Blood and Betrayal

Chapter 22

Amaranthe was utterly and hopelessly lost. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped down the sides of her face. The vent had crossed other vents, widening and then narrowing again, as it continued an upward path. How far upward, she didn’t know, but she worried that they’d come out on one of the Marblecrest beaches instead of anywhere useful.

Her knuckles brushed against something that wasn’t as hard as the surrounding rock. Sicarius’s foot? It moved before she could be certain. Thinking of that giant eel in the pool, she hoped it had only been his foot.

Faint voices drifted to Amaranthe’s ears. At first, she thought they came from the men behind her, but the sounds were farther away than that. Nervous excitement ran through her body. Maybe they were going to succeed at finding a spy hole after all.

A draft brushed her face, a faint sulfuric scent hanging in the air. Maybe it was her imagination, but it didn’t seem as warm as the earlier drafts. As Amaranthe continued forward, the blackness lightened to gray. The vent opened onto a rocky shelf with three or four feet of clearance overhead. A ledge with a drop-off was to the right. She couldn’t see what lay at the bottom, but the light came from that direction.

Sicarius, belly-down on the far end of the shelf, faced the open area. He waved for her to join him. The shelf was less than ten feet wide and lacked any other exits. Amaranthe thought her team might fit if they lined themselves up with Sicarius and didn’t mind temporarily storing their elbows in each other’s pockets. Turning around and climbing back out again wouldn’t happen quickly. She crawled toward Sicarius, but halted when she glimpsed what lay beyond the drop-off.

The cavernous chamber that opened below them was so large that she felt as if she was perched on the rim of a volcano. The crater sloped inward and downward on all sides, its porous rock shells containing more gaps than Mangdorian bubble cheese. The team’s shelf was not unique.

At the bottom of the crater, a polished black-tile floor gleamed beneath dozens of lamps. It held a circle of desks three tiers deep. Most of the men and women occupying the seats possessed the olive to bronze skin of Turgonians, but there were a few foreigners as well, some with features as pale as Basilard’s and others with flesh almost as dark as the vent Amaranthe had just left. Each desk held an open binder with a stack of papers and a pen holder. The double doors Sicarius had mentioned stood closed at the end of a short access tunnel recessed into the concave walls. In the center of the desk circle, a man was in the process of leaving the floor to sit down while a woman in a hand-tailored skirt and jacket replaced him.

Someone touched Amaranthe, reminding her that she’d have to scoot to the end so the others could squeeze in. She crawled over to Sicarius and lay down on her stomach beside him. His eyes were toward the floor, his face unreadable, and she imagined him studying each person, gauging the threat.

“Fascinating,” Books murmured as he settled in next to Amaranthe. “This must be where they found the aircraft.”

“Oh, of course,” Amaranthe said. It was obvious once he had said it. If that tracking tool had a way of conveying the magnitude of the artifact it was pointing to, Retta, or whoever had originally mastered the device, must have been giddy at the idea of unearthing something so large. To think, while Amaranthe had been going to the enforcer academy and learning how to put men into joint locks, one of her old schoolmates had been mastering the language and technology of an ancient, alien race and learning how to, among other things, fly. Amaranthe tried not to feel like an underachiever.

Sicarius lifted a finger, directing her attention upward.

Some twenty feet above them, a clear convex ceiling served as a window into the lake. Enough light filtered down from the surface to reveal schools of fish drifting past.

“How is that possible?” Amaranthe whispered. Other than the crater walls themselves, the hundreds-of-feet-wide “window” lacked visible support. It couldn’t possibly be made from glass.

Sicarius shook his head once.

“Thank you for allowing me to speak, my colleagues,” the woman in the center of the circle said, the acoustics of the chamber making her voice easy to hear. Amaranthe made a note to limit her own words. “And thank you, Thovic, for explaining our plans to move the ranmya from a gold-backed currency into a fiat money system.”

Sespian had settled in on the other side of Books, and his head jerked up. Books’s eyes, too, sharpened.

“I agree with my colleague that we may need to outlaw the ownership of gold in order to force acceptance by the people. While paper money has become commonplace in the major cities, it’s still viewed with suspicion in smaller areas, and the warrior caste are notoriously hard to sway to new ideas.”

“New ideas?” Books scoffed. “The Minyar Empire tried a fiat currency centuries ago, and it played a role in their collapse.”

“Our proposition will solve the empire’s current money shortage problems,” the speaker said, waving toward the binders, “without requiring draconian tax increases that might bestir citizens to revolt. The common man will be unaware of how inflation works, so it’ll act as a hidden tax that benefits the government, allowing Turgonia to maintain its expansive military and infrastructure.”

