Blood and Betrayal

Chapter 16

After two days of laborious travel, the swamplands finally gave way to sycamore, oak, and sweet gum trees. The Forge trail Amaranthe and Sicarius had been following turned onto a broad road kept clear of foliage and debris. Part of the old imperial transportation system and therefore built in an era that predated steam vehicles, the worn highway featured flat stones set into a cement-and-sand-based mortar. It lacked the smoothness of the vehicle-friendly paved aggregate highways radiating from Stumps to all the borders, but it had the same quality of being too hard to offer signs of passersby.

“We’re not going to be able to track them on this, are we?” Amaranthe asked when Sicarius returned from one of his side trips to forage.

“If they leave the road, I’ll see it.” Sicarius said.

Unless more roads of a similar style crossed this one, allowing one to walk without leaving tracks.

“If their destination is one of the islands on Lake Seventy-three,” Sicarius added, “we won’t be able to track them into the water, regardless.”

“Maybe you should go ahead.” The thought had crossed Amaranthe’s mind numerous times that day, but this was the first she’d spoken it aloud. She didn’t want him to leave her side. Every time a twig snapped in the woods, or something scurried through the undergrowth beside the trail, she flinched like an abused dog anticipating a kick. Though she knew Pike was dead, she kept imagining him lunging out of the brush and dragging her off for another round on that table. If not him, some other sadistic bastard. They were foolish thoughts-she was armed now, after all, and she could take care of herself if she wasn’t ridiculously outnumbered-but the imagery persisted nonetheless. “You can travel twice as fast, find them, see what they’re doing, and come back to get me if there’s time.”

“Twice?” Sicarius asked.

“Sorry, was that insulting? I meant to say ten times as fast. Without breaking a sweat or breathing hard. I’d add without mussing your hair as well, but… ” Amaranthe eyed his tousled locks. Sometime when she had been sleeping, he’d scraped away the beard away and washed off the road grime, but his hair beckoned for attention. “Are you ever going to let me cut that for you? Just a trim. To even out the edges?”

Sicarius laid a bunch of berries in Amaranthe’s hand. “You are regaining your humor.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Proof that all the highly nutritious food you’re feeding me is doing its job to rekindle my strength and witty personality?” Amaranthe kept walking as she spoke, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate delays for pointless conversations.

Sicarius fell in beside her. “I will remain with you.”

Amaranthe supposed she couldn’t be offended that he’d chosen to answer the more pertinent of her questions, though she was determined to cut that hair someday. “I appreciate your presence-more than you’ll ever know, I suspect-but I’d hate for my slowness to cause us to miss this opportunity.” She popped one of the purple berries into her mouth, appreciating a hint of sweet beneath the tart.

“Meetings on how to take over the world are not over quickly,” Sicarius said.

The light response made Amaranthe pause. “Was that a joke, or are you speaking from experience?”

Sicarius gave her a sidelong look. “Yes.”

Someday Amaranthe would learn not to ask him two questions at once. “Even if a meeting between numerous powerful and opinionated people will require many days, you might want to be there ahead of time to scout around. What if the others are making their way down? This has to be the same meeting Sespian wanted to spy on, don’t you think?”

“Likely.”

“You could muster a little more excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.” Amaranthe smiled.

“I have… failed to make inroads with him.”

“He’s had a certain image of you in his head for almost twenty years. It’ll take time to change it, that’s all.”

Sicarius’s grunt of acknowledgment had a dubious tone to it. “I must tell him of our link, lest he hear it from Forge first. I do not know how to speak of it. I have avoided the straightforward, in hopes that he will find it less… deplorable if he’s adjusted his vision of me somewhat beforehand. There is no time for that now.”

He so rarely shared his concerns with her, and Amaranthe wished she had a good answer for him, one that would allay his fears and prove correct as well. She couldn’t lie to him though; she doubted Sespian would respond well. The revelation would be like pulling an arrow out of one’s shoulder-it might hurt worse than touching molten lava, but the healing couldn’t begin until it’d been done.

Since words failed her, Amaranthe clasped Sicarius’s hand. He’d been as chaste and professional as always in his physical interactions with her over the last couple of days, but he accepted the grip and, after a pause, twined his own fingers between hers.

“Perhaps I should try levity again,” Sicarius said.

“Er, on Sespian?”

“Yes.”

Thinking of how Sespian had misconstrued some of Sicarius’s earlier comments, Amaranthe feared that approach might backfire. “We’ll talk to him together when we all meet up again. I just hope he’s well. Forge… ” She stopped. No need to raise concerns that might provoke further worry.

“He better be well,” Sicarius said. “I tasked Maldynado with protecting him.”

“You tasked Maldynado?” Amaranthe’s mouth dropped. “Are you… attempting levity now?”

