”

“As you said, they were not a threat once their leader was gone.”

A perfectly logical way to say it, one that meshed with his philosophy of not leaving enemies alive behind him, but Amaranthe preferred to think that he’d made the decision because he knew it would please her. Some men brought women flowers. Sicarius chose not to kill people. The latter seemed a tad more momentous. Of course, his solicitude might all be in her head.

He didn’t come all this way because of logic, girl, she told herself. He cares.

Unless he’d come because he was worried that she would, under the pressure of torture, betray his secrets. Even now he might be waiting for the moment to ask if she’d blabbed.

Amaranthe grimaced. Why couldn’t she just enjoy the fact that she was snuggled in the man’s arms?

“You are thinking,” Sicarius said. A hint of censure laced the words.

Amaranthe forced her thoughts away from treasured secrets cast upon the wind like dandelion seeds. “Yes. Is that not allowed?”

“Your body and mind need rest.”

“We’re following the trail of enemies we’ll have to confront. I think the rest portion of the exercise comes after we deal with them.”

“The trail is cold. We will not likely encounter them until we reach their destination.” He flicked his gaze toward the twilight darkness of the sulfurous, alligator-and-snake-filled, strangled-by-vegetation swamp, no doubt implying it unlikely that the Forge meeting place was anywhere nearby.

“So, I should simply lie snuggled against your chest without thinking for a while?” If only she could.

“Yes.”

Amaranthe laid her head against his shoulder. She managed to keep her brain-and her mouth-still for almost thirty seconds. “How did you find me?”

Tired and aching though she may be, she couldn’t help but smile at the hint of disapproval that flattened his lips. Someone else wouldn’t see it at all, or would take it as a sinister glower. She knew he was simply irked at her inability to obey an order to rest.

“They flew in a straight line.” Sicarius stepped over a creek and left the trail, turning to follow the gravely bed upstream.

“I’d forgotten your knack for answering questions with terseness bordering on obscurity.” Amaranthe touched his jaw fondly to let him know she was teasing. Her fingers brushed against the short hair of his fledgling beard. “If you’d let me use that sharp black knife of yours, I could clean this up for you.”

“Sespian has the knife.”

“Ah. Another blade then. I’m sure they’re all sharp. Of course, you don’t have to opt for a clean shave. The scruffy look has merit. The growth just needs a little tidying.” Amaranthe supposed, by babbling on inane topics, she could avoid the one that awaited sharing.

“I’m more concerned with tending you.”

Amaranthe’s breath caught at the simple statement, and at the way he gazed straight into her eyes as he said it. No, she wasn’t imagining his solicitude. His words warmed her, but they filled her with bleak guilt as well. First, because she’d doubted he truly cared. And second… because she’d failed him.

The ride grew bumpier as Sicarius climbed higher off the trail. Amaranthe was on the verge of asking where he was going when he pushed aside a few ropy bundles of moss dangling from exposed tree roots and peered into a dark opening. He found a flat spot and set Amaranthe down. Thanks to her inactivity, her muscles had stiffened terribly, and she could scarcely move without sucking in a pained breath-or spouting out a stream of curses. She was relieved to play spectator as Sicarius investigated a small cave, gathered fronds and boughs for bedding and a fire, and finally struck flint to one of his knives. He dragged in an unfamiliar satchel Amaranthe hadn’t realized he’d been wearing. It must have belonged to one of the soldiers, or perhaps he’d traded his heavier rucksack for it at some point on his journey.

“Any chance there’s food in that sack?” Amaranthe crawled into the low cave and propped herself against the dirt wall behind the fire. Roots dangled from the ceiling, and the husks of dead bugs littered the earthen floor. After that crate, it felt like a luxurious warrior-caste resort. She didn’t even have the urge to fashion a broom from a branch and sweep.