Amaranthe hadn’t realized the empire might be in trouble financially. She supposed the slowdown in colonization and outright usurpation in the last fifty years had meant fewer fresh resources to plunder. Certainly industry was still running strong, but much of that belonged in private hands, and Turgonia did have a lot of resources to maintain. She peered past Books to Sespian. He must know all about Turgonia’s current state of affairs. Like Books, Sespian was focused on the speaker. No, he didn’t appear surprised by the talk of financial difficulties, though a wrinkle of concentration drew his eyebrows together, as if he might not have considered manipulating the money supply as a solution. Not surprising. Historically, Turgonian emperors had solved financial problems by conquering someone new.

“Of course,” the speaker said, “the government is only a concern of ours insofar as we can profit from it. Our plan is to control the money-creation system, ensuring that we benefit handsomely.”

Sicarius looked at Amaranthe. She wasn’t sure if it was a questioning look or not-he often surprised her with his versatility and knowledge, so she wouldn’t put it past him to have a handle on economics. The history of currency was fairly esoteric information, however, and she couldn’t imagine that Hollowcrest had felt the need to include it in his studies. She had only a basic understanding herself and suspected she’d be asking Books for clarification.

“Right now,” Amaranthe whispered, “ranmya notes say they’re redeemable for gold or silver, depending on the denomination. If that backing is taken away, the only reason paper money would continue to have value would be because the government said so. Because there’d be no finite resource limiting the amount of money in circulation, the government could, and likely would, print more as it needed more, and that would lead to inflation. Prices would appear to go up year after year, though it’d actually be a case of the value of the existing currency being diluted so that it’d be worth less and less. The average person would suffer because his or her buying power would be eroded.” Amaranthe glanced at Books, hoping he’d nod to indicate she was getting her information right-it’d been ten years since her classes with Ms. Worgavic, after all-but his eyes were focused on the speaker below. Figuring she had better wrap up and listen as well, Amaranthe finished her explanation with, “Those who gain from the process are those at the source, those who have their hands on the currency first, spending it as it’s printed, before the expansion of the money supply dilutes the value of each note.”

During Amaranthe’s speech, Sicarius’s expression never changed. At the end, he looked to Books and asked, “They’re not talking about establishing a central bank, correct? They seek to create a private banking cartel that counts the throne as its biggest customer?”

“Yes.” Books lifted a finger to his lips and pointed toward the floor.

Amaranthe blushed, realizing Sicarius hadn’t needed her explanation. His look had probably meant he’d been wondering if she knew what was going on. She hunched down and focused on the woman below.

“As many of you in banking know,” the speaker was saying, “our industry hasn’t been exceedingly profitable in the past. Business mavens are seeing a time of fantastic profits, however, by getting rid of competition and working together to fix prices at levels acceptable to profit margins.”

“At levels more expensive to consumers,” Books muttered.

“I propose we do something similar with banking,” the speaker said. “By creating a banking system that handles the creation of money in the empire, we can then handle all the loans that are made, including the loaning of money to the government. Currently, businesses are doing well, too well, and the trend is toward private capitalization. They haven’t needed our loans, but if we can lower interest rates to make loans more appealing… Well, in the current system, that’s not possible, but if money is no longer backed by anything, and we can simply create more when we need it, then we can make interest rates as low as we wish and still earn a handsome profit.”

A man in the back lifted a hand. “What makes you think the empire will go for this? The idea of a central bank is nothing new, but what government would give up control to private parties?”

Ms. Worgavic, who had a front row seat near the door, stood and straightened her jacket. Smiling, she said, “That’s already been arranged. We’re handing Ravido Marblecrest the throne, and, in exchange, he’s agreed to this. I doubt he has any idea what the ramifications are, as he seemed quite relieved to be asked for nothing more, but this, my colleagues, is how we ensure our prosperity and the future prosperity of our children.”

Amaranthe wondered if there was some Forge mandate about addressing everyone as “my colleague.” She’d have to remember that nuance if she ever tried to infiltrate the group.

“Everyone in this room,” Ms. Worgavic went on, “who wants to be a part of this is invited. You’ll have a position on the board of directors, a hereditary position that guarantees that your descendants will be a part of this organization for decades and centuries to come. Your offspring will not only be very wealthy in this new world, but they will shape how it evolves.”

The first speaker was nodding. “It starts with Turgonia, but it doesn’t end there. With the ranmya as the world’s reserve currency, it will only be a matter of time before we have a foothold in every nation on the globe.”