“Maldynado was the only one around when I left to pursue you.”

“Ah.” Not levity, desperation. “I’m sure the others are helping him stay on track.” Actually Amaranthe suspected Maldynado had the ability to take charge, if he was so motivated-and Sicarius could certainly motivate people, if not with his charisma then with his knife. “You had to choose, didn’t you?” she asked, realizing for the first time how that must have played out. “After the crash, you had to choose whether to come after me or help Sespian.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. I… wasn’t expecting it. I mean, I understand that Sespian must be your priority.” Amaranthe cleared her throat. She hoped she wasn’t insulting him, but she hadn’t believed he’d trust the group with Sespian’s care.

“You are both priorities.”

Warmed by the simple statement, Amaranthe had to tamp down an urge to kiss him. Given her current condition, it wouldn’t be much of a reward. But Sicarius looked down at her, perhaps expecting a reaction, and she changed her mind. She rose on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Knowing they didn’t have time for dawdling, she soon released him, though she retained the grip on his hand, and started walking again. She thought she caught a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

“I still think you should go ahead and search for Sespian,” Amaranthe said. “If they’re coming on a boat, they could… ” She stopped talking because Sicarius was pointing at something ahead of them. A glint of blue water visible through the trees.

“Lake Seventy-Three,” Sicarius said. “This road will lead us through Markworth.”

“It’s not a populous town, is it?”

“Not this time of year.”

Right, if it was a water-based resort area for the upper class, then late fall wouldn’t be a popular time for visits. That might explain why they hadn’t seen much traffic on the road that morning.

Amaranthe wondered if a group of Forge folks strolling through might constitute worthy small-town gossip. If they’d taken a boat or ferry to their chosen island, someone might have witnessed it. She doubted she and Sicarius would stumble across a roadside sign proclaiming, “Secret Forge meeting held this weekend at the Randy Rooster Hotel and Eating House.”

As Amaranthe and Sicarius drew closer to the lake, they started seeing cabins and cottages set back from the road, but, alas, no giant signs.

“These are more modest homes than I expected.” Amaranthe nodded toward a one-room cabin with an outhouse perched on a knoll out back.

“Those are the people who cater to the wealthy and warrior caste. Those with means stay on the islands.”

“You sound like you’ve been here before,” Amaranthe said. It’d be handy if he knew the area.

“Raumesys came down a couple of times.”

“And invited you along to ensure his water-ball team won?”

Before Amaranthe could do more than start to imagine Sicarius in swimming trunks, muscles glistening in the sun as he maneuvered through the water, thrashing and dunking men to get to the ball, he gave her a flat look and said, “To deliver proof of missions completed.”

Ah, the severed head thing again. Amaranthe chose not to imagine that scenario.

“Do you want to scout around when we get to town?” Amaranthe asked. “See if you can find sign of the party’s passing, in your own assassinly way? Meanwhile, I’ll look for someone who will chat with me about the weather, the crops, and if they’ve seen any strangers wander through recently.”

“I will stay with you,” Sicarius said.

“That’s not necessary.”

“You find trouble when you chat.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His grunt said more than his words ever did.

Again, Amaranthe didn’t mind that he wanted to stay with her, but she hoped he wasn’t going to develop a permanent over-protective streak. Maybe he simply sensed that she wasn’t comfortable in her skin just then.

They reached the shoreline where the road branched to go separate ways around the lake. Signposts proclaimed the right headed north, to Sunders City and Armelion-the name for Stumps that nobody except cartographers and sign-makers used. To the left, Markworth was visible through the trees. Docks of all sizes and a few buildings, none more than two stories tall, lined the bank.

Along the lake, more traffic traversed the road, if one could call old, dented bicycles and mule-pulled wood carts traffic. The passing people wore homespun cotton and wool clothes in utilitarian styles. Amaranthe’s purloined military fatigues, with the cuffs rolled up, drew more than a few second glances, or maybe it was the rifle she carried. Even if it wasn’t forbidden for citizens to own firearms in rural areas, the way it was in Stumps, women certainly didn’t tote such things about in the empire. Not women who didn’t want to be gawked at and forced to answer questions, anyway.

“I may need to acquire a costume to better fit in.” Amaranthe handed Sicarius the rifle. The sleek, repeating weapon would draw looks no matter who toted it, but it fit him more. “Right now I look like… ” She eyed her oversized, wrinkled, blood-and dirt-stained clothes.

“Someone who fought with a soldier and stole his garments?” Sicarius suggested.

“Someone who fought poorly with a soldier and stole his garments. Either way, I’d prefer not to be the topic of the chats I intend to have with folks.”

“I will find something.” Sicarius took a step toward the woods, no doubt already having someone’s clothesline in mind.

