Blood and Betrayal

Chapter 3

Maldynado considered the hat-filled nook in Madame Mimi’s Evenglory Boutique, lamenting the limited selection and the fact that most of the clothing in the shop featured the previous year’s styles. He plucked at an orange-feathered scarf. It was unforgivable, really. Sunders City wasn’t that small or that far from the capital. He was on the verge of walking out when a black hat, half-hidden on a stand bristling with garishly colored yarn beanies, caught his eye.

“Huh.” Maldynado plucked it from its unseemly perch. “This might do.”

This was the hat of a killer, a serious no-nonsense hat for serious no-nonsense people. Black, low, and sleek, it possessed the finest brushed velvet and represented quality craftsmanship. Maybe with this hat, Sespian and everyone else would take him more seriously. It oozed menace and whispered of blood-soaked deeds carried out by dark men of sinister purpose. Yes, this was the hat. He was vaguely surprised Sicarius didn’t already own one. It could use an accent though. Maldynado tapped his lip thoughtfully, then added a large, bright pink plume so that it stuck jauntily out of the side. There. Perfect. He placed the hat upon his head.

“Can I help you, mister?” the shopkeeper asked.

Mister? Women usually took one look at Maldynado and assumed the title was “my lord.” He supposed, in his swamp-bathed clothing, he did have the appearance of street riffraff. He’d have to disavow the woman of that notion.

Turning, Maldynado swept the hat from his head and offered a deep warrior-caste bow. The aging female shopkeeper wore so much lip paint and rouge that he was surprised her face hadn’t fallen off under the weight. That didn’t keep him from offering his brightest smile.

“Actually, my lady,” Maldynado said, granting her the title, though he knew from the shop’s name that she wasn’t warrior-caste, “I may be able to help you. I see that, despite your prominent location on the River Walk, I’m your only customer.”

“It’s normally busier than this, but the hour grows late.”

Now that Maldynado faced her, she gave him a more appraising look, perhaps noting the quality of the tailor-made garments beneath the grime of the road-and far too many crashes for one week.

Maldynado assumed a pose that showed off the breadth of chest. “As busy as you’d like? My siblings and I were robbed by riverboat pirates, and I’m in dire need of clothing that will hold us until we return to our estate in the capital.”

She’d been taking note of his physique while he spoke, though she frowned when he mentioned needing free clothing.

“This, of course, would be a hardship for you, but in exchange for your generosity, I’d be willing to talk up your shop in my circles. Many of my comrades travel downriver to Markworth in the spring, and I could suggest they stop here, the wonderful boutique where I received exquisite service.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink.

“I… ”

It wasn’t much of an offer, but she seemed flustered beneath his gaze. Good. The middle-aged ones tended to be more wise to the ways of men and could represent more of a challenge than the younger ladies, but all that war paint had to be hiding a few features that made men scarce. Judging by the flush of her cheeks and the number of appraising glances she stole when he wasn’t looking, she appreciated his attention. A hint of calculation entered her eyes, though, and he started to grow concerned.

“You’re offering free advertising, you say?” she asked.

“Essentially.”

“I must see how you’d look in my store’s clothing. Naturally you’d need to be a good representative if your recommendation were to leave an impression on people.”

Maldynado wanted to snort and proclaim that he looked good in any store’s clothing, but she was already bustling about, assembling an outfit. She laid a stack of garments in his arms and smiled. Maldynado waited for her to direct him to a fitting room. She didn’t.

“Do you have a changing area?” Maldynado asked.

“Alas, it’s closed for repairs.” Her smiled deepened.

Ah, so she wanted a show. Maldynado shrugged, set the clothes down, and unbuttoned his shirt. He’d undressed for far less noble purposes. Besides, when a man had a flawless physique, he really owed it to the world to share it in all its glory. While he changed, he glanced at the front door a few times, hoping Sergeant Yara would wander in. She’d chosen to wait on the street-keep watch, she’d said-but maybe she’d grow bored and check on him.