“Few if any of them appear to be armed,” Sicarius whispered. “They left their servants and bodyguards outside.”

It took Amaranthe a moment to realize where he was going with the comment. She scowled at him, though he didn’t seem to notice. He had crawled closer to the edge and was eyeing the drop-off beneath them. It had to be more than forty feet to the polished floor, but, due to the concave curve, one might be able to slide down it without breaking one’s leg. Still…

“You’re not going to jump down there and murder fifty people,” Amaranthe whispered.

“Forty-one,” Sicarius said.

Of course, he would have counted every person. No doubt he’d judged the fitness and athleticism of all those people and also taken note of bulges beneath jackets that might represent concealed weapons.

Amaranthe gripped his arm and tilted her head to indicate they should move away from the edge to discuss. As clearly as she heard the speaker’s voice, it was a foregone conclusion that overexcited whispers might float down to the floor as well.

Sespian was scowling at Sicarius, too, and he scooted back with them. “I forbid you to employ your assassination techniques here.”

Good. She’d known Sespian wouldn’t be interested in mass murder as a solution either, but she hadn’t known that he’d stand up to Sicarius.

Two against one odds didn’t bother Sicarius. He merely said, “Those people represent the head of Forge. If they don’t walk out of this room, their plans die with them. Without their support, General Ravido will be-”

“No.” Sespian chopped downward with his hand.

Amaranthe winced, fearing the word would carry.

Sespian caught himself and lowered his voice. “Don’t you understand, assassin? If you must become a monster to defeat your enemies, then, even if you win, you lose.”

Sicarius’s gaze didn’t waver under Sespian’s criticism. “When leading human beings, virtue must be backed by steel, or someone will take advantage of you.” He thrust his hand toward the chamber.

Amaranthe hoped Sicarius wasn’t implying that Forge getting this far was due to some failing of Sespian’s. He’d had less than a year of truly being in power, and the inception of this plot seemed to be at least a decade old, if not more.

“Or, worse,” Sicarius continued, “you’ll end up with a dagger in your back. You needn’t bloody your own hands, Sire. This is why I was created.”

Amaranthe winced at his word choice. Created. As if he were some machine that had been assembled simply to kill.

Sespian unclenched his jaw to say, “I would never employ someone like you. Employing someone else to bloody their hands on your behalf is even more deplorable than doing it yourself.”

Amaranthe rubbed her face. They were supposed to be bonding, not sniping at each other. And this wasn’t the time or place for either act. She lifted her hand, patting the air in a placating gesture, but neither man was looking at her. Books was still listening to the oration below, but Basilard and Yara were eyeing Sicarius and Sespian uneasily. Yara pointed at the two men, met Amaranthe’s eyes, and lifted a finger to her lips.

“I know,” Amaranthe mouthed.

“We don’t need to resort to murder anyway,” Sespian said. “Now we know who’s involved and what they’re planning. We can outmaneuver them at their own game. We can-”

“What I want to know,” a man demanded from below, his voice echoing in the chamber, “is what you plan to do if Sespian Savarsin strolls back into the capital. Just because you’ve had him declared dead doesn’t mean that he is. Nobody’s found a body yet, have they?”

At the mention of the emperor’s name, Sespian and Sicarius released each other from their intense stares. Both men scooted back to the edge in time to hear Ms. Worgavic’s response.

“If he is still alive, it won’t matter for long. He is not the son of Raumesys.”

Sespian sucked in a startled breath, and he wasn’t the only one. Papers rustled, and murmurs broke out below.

“We have it from a reputable source,” Worgavic said, “and our people in the Imperial Barracks are collecting evidence as we speak. If Sespian appears in the capital again, we will publish everything.”

Reputable source? It was all Amaranthe could do not to sputter the words. Who would consider a tortured outlaw a reputable source?

Though she was afraid to look at Sicarius, and draw Sespian’s attention before facts had been stated, Amaranthe watched him out of the corner of her eye. He had grown corpse still. She flexed her fingers, ready to grab him if he decided to leap off the ledge and streak into the room, slaying people left and right to keep the rest of the secret from coming out.

“Who is his father then?” the man who’d brought it up asked.

“Yeah, who?” Sespian squeaked, his eyes so wide the whites gleamed around the irises.

Books looked at Amaranthe. Not only did his eyes lack surprise, but he glanced toward Sicarius. Numbly, Amaranthe wondered how long Books had known.

“His mother is from the Castlecrest line,” the man below continued. “If the father is warrior caste, Sespian might yet have a claim as good as Ravido’s.”