“The sort of energy-high but nutrient-deficient travel rations soldiers carry, yes. I saved something better for you.” Sicarius dug into the satchel and pulled out a canteen for her and two of his travel bars, the ones made of dried meats and fat. Smashed from his days on the road, they looked even less appealing than usual. When he held them out, like someone making a gift of a cherished possession, Amaranthe managed to hold back a groan-barely. Those “energy-high” snacks the soldiers had been carrying sounded far more promising, like they might be full of sugar or dried fruit.

Sicarius’s eyes narrowed. He’d probably gone hungry a few days to reserve them for her.

“Thank you, very considerate of you to save them,” Amaranthe said, seeking a compromise that might let her dig into the soldier rations, if only as a dessert. “But, ah… after your grueling trek, I’m sure you’re in as much need of nutrients as I. How about we each have one?”

He hesitated before nodding. “Acceptable.”

Sicarius handed her a bar, then built up the fire. He went in and out of the cave, bringing in enough wood to supply an army stuck in a frozen outpost on the Northern Frontier. Amaranthe wished he’d join her against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, so that she could lean on him and sleep until dawn, knowing she didn’t have to worry about anyone hurting her. But perhaps, for the conversation they needed to have, distance was better. While she debated how to broach the subject, she chewed on the corner of her bar, grimacing at the fact that her teeth felt loose in their sockets. Was that from a week’s worth of malnutrition? Or was her body simply that much of a mess? Relieved the cave lacked a mirror, she resolved to avoid clear pools of water for a while.

“Do you want a bath?” Sicarius asked.

Surprised out of her musings, Amaranthe gaped at him. Her first thoughts bounced back and forth between tantalized speculation and outright disbelief-had he truly offered to bathe her? — but they all crashed to the ground under the weight of reality. How could she accept the spa experience when she was wondering how to tell him she’d betrayed him? Remembering the last time he’d assisted her with a bath-and the ice cubes floating about on the surface- spa might not be the best word, but still.

Sicarius was waiting for an answer. Amaranthe groped for something.

“Are you saying I don’t smell good these days?” Ugh, that was a horrible thank-you for his sweet offer.

Sicarius held up a canteen and a damp rag that had probably been a soldier’s shirt. “You look like you could use… ” He was too tactful to tell her she was a wreck.

“Tender ministrations?” Amaranthe raised her brows. “Are you offering?”

Sicarius gazed into her eyes. “Whatever you wish, Amaranthe.”

He’d never voiced those words before, and, in another situation, they would have flooded her with warmth, but she suspected they were born out of pity, or maybe guilt. She wasn’t sure why that word came to mind. What did he have to feel guilty about? Maybe it bothered him that it’d taken days to catch up with her and that she’d been tortured in the meantime. If so, that wasn’t his fault. She was the fool who’d gotten herself thrown out of the dirigible and washed up onto the beach where Pike and his men happened to be loitering.

“It’s not that bad now,” Amaranthe said.

Sicarius eyed her, and she remembered that he’d seen her sans clothes.

“Did Pike have a shaman?” he asked.

“A concoction that a shaman had made.”

Sicarius grunted. “Advances in Science.”

Amaranthe tried to decide if there was bitterness in his tone. Did he know about her newfound knowledge of his past? He must suspect. Would he be concerned that she’d think less of him? Or had he long since put the experiences behind him? A selfish part of her wanted to remind him of the indignity, if only so he’d be more understanding when she admitted her failure. Before she could think better of it, she said, “I… understand you were as much his victim as his student.”

Sicarius’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“Not that you’re worried about it, but I wouldn’t… judge you for anything that happened back then.” Amaranthe paused. When she didn’t receive a response, she lightened her tone and said, “Your own personal shaman, eh? I often wondered how you’d gotten so far in your career without gaining any scars. Until you met me, anyway.” She waved toward his back and the soul-construct claw marks that lay beneath his shirt.

“Yes. The wounds were healed by an expert.” His tone had grown unreadable.

Fearing she was angering him, she finished with a soft, “The ones on the outside, anyway, eh?” and resolved to leave it there.