“Farmer-ish, I think,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe a straw hat too. In fact… ”

He stopped, a hint of wariness on his otherwise expressionless face.

“If you’re going to stick with me, maybe we should have you reprise your role as Pa, the farm dis-ci-pli-nar-i-an.” Amaranthe smiled. “I’ll be Ma. Rural accent and everything.”

Sicarius stared at her.

“It’s not too late to change your mind and scout about from the shadows,” she said.

Sicarius sighed. “You want me to acquire two farmer costumes.”

“And two hats.” Amaranthe winked, but then blurted, “Wait,” as a new thought occurred. “Maybe not. I forgot how I look.” She pointed at her face and neck to indicate the bruises. “We better not make you my husband. People will think you, uhm, you know.”

“Beating your wife is not illegal out here.”

That didn’t surprise Amaranthe-laws against striking wives and children had only been on the books for twenty years in Stumps, a change lobbied for by one of the early female entrepreneurs-but that wasn’t her reason for bringing it up. “Lovely fact, but I don’t want people to believe you’d do it. They’ll think you’re an… ” She decided not to use any of the epithets that came to mind.

Sicarius’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Does it matter?”

Given the number of people he’d killed in his life, being upset over the notion of spousal abuse might be silly, but Amaranthe lifted her chin and said, “It does to me.”

“Propose an alternative.”

“All right, you can be… ” Amaranthe grinned as a new idea came to her. “You can be the handsome stranger who was passing through the rural village where I live with my brutal husband. It was an arranged marriage, of course, thanks to my parents being disillusioned with my adventurous streak and wishing to force me to settle down, for my own good. But you came along and saw how poorly… Millic, yes, Mean Millic was treating me, and you stepped in, giving him a taste of his own… fist.” Amaranthe smacked hers into her open palm for emphasis. “You promised to show me the world if I ran away with you-” she stretched her arm toward the horizon beyond the far side of the lake, “-and I, being left breathless by your ardor, naturally threw myself into your arms and agreed wholeheartedly.”

It was amazing that a man could wear such a bland expression in the face of such infectious enthusiasm. Amaranthe thought it was infectious anyway. Sicarius merely looked at her forehead for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

“What?” Amaranthe asked.

“Do you house a mental filing cabinet full of ideas in there, or do you come up with all of them on the spot?”

“Yes.” Amaranthe grinned, delighted to use his own question-answering strategy against him. “Now, do you agree to play the role, or not?”

Sicarius lifted a hand in acceptance-or resignation-and resumed his walk toward the woods. He paused before slipping into the trees. “What sort of costume does a ‘handsome stranger’ require?”

Amaranthe almost told him he was wearing it, but his black was too signature Sicarius. Even down here, they might run into someone who had seen his wanted poster. She ought to give him honest advice, but she couldn’t help but smirk and say, “Yellow or orange. Floral, perhaps.”

The unwavering-and un-amused-stare he gave her implied he did not find her suggestion helpful.

“Just get something different from what you usually wear,” Amaranthe said as he strode into the woods.

• • •

The wise thing to do would be to wait for Sicarius to return with costumes, but enough people were passing along the road that Amaranthe felt conspicuous standing there in the grimy fatigues. She slipped between a few trees and down to the beach, figuring she could be useful and search for a rowboat they could borrow if necessary. Sicarius would have no trouble following her trail.

A few green islands of various sizes dotted the blue water, though Amaranthe couldn’t begin to see all seventy-three. If she remembered her useless trivia correctly, the lake had been given its unimaginative name not only because of the number of islands but because it was a seventy-three mile walk around it. On maps, it appeared long and narrow with more bends than a drunken snake.

Surprised there weren’t any fishing boats out on the water or anglers on the shore, Amaranthe tried to remember if some imperial holiday had been looming. The town seemed quiet, too, what she could see of it.

“Off season,” she supposed, though, now that her mind had started to ponder oddities, she realized all the people who had passed her on the road had been on the quiet, even glum, side. Sicarius’s presence often deterred conversations, but even after he’d disappeared, nobody had stopped to ask who she was and why she wore oversized men’s clothing. It had been some time since she’d seen a newspaper. She hoped nothing had happened back in the capital.

“Don’t give yourself extra reasons to worry,” Amaranthe commanded herself. As usual, herself wasn’t good at taking orders.

She followed the shoreline past a couple of cabins, then picked her way down to a sandy beach, intending to fill her canteen and wash up. When she dipped her hand in, she let out a surprised mew. It was warm. Not steaming, like the public baths in the city, but warm enough to invite one in for a dip on a cool day.

“A bath, now there’s an appealing thought.”