For whatever reason, Ms. Worgavic was hesitating. She must not know Sicarius’s lineage and couldn’t say for certain that her colleague’s point was moot. Or maybe she worried that Sicarius would somehow find out that she’d spread his secret to the world and come for revenge.

Ms. Worgavic’s back was toward the elevated shelf, and Amaranthe saw the moment when her old teacher firmed her spine and decided. Sicarius rose to a crouch. Amaranthe gripped his forearm.

“Don’t,” she whispered low enough that Sespian wouldn’t hear. “Not like this. He’ll never understand.”

Understand or forgive, she thought.

Ms. Worgavic spoke. “The father is-”

One of the massive double doors flew open. It smashed into the rock wall with so much force that it sounded like a gun being shot.

A blonde-haired woman ran inside with one of her shoes missing and the rest of her clothing saturated and clinging to her body.

“Oh, dear,” Books murmured.

Amaranthe winced. “Is that-”

“Our escaped prisoner,” Books said, “yes.”

“Go, go,” Amaranthe whispered, hustling the men toward the vent. If a general alarm hadn’t been issued yet, it would be soon. She didn’t know how many of those servants outside the door had weapons, but she doubted the Forge people had traveled down without numerous well-trained bodyguards.

Thanks to the low ceiling and awkward tightness of their hiding spot, the time it took the team to shuffle one-after-the-other into the vent seemed like hours. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but, as she maneuvered closer, Amaranthe heard all too much of Brynia’s rapid relaying of events. Before she reached the vent, shouts for guards and warnings of intruders echoed through the tunnels.

“Hurrying would be good,” Books whispered to whoever was ahead of him.

In the dim lighting, Amaranthe had lost track of the ordering. When Books’s feet disappeared ahead of her, she dove into the vent without hesitation. Going down was much faster than going up, and she slid more often than she crawled, suffering bumps and bruises from the rough rock walls.

Only after dropping ten or twenty feet did Amaranthe, with a sick feeling in her stomach, think to worry that Sicarius might not have followed her. She tried to peek over her shoulder, but she couldn’t see anything behind her, not when she was sliding, headfirst down a steep slope. Concerned that he’d chosen to go against her and Sespian’s wishes, and taken the other route off the shelf, Amaranthe scarcely noticed when the vent ended. She tumbled out in a pile, crashing into someone’s legs.

Basilard hoisted her to her feet. Clangs, like someone striking a massive gong, reverberated through the tunnels.

“Out the way we came?” Akstyr pointed in the direction of the underground pool. No one had raced down their tunnel, weapons waving, yet.

“Yes, be prepared to fight.” Amaranthe glanced around. Sicarius hadn’t come out of the vent yet.

“Where’s Maldynado?” Yara asked.

Akstyr was already running toward the exit with Basilard and Sespian charging after him. Yara, fists planted on her hips, had the stubborn immobility of a statue.

“Akstyr,” Amaranthe called, as loudly as she dared-shouting and telling Forge exactly where their intruders were probably wasn’t a good idea. “Where’s-”

“Back here.” Maldynado ran down the tunnel toward them from the opposite direction.

“How were you standing guard for us from back there?” Yara demanded.

“Not now.” Amaranthe tore her gaze from the vent-if Sicarius hadn’t appeared yet, he wasn’t going to-and waved for everyone to follow Akstyr.

Maldynado fell in beside Amaranthe and, as they ran, said, “I’ve got a steamroller running back there.”

“Why?” Amaranthe asked.

“In case we need to roll our way out of here. Over a few corpses of Forge people who stand in our way.”

“That’s macabre.”

“I thought you’d appreciate it given your recent experiences with them.”

Amaranthe hadn’t explained her recent experiences and didn’t want to, but she supposed the men could infer much from her bruises and bandages. “Let’s hope we don’t need-”

“Dead shriveled donkey balls!” came Akstyr’s voice from ahead. “Back, back!”

A scream of surprise-and pain-followed the order. Dread filled Amaranthe’s heart. Yara and Sespian were in front of her, and she tried to push past them, to get to Akstyr, or at least see what was attacking him. But at the same time, Basilard pushed her backward. He had Akstyr slung over his shoulder, and Amaranthe’s feeling of dread increased.

Reading the warning in Basilard’s eyes, she scurried backward. On her way by, she grabbed Maldynado’s arm and propelled him around. “I think it’s time to visit your steamroller.”

“It’s the cubes,” Sespian said, his voice calm despite the chaos. “They shoot out rays of… fire,” he said, though his head shake suggested that wasn’t the right word. There probably wasn’t a right word to explain the technology.