The shopkeeper assisted Maldynado in putting on her clothing, doing more touching than the act required. She also made him try on five different ensembles before finding one that he’d “represent well.” Maybe, for enduring this, he’d barter for two outfits for everyone on the team.

A half hour later, the dressing and shopping were done. Unfortunately, Yara never came in. Maldynado was on his way to the door when the shopkeeper glided to a stop in front of him with a large stack of business cards in her hand.

“Here you are, my lord.” She stuck them in his pocket. Pockets, actually, as the sizable stack required dividing. “You promise you’ll hand them out to those in your circle, right?” She tilted her head back, gazing into his eyes with her own imploring ones.

A twinge of guilt ran through him, and, he knew as soon as he nodded his head that he’d actually have to do it. A fib now and then was one thing, but a promise? He couldn’t break that, even if the “circle” he ran in now wasn’t terribly likely to shop on the River Walk at Sunders City.

When Maldynado stepped outside, his arms laden with bags, the setting sun gleamed orange on the water. Despite the reluctant promise he’d given, he felt good. The sexy new hat perched atop his wavy curls, and his dirty garments had been replaced by practical travel wear: a leather duster, suede shirt a touch snug across the chest so that it emphasized his musculature, and fitted trousers that emphasized… other things. If Yara still had that quarter-ranmya coin, he might arrange to accidently bump it from her fingers, so he could take a while picking it up in front of her.

But where was Yara? He searched for her amongst the handful of pedestrians strolling down the shop-lined cobblestone street. The area wasn’t as busy as he remembered from his youth, though the chill in the air might explain that. A nippy breeze gusted down the river, hinting of rain, or maybe snow. Smoke billowed from a stack on a steamboat chugging upstream, making Maldynado think of warming his hands by a fire. A fire in a suite in a fine inn preferably, but he supposed he needed to return soon with the clothing if he didn’t want Sespian to grow weary of waiting and go off on his own.

Maldynado finally spotted Yara in an alcove of a brick building, her back to the wall as she alternately watched the street and read a newspaper. Ah, too bad. She must have spent the coin.

“Good evening, my lady,” Maldynado drawled as he approached. “Enjoying the view?” He extended a hand toward the water.

“No, you useless fop.” Yara thrust the front page of the newspaper out for his perusal.

With his arms full of bags, Maldynado couldn’t easily grab it, but he leaned closer to read the headline in the fading light. “Emperor Sespian Savarsin Missing. Huh, that’s a newspaper from the capital.” In fact, it was The Gazette, the paper Deret Mancrest’s family owned. “They couldn’t possibly have gotten the news about the kidnapping yet.” Unless someone had known Sespian wouldn’t be coming back from his train trip. Deret couldn’t be involved with the plotters, could he?

“Keep reading,” Yara said.

“Due to our missing emperor, as well as last week’s deaths of prominent businessmen and women, a military contingent from Fort Urgot has been deployed to occupy the capital and the Imperial Barracks. These forces will protect the citizens and ensure peace while Emperor Sespian is sought.”

“Ensure peace.” Yara snorted. “More likely they want troops loyal to your brother to be in place when they decide the emperor is no longer missing but dead.”

“I wish people would stop calling Ravido my brother, as if I’m responsible for his actions.” A half mile downriver, soldiers were still stationed atop the bridge, stopping people as they passed. On the way across, Maldynado hadn’t been delayed long enough to learn why the men were on guard-dropping the Marblecrest name had earned him and Yara prompt passage into the city-but now he understood. Garrisons all over the empire would be alert after an announcement of a missing emperor.

“Yes,” Yara said, “it’s clear you don’t want to be held responsible for anything. I’m surprised you volunteered for something as crucial as shopping.”

“People who take responsibility get blamed when things go wrong. No responsibility, no blaming. That’s how this old chap prefers it.”

Yara folded the paper and stepped away from the wall. “You’ll never get your statue.”

“What? Why?”

She had already turned her back and was striding down the street. Maldynado hustled to catch up with her, his shopping bags tangling with his legs.