Amaranthe supposed the spot was a tad public for disrobing-she hadn’t come that far from the road-and, besides, Sicarius would return soon. If she were going to set the stage for him to accidentally wander in on her bath, she’d make sure she was looking vibrantly sensuous rather than wanly bruise-covered.

Still, Amaranthe found herself looking up and down the beach for witnesses, thinking she might get away with a quick dip. The sight of industrial-sized piers and a wooden warehouse perching waterside disavowed her of the thought. Though she didn’t see anyone outside, it looked like a place of business, something that would be occupied during mid-morning. What type of something she didn’t know. Not a cannery, she didn’t think, and there were no boats tied, though a dark dome nestled in the water between two piers. She couldn’t tell what it was.

As long as she was waiting, why not check it out?

Amaranthe had gone less than ten meters down the beach when a “No trespassing” sign came into view. The fine print at the bottom piqued her curiosity. “Barcrest Military Academy Research Center.” Disobeying the sign might not be a good idea, but she wanted to know what that dome was. For some odd reason, black objects had developed a tendency to bestir wariness within her.

Amaranthe strolled down the beach, hands clasped behind her back. She kept her face down, as if she were picking a careful way along, oblivious to her surroundings, but she surreptitiously watched her surroundings. Though the sign hadn’t promised trespassers would be shot, as other signs she’d encountered had, one never knew with military facilities.

She reached the piers without seeing anyone. Water lapped at the black dome. She still couldn’t identify it, though she was close enough to see that it was simply iron that had been painted black, not another piece of ancient technology. Some upturned boat? No, a handle and hinges protruded from the top. Huh.

When Amaranthe reached the base of the first pier, more of the body came into view in the clear, shallow water. An entire sphere lay beneath the surface, supported by caterpillar treads resting on pebbles below. Two sets of varying-length articulating arms stretched out from either side of a glass porthole in the front of the craft. The entire structure was no more than six or eight feet in diameter and might have room for two people to sit inside.

Amaranthe envisioned herself and Sicarius cruising around the lake, checking out the islands. After another glance about to ensure she didn’t have company, she hopped onto the curved hull and tugged at the hatch. Locked. She returned to land and headed toward the building, hoping she’d find it abandoned with a set of keys hanging somewhere accessible.

The windows were too high off the ground to peek through unless one happened to climb the firewood conveniently stacked at one end of the structure. Amaranthe scrambled up the log pile and found glass panes so dirty they served as a greater deterrent to spying than the no-trespassing sign.

Copious amounts of spit and sleeve wiping created a peephole. The diffused sunlight struggling to pierce the windows didn’t brighten the dim interior much, but she made out piping and pumping equipment in one corner, along with rows and rows of objects in display cases. Each one housed small collections or single specimens of… She squinted. Fish? Eels? Maybe the facility was simply there to research the local flora and fauna. By why would a military academy care about-

The grass rustled with the sound of footsteps.

Amaranthe spun and hopped from the woodpile, hoping she could flee around the corner before anyone saw her.

But anyone was already there, standing a few feet away and holding a musket.

“The sign said no trespassing,” the man said, his voice rougher than the pockmarked skin on his face. Though young, he already had lines etched at the corners of his mouth, probably from glowering often. The way he was now.

“Did it?” Amaranthe asked, mustering her most innocent expression. “I didn’t see it.”

“Them.”

“Pardon?”

“ Them. The signs. There are fifteen or twenty around the property.”

“Oh.” Amaranthe smiled. The fellow didn’t look like the type to be impressed by her smile, but at least he hadn’t shot her yet. That was something to feel cheerful about. “Do you work here? Doing research?”

His thick eyebrows drew together, forming a V. “What did I say that could possibly be construed as an invitation to ask questions?”

“When you didn’t shoot me, it was assumed. I’m the curious sort. Aren’t you? You must be if you’re collecting all those specimens in there.” Amaranthe hoped her chatting-burbling, Sicarius would call it-made her seem innocent and innocuous. “Is that what the underwater cart is for?”

The man’s head drew back. “ Cart? ”

“Yes, that black ball on the treads.”

“Woman, that is a UWMTV, a research vessel equipped with the latest imperial technology for underwater maneuverability. A sophisticated wind-up mechanism allows one to turn human energy into ten times the amount of stored energy, sufficient to propel the craft around the lake shallows. It has dual-articulating arms with mechanical hands, suitable for gripping and clipping foliage or scraping samples into bottles. A shock stick holds an electric charge for stunning and collecting ambulatory specimens. It can be applied on nosey trespassers as well.” The man’s glower promised severe repercussions if Amaranthe dared to call it a “cart” again.

“That’s impressive,” Amaranthe said. “Can you truly power something so big with a clockwork mechanism? No furnaces and boilers?” She decided not to mention magic, as that would truly set this man on a rampage, and, from his pride, she could already tell nothing but imperial technology powered the vessel.