Everyone was running now, save for Akstyr, who bumped and flopped on Basilard’s shoulder. His eyes were open, but pain contorted his face. His shoulder was smoking.

Tending to his wound would have to wait. Amaranthe urged the men to run faster and hoped they wouldn’t end up trapped in a dead-end. Sicarius’s terse warning about the black cubes raced through her head, and she feared that a steam-powered rolling machine wouldn’t be enough of a tool to harm them.

As the team rounded a bend, a flash of crimson streaked out of the darkness. Fortunately, it struck the rock wall instead of hitting one of the men. Amaranthe hunched her shoulders, expecting a spray of shrapnel. But the beam burned into the wall and, instead of blowing away rock, it melted it somehow. When the crimson ray winked out, a gaping black hole remained.

Someone gave her a not-so-gentle shove from behind. Yes, not a good idea to stand and stare while the floating artillery boxes caught up with them.

Maldynado was leading the way now, and Amaranthe sprinted to catch up with him. When they passed the vent they’d used, she sent a scowl at the entrance, one meant for Sicarius, not only for disobeying Sespian’s order, but also for leaving them to deal with these ancestors-cursed cubes by themselves.

Up ahead, the tunnel opened into a chamber, and Maldynado veered to the left. Amaranthe ran in on his heels, the others pounding in after her. Maldynado climbed into the cabin of the steamroller and seemed surprised when Amaranthe popped in right after him.

“Scoot.” She shoved him to the side. There was a control wheel instead of levers. Good, that’d be easy. And the engine and boiler were in front, between the cab and the roller. Also good. So long as she and Maldynado could get out fast enough.

Amaranthe shoved the throttle lever and grabbed the wheel. The steamroller lurched forward more quickly than she expected.

“Emperor’s warts, boss,” Maldynado blurted. “What’re you doing?”

“Driving.” Amaranthe yanked the wheel as far left as it would go and cursed under her breath at how slowly the vehicle lumbered in the desired direction. “Clear the way,” she yelled to the others, though, given the wide-eyed way they were backing up, it might not have been necessary.

If she could reach the entrance with the steamroller before those cubes entered the chamber…

“They’re coming,” Akstyr yelled. “Where’s the back door?”

“There is no back door,” Yara said.

“Maldynado, you dolt,” Books yelled. “You led us into a dead-end!”

In front of the cab, gray plumes of steam escaped the stack. The vehicle picked up speed.

“If this works, be ready to jump out fast,” Amaranthe said.

“If what works?” Maldynado demanded, his hand clenched on the bar supporting the cab roof.

With her eyes focused on the tunnel entrance, Amaranthe didn’t answer. She held her breath, hoping…

They reached the tunnel and turned into it only to smack right into one of those cubes. Amaranthe flinched in surprise but didn’t release the wheel. The cube bounced off the massive roller without being harmed. It leveled itself, and a red hole on its nearest side flared with light. Four more cubes were lined up in the air behind it. Their holes burned with crimson energy as well.

“Get out,” Amaranthe cried. “Now!”

She coiled to jump out the side of the cab, but Maldynado grabbed her, throwing her under his arm like a toddler, and leaped over the seats and out the back of the vehicle.

Crimson beams lanced through the air. Before Maldynado’s feet hit the ground, one of the fiery rays struck the steamroller’s boiler. Even expecting it, Amaranthe was caught off guard by the power of the explosion. The shock wave hammered into her and Maldynado, tearing her away from his grip. She flew through the air and smashed into someone, taking the other person down with her. Locked in a tangle of limbs, they rolled several feet. She came out on top and grimaced when she realized Sespian was the one flattened beneath her.

“Apologies, Sire.” Amaranthe rolled off, hoping he’d spent enough time with the team now that he’d be used to being manhandled by commoners.

“Do many weeks pass without you blowing something up?” Sespian’s tone was light, though the joke didn’t reach his eyes. He was either worried about those cubes or what he’d heard in the meeting. Or both.

“Not many,” Books said, offering both Sespian and Amaranthe a hand up.

Amaranthe checked the tunnel entrance before accepting his help. Dust and smoke clogged the air, and the steamroller had disappeared beneath a pile of rubble. There was no sign of the cubes, but, given the hole she’d seen one incinerate in pure rock, she doubted it would take long for them to burn a way through.

Maldynado pointed at the blocked tunnel. “That was the only way out.”

A drop of water splashed onto Amaranthe’s nose. As she lifted her eyes toward the source, an ominous snap emanated from within the rock above them. A jagged crack ran across the chiseled ceiling from wall to wall. Beads of moisture kissed that jagged line.