“I’m a good fighter, and I’ve helped the boss out a lot. She’s going to be all right. She’s probably escaped already and is figuring out how to deal with all this.” Maldynado waved at the newspaper tucked under Yara’s arm. “She’ll come up with a plan to get Sespian back to the Barracks and to stop Forge for good. I’m trustworthy and loyal, despite what the others think right now, and I’ll be with her, ready to fight. I’m behind her until the end.”

“They don’t make statues of people who walk behind others. You have to walk out in front.” With those words, Yara increased her pace and pulled ahead, as if to let him know she was done with the conversation. And him.

Maldynado caught himself slowing down. She’d been derisive, and his first thought was to brush off her words, but he grudgingly admitted there might be something to them.

On her way by, Yara brushed past a pair of pretty young women, giggling and pointing in windows as they strolled down the sidewalk. They noticed Maldynado, exchanged whispers, and one gave him an inviting smile. The idea of accepting that invitation teased his thoughts. It’d be nice to forget Yara, the emperor, and the suspicions of the team for a night. But he kept walking. There was too much at stake, including Sicarius’s threat.

Sighing, Maldynado passed the pair with no more than a nod. When the inviting woman’s smile turned into a disappointed pout, he almost changed his mind. He hated to be the cause of feminine dismay.

While he gazed back with those second thoughts, something else drew his eye. Across the street another pair of women had walked out of a single-story antique shop bestowed with mildew-covered shingles and a multi-paned window so old one would have to press one’s nose to the glass to see any of the wares inside. The structure seemed out of place on the street of sleek, modern buildings that overlooked the river, but that wasn’t what captured Maldynado’s attention. One of the women, the shopkeeper perhaps, withdrew a keychain and bent to lock the door. The second woman… was one of Maldynado’s cousins.

If he’d taken the time to think about it, he would have remembered that he had kin in Sunders City, but seeing her surprised him. Cousin Lita was his age and, with thick brown curls that tumbled about her shoulders, possessed the family good looks. She and her two brothers had come up to stay on the main Marblecrest estate a couple of summers when their parents had been traveling.

Maybe he should stop, say hello, and try to inveigle gossip out of her. When the emperor had suggested Maldynado might be a source of information, he’d balked at the idea of betraying his family, but that had been before he knew everyone was suspicious of him. Maybe a few choice tidbits about Ravido would placate Sespian and the others. Lita had always been a gossip and a chatterbox, so, if anyone had choice tidbits on the family, it’d be her. Of course, if Maldynado did extract and share crucial details, he’d have to live knowing he’d turned snitch on his kin. That didn’t sit well with him.

Before he’d decided whether to cross the street or not, Lita’s head turned in his direction. Her hazel eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.

Maldynado lifted a shopping-bag-laden arm in a wave. After waiting for a group of young women to cycle past on elaborate tricycles burdened by baskets bulging with purchases, Maldynado crossed the street and bowed to the two ladies. Lita held a yellowing ivory box in her hands.

“Good evening, Lita, and… ” He gave his cousin a chaste smile, then offered the shopkeeper a sexier one. Though she was an older woman dressed in unrevealing clothing more appropriate to a dusty library basement than River Walk Street, Maldynado had long ago learned to be gracious to all ladies. Some of them were like rose buds, simply needing a little sun and encouragement to blossom into attractive flowers. And, those who weren’t like that… tended to know others who were.

“Ms. Pealovetch.” The woman looked him up and down, sniffed once, and walked away.

Then again, some women were simply grumps who weren’t worth the effort.

“Maldynado!” Lita blurted. “I’m surprised to see you here.” She eyed his bags. “Well, not surprised to see you shopping, but surprised to learn you’re in Sunders City. Did you take your father up on his offer?” She must have seen his brow furrow, for she added, “Or, if you’ve been out of town, maybe you haven’t seen him lately? Did you know about his offer?”

“I haven’t talked to Father in over a year. Is there something I should know?” Maldynado couldn’t ask for a better lead-in to family gossip.