“That’s right.”

“How do you transfer the energy? Through a crank?”

His eyebrows rose. “I’m not going to give you instructions on how to steal it and crash it. That’s happened often enough already. Thrice-cursed kids.”

Amaranthe chuckled, though it was a nervous chuckle. After all, she had been thinking of stealing, er, borrowing it herself. “Is that the reason for the signs?”

He grumbled an affirmative under his breath. “Emperor knows, these rural clods wouldn’t be interested in our research.”

“The fish?” Amaranthe asked, still wondering why this facility would be military-funded.

“That’s part of it.” The man lowered the musket so that it no longer pointed at her. “The electrical charge system I mentioned, that came out of studying the eels. My lieutenant does that research. It’s the hot springs and the geothermal system that I work on.”

He eyed her, a question on his face. Maybe he wondered if she might be interested in his specialty. Given the way he’d gone off about the cart, he must be an engineer or something similar.

“Geothermal? Like using nature to create steam that can be used to heat a building or power an engine?”

For the first time, a smile softened his face. “Yes. Want to see my lab?” He pointed at the building.

His willingness to offer a tour to a stranger surprised Amaranthe. She supposed this remote of an outpost, one manned by only two people, didn’t hold itself to the same security standards of a typical army fortification. Perhaps, as well, the rustic townsfolk failed to show interest in his work and he yearned for someone to listen. Realizing he awaited a response, she nodded for him to lead.

“I’m Amaranthe, by the way,” she said as they approached the door.

“Sergeant Pabov.” He faltered when she stepped out of the building’s shadow and into the sunlight. He frowned at her bruises. “What happened to you?”

“I didn’t see someone’s no-trespassing sign.”

Pabov snorted and led the way inside. “That I believe.”

Amaranthe hesitated on the threshold. As soon as Pabov had entered, he’d leaned the musket against a wall, but she had to fight down an uneasy premonition that going into a building with an unknown man wasn’t a good idea. It was an old type of uncertainty, something she hadn’t felt since she’d finished her training as an enforcer and gained the confidence that she could take care of herself in most situations, and she knew she had Pike to blame for it.

Amaranthe clenched her teeth and strode inside. She could still take care of herself. Besides, Pabov had stopped exuding menace during their conversation outside, and she trusted her ability to read when people were and weren’t a threat. That hadn’t changed either, she told herself.

Fortunately, Pabov hadn’t noticed her hesitation. He offered a cursory overview of the specimens in the display cases, nodding to a few unusual frogs, eels, and fish that were only found in the tepid waters of Lake Seventy-three-the only time he lingered was to point out, with the pride of a ten-year-old boy showing off a truly disgusting find, the stuffed body of a fifteen-foot-long “mutant” eel-then he led her to what was obviously his passion. The pipes, tanks, and turbines humming in the back.

Though Amaranthe listened as he explained the technology and what sorts of improvements he’d been working on, she still hoped to spot that key and, every time he looked away, scanned the walls and work benches. A large map tacked above a schematic-filled desk distracted her from the search. It featured the lake and its islands. Amaranthe drifted toward it while making encouraging grunts to keep Pabov talking. She eyed the islands, noting that several had eponymous names such as Deercrest Isle or Dourcrest Cove. She hoped to see one with the name of a Forge founder, or-her spine straightened at the new thought-maybe the Marblecrests had an island, one that might have been loaned out to friends arranging to put certain generals on certain thrones? Unfortunately, only a handful of the seventy-three dots on the map were labeled.

Pabov surprised her by coming up behind her and pointing over her shoulder. Amaranthe jumped. Even though his approach hadn’t been as silent as Sicarius’s always were, and all he was doing was pointing to some of the islands on the map, she had to fight down a nervous urge to skitter out of reach.

“That one, that one, and that one have impressive geothermal facilities on them.” Pabov didn’t seem to notice Amaranthe’s nervous twitch. “They’ve been here longer than the academy’s facility. In fact, we used to lease the one on Dourcrest Cove for research, until Lady Dourcrest decided that having our soldiers roaming around interrupted her terribly important writing.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a Marblecrest Island?” Amaranthe asked, though she doubted allies of Ravido would choose such an obvious meeting spot.

Pabov frowned fiercely.

“Is that a no?”

“There’s one somewhere in the middle, yes, but why are you concerned with the Marblecrests?” His eyes had hardened with suspicion.

“Well, I’ve heard they’re… ” Amaranthe spread her hand, hoping Pabov would take the bait and share what was on his mind. It sounded like he might have heard of the coup and that he disapproved. If so, he might make a useful ally for more reasons than his underwater vehicle.