Amaranthe could only stare. In the back of her mind, she calculated that, based on the height of that window-ceiling above the crater and the length of the vent they’d crawled down, there had to be thirty or forty feet of rock above them. She hadn’t been thinking of the roof when she’d blocked the tunnel-there hadn’t been time for that.

“Dear ancestors,” Books whispered. He’d noticed the drip and the crack too.

Everyone had noticed, and everyone was staring at the ceiling in as dumbfounded a manner as Amaranthe. More beads were forming and dripping now. No escape, her mind whispered. After all they’d survived, after all her crazy schemes, this was going to be the one that killed them all.

“Get in the vehicles,” Amaranthe said. It was stupid advice. As if the metal roof of some steam wagon could protect them from thousands of tons of rock caving in on their heads.

“In or under?” Maldynado asked.

“It’s not going to matter,” Books said, but, like everyone else, he ran to jump into one of the cabs.

Another crack sounded in the earth above them. The drips turned to a steady stream pouring onto the stone floor.

“Maybe the cave-in will take out our enemies too,” Yara said.

She, Amaranthe, Sespian, and Basilard had climbed into one lorry while the others had leaped into the second. Nobody responded to her comment. It wasn’t much of a consolation. Even if they buried Forge with them, they’d be taking out Sespian too. Who’d be left to spearhead the next iteration of the empire? Some backstabbing relative of Maldynado’s? Amaranthe shook her head. What had she done?

“My shoulder feels like it’s been dipped in acid,” Akstyr growled. At least he’d revived enough to stand. Not that it’d matter in a moment.

“We have another problem,” Yara said.

“Oh, good.” Amaranthe couldn’t hide the high-pitched squeak to her voice. “We didn’t have enough to worry about.”

Yara pointed at the tunnel entrance.

Beyond the water pouring from the ceiling crack, smoke was rising from somewhere. At first, Amaranthe thought it was from the buried vehicle, but it couldn’t be. It had to be those cubes, burning their way through that rubble. In a few seconds, they’d be inside.

A slab of rock snapped away from the ceiling crack and crashed to the floor. Water poured through the gap.

“Maybe those cubes aren’t waterproof,” Amaranthe said bleakly. She doubted it.

“Maybe the chamber will flood,” Books said from the other lorry, “and we’ll drown before they incinerate us.” Indeed, thanks to the increased flow, water smothered the floor and was creeping up the walls of the chamber. In another foot, it’d reach the bottom of the cabs.

“Better than being smashed by the roof collapsing,” Maldynado said.

Sespian cleared his throat. “Can’t we just swim out?”

Amaranthe blinked. He was right. Right now, there was no way anyone could fight the current of the descending water, but once the chamber filled, everything ought to equalize. Shouldn’t it? She looked at Books.

He lifted a shoulder. “If those cubes don’t break in first. And if the route isn’t too twisty and narrow for human bodies to pass through. And if the surface isn’t too far up.”

“Don’t overwhelm us with your optimism, Booksie,” Maldynado said.

Basilard tapped Amaranthe. If necessary, I will distract the cubes so the team can escape.

“Noble, Basilard,” Amaranthe said, “but I’d prefer it if we all lived.” She’d prefer it if Sicarius were there too. She wanted to kick him for abandoning them. Not that she wanted him to die with them, but he knew more about those cubes than anyone.

Water crept higher, flooding the cab. The cold currents tugged at Amaranthe’s legs.

Across the chamber, a fist-sized piece of rock tumbled down the cave-in hill and splashed into the water. More smoke wafted from the hole.

“That’s it,” Amaranthe said, certain the cubes were about to burst through. Running away from them would have been hard enough, but swimming?

Another thunderous crack came from above. This time, the boulder that dropped away was the size of a steam vehicle. The lake gushed in. Before Amaranthe could do more than suck in a gulp of air, tepid water engulfed her. It extinguished the lanterns, and blackness swallowed the cave.

Fear surged through her limbs. All she could think to do was push away from the lorry and swim in the direction she thought was the hole. She bumped someone’s leg, or arm, or who knew what? So long as it wasn’t one of those cubes.

Her fingers scraped against rock. The ceiling? The water seemed brighter ahead. All too aware of how deep they were and how little air she had, Amaranthe angled in that direction, hoping her eyes weren’t tricking her. As she swam, she kept one hand on the rocky surface, using it as a guide. It ended in at a jagged edge. The hole leading upward, she hoped. What else could it be?