Sicarius nodded and turned dark eyes that had grown somber in her direction. He came around the fire to sit on the boughs beside her. Amaranthe realized that, while she was talking about him and his internal scars, he must think she referred to herself and what she’d suffered. She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. For so long, she’d dreamed of him lowering his defenses and letting her see what lay beneath that flinty exterior. Now, he was finally doing it when she least deserved it. She wanted to bury her face in her knees and cry.

“Before you take up the hobby of offering ministrations-” Amaranthe’s voice cracked, so she pointed to the canteen and rag, giving herself a second to recover, “-you should know I… may not be deserving of your care.”

His eyebrows dove for his hairline. It was the greatest indication of surprise she’d seen from him. She tucked it away, along with the image of his eyes full of concern, to remember later, in case his icy, expressionless demeanor returned soon.

“I… did my best,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t mean to make excuses, but I want you to know I am disappointed in myself. You always think you’re tough before you’ve been tested and that you’re too smart to be tricked.”

“Of what do you speak?”

Right, Amaranthe thought, get to the point. As Basilard said, cleaning a fish didn’t get any more pleasant for having put the task off.

“I resisted Pike, but Ms. Worgavic’s assistant had some Kyattese device that got into my head and… ” Amaranthe poked at some of the needles on the boughs beneath her. “I didn’t know how to thwart it. By now, Ms. Worgavic may know and perhaps all of Forge does. Pike certainly did.” She risked a glance at Sicarius.

He wasn’t giving much away, but she got the feeling that he wasn’t certain what she was talking about. He’d heard Pike, hadn’t he? The suggestion that Sespian had never been meant for the throne?

“They know Sespian is your son and not the rightful ruler of Turgonia,” Amaranthe said.

“Yes, I gathered that.”

“You did? I mean, I thought you should have, but you didn’t react. You didn’t… ” Amaranthe swallowed. “Aren’t you… angry with me?”

The long look Sicarius gave her reminded her of those she’d often received from the men upon announcing her crazy schemes, the ones where they wondered if her brain existed in the same world as theirs. “You are the one with the right to anger,” he said.

“Uhm?”

“You were captured because of me. You endured torture because you held my secrets. All along, your difficulties in achieving your goals-in earning your exoneration-have come because you’ve chosen to associate with me, because you’ve been trying to help me achieve my goal.” Sicarius picked up a branch and prodded at the fire. “In the beginning, I stayed because I thought you could help me with Sespian. Later, when you ceased to simply be a means to an end for me, I thought to leave because I knew I was making your journey more arduous, but I found myself unable to walk away. I… ”

Amaranthe had so rarely seen him uncertain about anything. She found herself holding her breath, waiting for his next words as he nudged one half-burned log closer to another.

“Though I have studied psychology and am familiar with the notion of love, it has always been an academic familiarity, not a personal experience. Perhaps because of this, your loyalty has perplexed me at times. I have not always… appreciated it as I should have. Or, more correctly, I have not always… demonstrated my appreciation of it. But I have appreciated it.”

Sicarius captured her gaze with his, and Amaranthe had to fight not to melt into a puddle in his lap. Easy, girl, she thought, he’s not declaring his love. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d just said he didn’t know how to feel love. But from him, appreciation was something, wasn’t it? Especially if he’d never appreciated anyone else…

Sicarius seemed to notice he was fidgeting with the logs and laid down his poker. “I have on occasion admonished you for impulsive actions.”

“I’ve noticed,” Amaranthe said dryly, then wished she hadn’t said anything. He was speaking of feelings, for the first time ever, and she was rewarding him with irreverence. “I’ve deserved it,” she added in a more serious tone.

“My reaction, upon finding out that Forge was responsible for implanting Sespian with that device… ” Sicarius’s expression remained neutral, but he took a deep breath, as if struggling to calm himself in the face of the memory. “I had the impulsive thought that I could forgo playing Tiles with Forge in favor of destroying the organization all at once. Or, if that wasn’t possible, I wished to hurt them badly enough that they would consider going after Sespian too much of a risk.”