“Trying to declare the eldest son the next emperor?” Pabov asked. “Yes, they are. From what the papers say, General Ravido Marblecrest is already occupying the capital with his troops, making sure there are lots of men around who are loyal to him. With Sespian dead-”

Amaranthe’s mind hiccupped, and she didn’t hear what Pabov said after that. Sespian dead?

No, Sicarius had said Sespian was alive, that he and the rest of the team had walked away from the crash. Unless Sespian had been killed after Sicarius left the area…

No, she thought again. The papers were wrong. Either accidentally or deliberately. After all, Sespian’s train had been blown up, thanks largely to her. The rest of the world didn’t know he’d survived. Yes, that had to be it.

“You haven’t heard about his death?” Incredulity wrinkled Pabov’s face.

“I’ve been… tied up recently.”

“Emperor Sespian died in a train crash,” Pabov said. “This is the official mourning day. It’s why so few are about.”

“I see.”

“The papers report much chaos going on in Stumps. The Marblecrests are making a bid for the throne, as well as the Moorcrests, the Wolfcrests, and several of the satrapy governors with roots back to the Savarsin line. Then there are the women with babies who have shown up, some fifteen that are supposedly Sespian’s bastards.”

Amaranthe coughed, almost choking on that idea. He had to be the least libidinous teenage boy she’d met.

“A couple of older boys, too, who are reputedly Raumesys’s illegitimate spawn. You really hadn’t heard about any of this? Where did you say you were from?” Pabov squinted at her, wearing the expression of a man starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake in confiding in her. He glanced around the facility, a facility he probably had orders not to show to unauthorized personnel.

“I’m from Stumps,” Amaranthe said, hurrying to talk before he thought overmuch on her inquisitiveness and the way she’d wheedled information out of him. “I came down on business and made the mistake of wandering off alone and getting attacked by local boys. They took me off and… ” Amaranthe closed her eyes, as if she were too pained at the memory to go into details. It wasn’t far from the truth. “There’s a distinct lack of civility in parts down here, I noticed.”

“Oh.” Pabov considered her bruises again, then stuck his hands into his pockets. Sheepishness replaced the suspicion on his face. “Sorry. Do you need any help or a place to stay?”

“No, no.” Amaranthe eased toward the door as she spoke. “I shouldn’t have bothered you at all. You just seemed nice. And interesting. Your work, I mean.” She waved at the snarl of pipes and tanks.

“Oh,” he said again, brightening at her compliment. “Thank you. If you’re in town for a while, come back and see me. I’ll take you on a tour in the UWTMV.”

Amaranthe halted. She’d been halfway to the door, but there was an invitation that tempted. A quick trip with him and she could learn how to use the vehicle.

“I have time now,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

A smile returned to Pabov’s face. “Great.” He opened a drawer-ah, there were those coveted keys. Amaranthe and Sicarius could come back for them after dark. No need for a musty rowboat.

Pabov jangled the keys and jogged out the door, only to halt so quickly that Amaranthe almost crashed into his back. She peeped around him and groaned. Horrible timing.

Sicarius had been walking from the beach to the warehouse. At Pabov’s appearance, he’d halted. He wore sable, brushed cotton trousers and a matching vest that complemented his deep brown eyes, and a crisp ivory shirt that drew out the warm olive tones of his skin. The clothing fit well-he must have visited numerous clotheslines-and few women would have trouble fancying him as a “handsome stranger.” He wore only one weapon, a dagger belted at his waist, and appeared far more approachable than usual. At least Amaranthe thought so. From the rigid way Pabov stood, he didn’t agree.

“Pabov,” she said, trying to draw his eyes toward her and hoping his wariness stemmed from the fact that this was a trespasser rather than recognition on his part. “This is my friend… Hansor,” she said, plucking out a name she’d used for him before. “He helped me escape the thugs who-”

Pabov ran around her and back into the warehouse.

Remembering the musket, Amaranthe barked, “Pabov, don’t!” and spun to follow him.

Sicarius sprinted past her, entering first.

Inside, Pabov snatched the loaded musket from the wall. Sicarius sprinted across the intervening ground so quickly Amaranthe would have missed it if she’d blinked. Pabov whirled toward him, raising the weapon, but Sicarius was already there, tearing it from his hands.

“Don’t-” Amaranthe blurted, a hand outstretched as visions of dead enforcers rampaged through her head.

A thump sounded-a head hitting wood. Before she’d taken more than two steps, Pabov lay on the floor, unmoving.

“-kill him,” Amaranthe finished weakly.

“He is alive.” Sicarius searched through drawers and found a coil of rope. “But he will escape eventually if we leave him here alone.”

His over-the-shoulder glance was unreadable, so maybe she only imagined him thinking how much easier things had been when he simply killed everyone.