With that optimistic thought, Amaranthe angled her body into the passage. All of the edges were jagged, and she had to twist and writhe to find a route upward. At least she hoped it was upward. Maybe she’d merely found the tunnel, and she was swimming deeper into the complex and farther from the surface. And air.

No. The tunnel wouldn’t have any light, and those sharp, jagged edges hadn’t been formed by erosion or machines. They were fresh.

Again, Amaranthe bumped against someone-this time her knuckles brushing a boot. Someone was above her. That gave her further hope. If others were going that direction, it had to be the way out. As she continued on, the brightness grew stronger. There was no current in the crevice, but she could feel her natural buoyancy helping her ascend as well.

Finally, the dark stone walls disappeared. The water made her sight blurry, but she could see reds and greens-seaweed. She’d reached the bottom of the lake. None too soon either. Her lungs were pleading for air.

Not sure how many feet down the bottom was, Amaranthe kicked for the surface. Her long dress tangled about her legs. Had she the breath, she would have snarled at the impractical garb. She kicked harder and stretched her arms toward the surface, longing to break through and gasp in fresh air.

A dark shadow blotted out the light coming from the sky. At first, Amaranthe thought she might be coming up under a log, so she veered to the side. Then the “log” dove down and slammed into her.

The force drove her several feet to the side. Her last vestiges of air escaped in an explosion of bubbles even as she tumbled through the water, head over feet.

Amaranthe clawed for the short sword that usually hung at her waist, but only found a knife. It’d have to do. She yanked the blade free. The dark shape had come around; it swam straight toward her. It looked like a giant eel. It had to be the creature from the underwater pool, the one that had feasted on the guard.

Her lungs ached to suck in a breath, and the surface waited, tantalizingly close, but she dared not turn her back on the eel. At this depth, plenty of light filtered down to reveal its maw as it neared, how it opened up, displaying two fences of fangs bigger than swords…

Amaranthe gripped her knife tighter, the short blade paltry in comparison.

The eel’s tail undulated, and the beast surged forward. She tried to fling herself to the side and lash out as it swam past, but it was too fast. This was the eel’s milieu, and that maw whipped about to follow her as quickly as one of Sicarius’s sword strikes. It would have- should have-chomped down on her, but the creature halted mid-attack. It reared back, and Amaranthe didn’t question her reprieve. With her lungs screaming for air, and blackness encroaching at the edges of her vision, she swam for the surface.

When she burst through, her desperate gasp drew in as much water as air. Coughs wracked her body. Dagger still in hand, Amaranthe spun in a circle, trying to spot the creature-or nearby land so she could sprint to a beach where it couldn’t reach her.

“You all right, boss?” came Maldynado’s voice from twenty meters away. He was treading water and supporting Yara. She’d succumbed to a bout of coughing as well. Closer to shore, Basilard lifted his arm. Thank his ancestors, Akstyr had revived enough to swim out; he treaded water with Basilard’s support.

“I think so,” Amaranthe answered.

Something churned beneath the surface, agitating the water.

“Find the others,” Amaranthe called. “Get everyone to land.”

Afraid one of “the others” was down below, fighting that creature to help her, Amaranthe took a breath and dropped below the surface again. When the giant eel had been above her, its dark shape contrasting with the light from the sky, she’d had no trouble making it out, but she struggled to see anything against the dark depths.

Though her muscles were reluctant to comply, Amaranthe stroked downward. Swim to the beach, the sane part of her mind said, but if some comrade had come to help her, and now needed her help…

The water grew still. Uneasiness swam into Amaranthe’s stomach. What if her unseen savior had sacrificed himself to distract the creature from eating her? If it had been Books… He’d come a long way in the last year, but he still wasn’t a natural fighter. Dealing with powerful, inhuman monsters surely wasn’t his forte.

When she didn’t spot anyone-or anything-Amaranthe turned a circle, afraid she’d misjudged the source of the agitation.

Something dark floated in the water a couple of meters away. Amaranthe almost dropped her knife. Swearing at herself, she recovered, bringing it to bear in case the eel attacked. But it wasn’t moving. Blood clouded the water.

Amaranthe swam back to the surface. She spotted Books in the distance, paddling toward shore.

A few feet away, Sespian bobbed, treading water. He waved a knife. “It’s dead, right?”

“ You did that?” Amaranthe asked, then, realizing that might sound offensive, added, “I mean, yes, I believe it’s dead. Thank you for your help.”

Sespian smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I thought I should practice proving myself useful, given that I’m unemployed now.”

“Ah, yes. Well, let’s find someplace dry and talk about that.” Dry and safe, Amaranthe thought. There might be more of those giant eels about.