“I know. I don’t have any children, but I’m sure I would feel similar frustrations if I did. Perhaps not to the extent of, er, slaying people, but I can understand impatience and… ” Why couldn’t words ever come out in an intelligent, flowing manner when she spoke to him on important topics? Amaranthe sighed and scooted closer to lay a hand on his forearm. “I might be… distressed by some of your choices, and I don’t expect I’ll ever stop trying to convince you to use more humanitarian means, but I’m not angry with you, nor have these events changed how I feel about you.” There, that sounded halfway decent. Didn’t it?

Sicarius exhaled a long, slow breath, and Amaranthe wondered if he’d actually been concerned about that, about what she would think in the aftermath of Pike’s attention. She patted his arm and leaned against him.

“I may never understand why you value the lives of those who have declared themselves your enemies, but… ” Sicarius slipped an arm around her back and pulled her closer. “I am sorry that my choice resulted in pain for you.”

Amaranthe felt her eyes widen so far they were in danger of plopping out of her head and into his lap. He had never apologized to her. She’d never heard him apologize to anyone. From him, it was almost… better than a proclamation of love.

“Thank you.” Amaranthe leaned her head against Sicarius’s chest. “I’m sorry you had to endure Pike’s… cruelty as a boy. No one should have to deal with something like that, much less a child. He’s one enemy I’m relieved to see dead.”

Sicarius did not respond. If it had been someone else, she might have wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but she doubted he would relax that completely while out in the wilds. Or anywhere.

“Are you the one who gave him that scar?” Amaranthe asked.

“Yes.”

Ah, there he was. “The boy got old enough to decide what he would and would not endure?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

Amaranthe tilted her head to gaze up at his face. “You know… when you have a woman snuggled in your arms, that would be an appropriate time to open up and tell stories.”

“ Story-telling is what a man is supposed to do when he has a woman in his arms?” Sicarius’s eyes glinted.

Heat scorched her cheeks. “Well, I… Uhm.”

Sicarius laid a hand on the side of her face, being careful not to touch any of her bruises. “You have enough horrors of your own in your head now. You don’t need to add mine.”

Amaranthe swallowed. “I was surprised that, after what you endured, you didn’t make Pike suffer more in the end.” She knew it was little of her, but she couldn’t help but feel that a “master interrogator” not only deserved death, but a painful one at that.

“After seeing what he did to you… it did occur to me to prolong his death.”

“And?”

“I did not think you would approve.”

“Oh.” Amaranthe didn’t know what else to say. Somehow he thought her a better person than she was. “I wouldn’t have begrudged you some degree of… comeuppance to avenge your past.”

“Actions taken in the present cannot change those received in the past. Hollowcrest was the master smith, forging my destiny. Pike was merely one of the many tools he employed.”

Amaranthe dropped her chin. It seemed strange that an assassin was giving her a morality lesson, but there it was. No, not morality-that had never been a concern for Sicarius-but practicality. A lesson in practicality and moving on with one’s life. She hoped she’d be able to put Pike behind her as effectively.

“Was anyone kind to you as a boy?” Amaranthe asked.

“That was not encouraged.” Sicarius used his hand to lift her chin again. He brushed his fingers across the skin of her forehead, as if to remove the furrow of disapproval there. “Not everyone was like Pike. Tutors came and went, so I wouldn’t form attachments, but most were tolerable.”

Tolerable. What an accolade.

Heaviness weighed upon Amaranthe’s eyelids, and keeping them open was a struggle. But she found herself reluctant to sleep, to miss the moment, the fact that Sicarius was stroking her face and, for once, answering her questions. What if his reserve returned in the morning?

“Amaranthe?” Sicarius asked softly.

She opened her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them. Sicarius had lowered his hand, though he was still watching her.

“Yes?”