“We wouldn’t have that problem if… ” Amaranthe stopped. She couldn’t blame him for coming to look for her, especially when she hadn’t left a message to explain her absence. As usual, this was her fault. “Never mind. It was unfortunate timing. I was ten seconds away from getting a tour of an underwater craft that might let us sneak up on the secret meeting island. Did you know there’s a Marblecrest Island?”

“No.”

Pabov groaned as Sicarius kneeled on him to tie his wrists behind his back.

“Don’t break him, please,” Amaranthe said. “He’s been an amenable fellow.”

“To you.” Sicarius finished tying and stood. “It did not work.”

“What?”

“The costume you recommended I obtain.” He’d been wearing black for far too many years if he considered normal clothing a costume. Perhaps he simply felt crabby without his knife collection within reach.

“It will in town,” Amaranthe said. “He’s a soldier. I think all soldiers have your face etched in their memories.”

Pabov, cheek mashed into the floor, glowered at Amaranthe. “Who are you?”

If they were going to leave Pabov alive, they’d better not tell him anything that might get them in trouble later. Unless there was a chance Amaranthe could talk him into helping. She glanced at Sicarius, wondering if he would be against sharing if it might yield them an ally.

“I know who he is,” Pabov growled.

“Yes, I gathered that from your mad musket dash.” Amaranthe smiled sadly at Sicarius. “Perhaps you should have kept the beard.”

“I just want to know… have I betrayed the empire?” Pabov’s gaze fell to the floor, and he mumbled, “Should have known better than to talk to some strange woman. Obviously spying. What was I thinking?”

Amaranthe knelt beside him. “You haven’t betrayed anything. We’re working for the empire, for Sespian. He didn’t die in that train wreck. He’s still alive.”

Sicarius stirred. Amaranthe didn’t know if he’d heard of Sespian’s reputed death yet. It better only be “reputed,” she thought. If Sicarius had gone on a killing bent when he’d learned of the implant in Sespian’s neck, his death might send him over a precipice and into a very dark, very deep canyon. And would he blame her? Because he’d chosen to come after her instead of helping Sespian?

“No,” Pabov said, “I don’t believe you.” Despite his words, he stared into Amaranthe’s eyes, as if seeking some truth, as if he wanted to believe her.

“The Marblecrests have been working with a nefarious business coalition to oust Sespian and put someone new on the throne. If they have their way, General Ravido Marblecrest.”

“Who are you?” Pabov asked again.

“Amaranthe Lokdon.”

The pronouncement earned a blank look. Amaranthe supposed it was too much to wish that her team’s fame had spread hundreds of miles. She wasn’t certain her name would be recognized in Curi’s Bakery, much less remote lakeside towns.

“I-” Amaranthe smiled and spread her hand across her chest, “-am the former enforcer who talked the infamous assassin, Sicarius, into changing his vile, man-slaying ways and working for the good of the empire.”

She thought Sicarius might object, or more likely snort, but he only lifted a single eyebrow at her proclamation.

“You’re not that charming,” Pabov grumbled.

“Really.” Amaranthe sniffed and resisted the urge to point out that she had charmed him effectively enough. “Perhaps it’d be worth telling him the truth,” she told Sicarius. “He knows the lake, the locals, and he has that lovely underwater craft that could serve useful if we could get a ride.”

“The truth,” Sicarius said in a flat tone. He no doubt wondered just what “truth” she had in mind.

“I’m not helping an assassin,” Pabov said.

“Not even the emperor’s personal assassin?” Amaranthe asked.

“What?”

“Sicarius worked for Emperor Raumesys his whole life,” Amaranthe said, “until Raumesys’s death five years ago. You know about that, right? I thought everyone did.”

Sicarius pinned Amaranthe with a why-are-you-telling-this-stranger-about-me look.

He seems to be loyal to Sespian, she signed. He can help us.

Pabov didn’t respond to her questions right away. Maybe he had heard rumors about Sicarius’s past. Mitsy, the former owner of The Maze had once told Amaranthe that everyone knew Sicarius was Hollowcrest’s man. Of course, she’d been talking about the underworld “everyone,” not soldiers.

“I’ll believe he’s working for the emperor when I see Sespian alive and walking arm-in-arm with him,” Pabov finally said.

That… might be possible. If Sespian was on his way down, maybe he’d arrive soon. Or already had.

“If that happens, you’ll let us borrow your craft?” Amaranthe asked.

“If Emperor Sespian strolls in here, alive, and wants a tour, I’ll drive him around the lake myself.”

Sicarius regarded Pabov’s back. This time there was nothing harsh about the stare. Amaranthe wondered what people would think if they knew they could soften his razor-sharp edges simply by proclaiming allegiance to Sespian.