The rest of her team had paddled for Marblecrest Island, the nearest piece of land. Amaranthe counted heads and accounted for all but one. A blond one.

She tried to lock her emotions away, reminding herself that he had chosen to leave the group against her wishes. If he hadn’t found a way out, it was his fault. Except it wasn’t. Not really. He had been trying to protect Sespian, and probably her as well, the only way he knew how.

Amaranthe wiped water out of her eyes. Don’t get maudlin yet, girl, she told herself. He’d find another way out.

“I must apologize for dragging your team into this,” Sespian said. “You must believe me when I say I had no idea about… I had no idea.”

“I know, Sire.”

He sighed. “At least you were paid well for your time.”

“We were?”

“I gave your men the money I promised.” His laugh sounded forced. “Better spend it before Forge’s plan goes into effect and it’s worthless.”

“I’m sure they’re only planning to inflate the currency a few percent a year. Besides Maldynado probably already spent it on hats.”

Amaranthe ought to swim to shore-Basilard had already crawled out and was waving the others over-but she kept expecting Sicarius to pop up. Unless a passage led to an exit on Marblecrest Island somewhere, anyone who didn’t come up soon… wouldn’t ever. Though maybe he’d made it back to the underwater vehicle. All of the Forge people were probably trying to escape that way-if they’d had time. It wouldn’t take that water long to flood everything. A grisly thought came to Amaranthe. What if her explosion had, however inadvertently, killed everyone down there?

Sespian mumbled something.

“Pardon, Sire?” Amaranthe asked, glad for a distraction.

“I’m having a hard time believing this and wondering if they might be wrong. Maybe they made it up.” Sespian shoved his bangs away from his forehead. “I mean, I knew my fa-Raumesys and I didn’t have anything in common, but I’d never heard any speculation… I wouldn’t have guessed… ”

Amaranthe didn’t mean for her face to give anything away, but Sespian was watching her and frowned at something he saw there.

“You aren’t surprised by any of this,” he said. “You didn’t… know, did you?”

Avoiding his eyes would be suspicious, but Amaranthe couldn’t help it. She’d always feel guilty about being the one who had given up the information to Forge.

“You did,” Sespian whispered. “For how long? Did you know when you decided to go through with my kidnapping request? I know you didn’t do it for the money.” He waved toward the cove where the steamboat had crashed. “You didn’t even ask about it.”

“I believe you’re a good man, Sire, and that your ideas are what the empire needs going forward.”

“You can stop calling me, Sire. If I’m not Raumesys’s heir, then I’ve no claim to the throne. Goodness doesn’t matter.”

“It should be the only thing that matters.”

“Very few in the empire will agree with you. Unless my real father has warrior-caste blood and a link to one of the old imperial lines… ” Sespian was watching her again. “You don’t know who it is, do you?”

Raindrops splashed onto the lake. We really ought to get out of the water, Amaranthe thought, but she didn’t make a move to the shore. They were alone. Maybe it was time to tell him. She’d always thought Sicarius would be the one to do it, but he’d had opportunities and hadn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. For all the dangers he’d fearlessly faced in his life, he’d never had to deal with the crushing feeling of disappointing a family member-a loved one. As long as Sespian didn’t know, Sicarius could imagine… Who knew what he imagined? Some noble future with Sespian ruling the empire and him at his shoulder, guarding his back against anyone who might do him harm. A chance to be a better man at Sespian’s side than he ever was before? Whatever notion he had in his head, the dream could only live so long as Sespian didn’t squash it.

Sespian touched Amaranthe’s shoulder. “Please, Amaranthe. If you know, you must tell me.”

The others were all on the beach now. When Amaranthe looked that way, Maldynado held out his arms in a what’s-the-delay gesture. Nobody was in earshot, unless one counted the dead eel, which had floated to the surface, its bloated body dark beneath the cloudy sky. Movement stirred the water near the mouth of the river, a flash of gray, and then it was gone. One of the Forge submarines escaping? If so, then the world would soon know of the Turgonian emperor’s flawed heritage. Sespian had already heard enough from strangers. Time to tell him the truth.

“Sicarius,” Amaranthe said.

Sespian jerked his head around, checking behind him.

“No, he’s not there,” Amaranthe said. “That’s who your father is.” She refused to contemplate that the tense on that verb might be incorrect.

Sespian’s head swiveled back to her, and he shook it, denial taking up residence behind his eyes. “That’s not very slagging funny.”

“I know.” Amaranthe waited to see if he had questions, but he merely stared at her in silence. “We better get out of this water,” she said and paddled for the shore.

Sespian didn’t follow.