“I must speak to you of one more matter.”

“Oh?”

A twinge of concern ran through her body. Such a preamble could only signal bad news. Indeed, wariness had entered Sicarius’s eyes. “It is in regard to Sespian. And you.”

Amaranthe sat up, a jolt running through her body. Meddling ancestors, he wasn’t going to offer to step aside or some other nonsense, was he? She remembered that he’d seen them together on the dirigible, that brief second when she’d grabbed Sespian’s hand. He must think… Emperor’s warts, who ever knew what he thought? Now that he was finally showing her warmth and affection, she’d be burned at a funeral pyre before letting him disappear over some misunderstanding.

Amaranthe planted her hand on Sicarius’s chest, fingers splayed. “If this is about the dirigible, I wasn’t holding his hand out of any romantic notion. He’d brought up the fact that he might have a shortened lifespan because of that drug, and I was expressing sympathy, the same way I would if Books or Maldynado had that problem. Let’s be clear on the situation here. He’s a sweet kid, but nothing would happen between us even if you weren’t around.” Amaranthe, realizing she’d been rattling words off quickly, forced herself to slow down and take a deep breath before finishing. “I love you, Sicarius.” Odd how saying things like that to him made her feel more vulnerable than lying naked beneath Pike’s knife had. “You’re stuck with me,” she added doggedly.

“I had already decided that while I was coming to find you.”

Amaranthe watched him through her lashes, wary but hopeful as well. “That… you’re stuck with me?”

Sicarius’s eyes were half-lidded as he gazed back at her. “That I was unwilling to let someone else have you.”

The blunt statement sent a little shiver through her. The words, “It’s about time,” floated through the back of her mind, but the intensity of Sicarius’s eyes squashed any inklings of flippancy. “All right,” she whispered.

“When you have recovered, and you are ready, come to me. I’ll be waiting.”

Amaranthe didn’t move a muscle, but her heart was beating against her ribs so hard Sicarius must’ve felt it. She wasn’t sure if he’d made a request or issued an order, and she didn’t care. She was suddenly hyper aware of his body next to hers, the honed steel of his torso, the fact that she was almost in his lap. Her body had to be crazy to respond this way, after all it had endured. She doubted Sicarius would accept an entreaty then, even if she made one, but it was with the squeaky hoarseness of a titillated teenager that she uttered another, “All right.”

Sicarius brushed the backs of his fingers along her jaw, and his gaze drifted to her lips. Amaranthe held her breath. A kiss? Was that what he had in mind? A little promise that there’d be more later? Yes, after the pain of the last week, it’d be nice to experience something pleasant. More than pleasant, she thought, cheeks flushing anew at the memory of the single kiss they’d shared in the Imperial Gardens that summer. She parted her lips, lifted her chin, and closed her eyes.

“You should sleep,” Sicarius said abruptly.

“Huh?”

He removed his arm and slid away from her, leaving Amaranthe alone on the hard, poky boughs. He tossed a few branches onto the fire. “I will stand watch.”

Before she could object, he disappeared through the cave opening.

“ Sleep?” Amaranthe said, not caring if he overheard. Though she might have been weary a few minutes ago, sleep was the last thing on her mind now. She swatted at one of the roots dangling from the ceiling. “How am I supposed to sleep when you took my pillow? Impossible man.”

Only the drone of cicadas answered her. Amaranthe flopped onto her back on the boughs.

At least he’d offered something more definite than the “later” on the dirigible. Once she’d healed and they’d finished the mission-or at least made sure the others were safe-she’d pounce on him. And she’d make sure she kept him too busy to think of fleeing the cave. No, not a cave, she decided. The baths perhaps. A private bath overflowing with bubbles. Or maybe the training ring after a particularly sweat-inspiring workout, one that encouraged the removal of shirts. Yes, she liked that idea.

When Amaranthe finally dozed off, she slept well, the nightmares of the previous nights replaced by more pleasant, if rather erotic, scenarios.