“I’ll accept that as a promise,” Amaranthe said. “In the meantime, we need to gather information about a meeting we believe to be taking place down here. That business coalition I mentioned? They’ve come down here to plot. Any idea about where a clandestine gathering might be held?”

“No,” Pabov said.

Amaranthe sensed that he’d withdrawn within himself and had no intention of providing helpful answers. She couldn’t blame him. With nothing else to go on, her claims had to seem wild to him. “Did you see or hear of any strangers walking through town? Perhaps yesterday or the day before?”

“No.”

“Truly?” Amaranthe asked, disappointment creeping into her tone.

Pabov frowned up at her. With his face still mashed into the ground, he couldn’t feel that sympathetic toward her plight, but he offered an apologetic, “I don’t get into town much.”

Amaranthe’s gaze returned to the map on the wall. She’d planned to ask after the Forge party in town, but if she could figure out which island they’d gone to, she wouldn’t need to wander around, raising people’s suspicions as she poked into everyone’s business.

“Is there a real estate library in Markworth?” she asked. “Someplace where records are kept of who owns what land and where it lies?”

“I think the records are in the capital,” Pabov said.

The capital that was over a week’s travel away. Not helpful. “There must be someone local who handles real-estate transactions.”

Pabov hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Sicarius.

“We won’t harm the person,” Amaranthe said.

“The Pickle Lady,” Pabov said.

“The Pickle Lady?”

“She breeds long-haired rabbits and knits their fur into sweaters too. I don’t think the stipend the empire pays for handling real estate is particularly large.”

This place was even more rural than Amaranthe had realized. No wonder Forge had chosen it. Nobody who mattered in the grand political or business scene would be down here to chance upon their meeting. “Thank you,” she told Pabov. “I’m grateful for your help.”

“Grateful enough to untie me?”

“Do you promise not to tell anyone we were here?” Amaranthe had no idea if there was a local military garrison, but Markworth would have enforcers to ensure nothing untoward happened to those wealthy people vacationing on the lake.

A moment passed before Pabov answered, and Amaranthe wasn’t surprised when he said, “No.”

Sicarius pinned Amaranthe with one of those cool gazes, one she had no problem reading as, “Leaving him alive is going to cause trouble.”

She waved her hand. They weren’t killing someone when she’d been the one trespassing on his property.

After they walked outside, Sicarius stepped in front of Amaranthe. “You told him much.”

“I was preparing him to eventually join our side and help us.” Amaranthe smiled. “If Sespian shows up, this fellow is ready to be his devoted guide.”

“ If Sespian shows up,” Sicarius said, a grimness to usual monotone.

“You’ve heard what the newspapers are reporting?” Amaranthe had thought he’d been gone a long time just to furnish his wardrobe.

“I heard.”

“I’m sure he’s well,” Amaranthe said. “Forge knows Ravido can’t make a real move until the populace believes Sespian is gone. Since he’s not in the capital to refute the reports of his, er, death, they can print whatever they want.”

“ The Gazette is the paper that published the story,” Sicarius said, his grimness disappearing, replaced by an iciness that, even after all the time they’d spent together, still sent a chill curling through Amaranthe. She was glad Deret Mancrest was hundreds of miles away.

“If our men are with Sespian,” she said, “they’ll keep him safe.”

“If Sespian dies, I’ll kill Maldynado.”

“Levity?” Amaranthe asked, though she knew it wasn’t.

“No.”

“I’m still not clear on how Maldynado came to be in charge.”

Sicarius stalked away without a word. That probably meant he wasn’t sure either, but now considered his choice a mistake.

Amaranthe followed Sicarius back to the beach where she’d originally intended to wait for him. He moved aside something bright and picked up a stack of folded garments on a log half-hidden by ferns. Wordlessly, he handed her the clothing and a practical pair of canvas boots. She shook out an ankle-length walking dress, a high-necked blouse, and a long muslin apron. Though Maldynado would perhaps fault the sedate colors, Amaranthe thought Sicarius had a surprising knack for picking out clothing that matched and, more importantly, fit. More than that, the outfit would hide a multitude of bruises. She was on the verge of complimenting and thanking Sicarius when he dropped a woven hat into her arms. The pastel greens, blues, pinks, and yellows crisscrossed each other in a pattern that could only have been imagined by a woman deep in the applejack bottle.

“This has to be levity,” Amaranthe said.

“Yes,” Sicarius said, though no spark of humor glinted in his eyes. He walked away to give her the privacy to change.

He was too worried about Sespian to find amusement in anything at the moment, Amaranthe supposed, but couldn’t help but call after him, “I don’t know why you’d want to kill Maldynado, when it’s clear you’d make fabulous hat-shopping buddies.”