“He’s been looking for you. Didn’t you hear? He wants to invite you back into the family.”

“He what? I mean, he was rather adamant that I’m a worthless leech who doesn’t deserve any portion of the family lands or money.”

“Yes, Uncle Brodis has always seemed… tough, but I heard he was willing to forgive you for past transgressions if you’d return home and help the family with, oh, I’m not sure what it was. A business endeavor perhaps? Your sister-in-law, Mari, has grown quite entrepreneurial of late.”

“Has she?” Since Mari was Ravido’s wife, Maldynado tucked the detail away for later examination. The news about his father interested him the most. Could his parents want help for Ravido? Were Father and Mother supporting his throne-usurping enterprise? Maybe Maldynado’s kin had learned that he’d gone from unambitious duelist to veteran warrior in the last year. Maybe Ravido wanted Maldynado on his team. Though it seemed unlikely. All of Maldynado’s experience suggested that, even if he single-handedly turned back a Kendorian invasion in front of all of his kin, they still wouldn’t believe him more than a dandy.

Lita released her box with one hand and gripped his arm. “I do hope you’ll consider it, Mal. I know your parents are strict and hard to love, but it’s been fifteen years since Tia… passed on. Your mother has forgiven you, and your father… I’m not sure he’ll ever forgive you, but I think he forgets sometimes.”

Mother had forgiven him? Since when? Maldynado found that news harder to believe than the rest of it, and, for the first time, he eyed Lita with suspicion. Even if she did live in Sunders City, what were the odds that they’d randomly run into each other here, in a town of fifty thousand?

Perhaps noting his suspicious mien, Lita shrugged and said, “Is it so hard to believe? They can’t hate you forever. Old wounds may always ache in bad weather, but sometimes you forget there was a time when you didn’t have them, and you lose your bitterness over the cause. The dull ache becomes a part of your life.”

“I guess,” Maldynado said neutrally. Nothing about Lita’s face or words seemed duplicitous, but he’d known many women with a knack for convincing fibbing.

Lita squeezed his arm and let go. “If you prove to the family that you care, that you’re willing to help out, they’d be more amenable to you. Especially your parents. I’ll be the first to admit that some of your brothers are nettlesome and perhaps not worth the effort.”

Maldynado snorted. Yes, Lita had suffered numerous dunkings in the lake at the hands of her older cousins. And they hadn’t even disliked her. They’d been worse to Maldynado, but that was the nature of older brothers, he supposed.

“All you’d have to do is talk to your father and let him know you’re interested in taking some responsibility.”

Maldynado lifted his arms skyward, bags rustling. “What is it with women? Always nattering in a man’s ear about responsibility.”

“As a warrior-caste scion, you’re expected to-”

“I know, I know.” Maldynado stretched his hand out, palm facing her. “I’m just feeling set-upon by your sex of late. The only woman who doesn’t-” He caught himself. He was supposed to be getting details, not giving them. She didn’t need to know about Amaranthe, though an uncomfortable lump formed in his throat at the thought of her. Lita was the only woman who simply accepted what he was willing to offer without making extra demands on him or bemoaning the fact that he wasn’t “responsible.” Cursed ancestors, he hated that word.

“It’s just that they had such high expectations for you, Mal,” Lita said when he didn’t continue. “Aside from Ravido, most of your brothers had respectable but not exemplary military careers, and even he, I’ve heard, used bribes and favors to ensure he eventually advanced to general. For another family, respectable sons are fine, but for Marblecrests? For a family with a history full of fleet admirals, legendary generals, and even Turgonian emperors?”

“It’s easy to get buried under that much history,” Maldynado said.

Lita sighed at him, as if they were speaking in two different languages, and she couldn’t get him to understand. “If you’d had mediocre talent, it would have been one thing, but you were so good with a blade. And, when you were younger, your grades were all above average, especially when it came to military studies. Uncle Brodis was sure-”

“I know what he was sure of.” Maldynado noticed his shoulders were hunched up to his ears. He hated talking about this stuff. He’d wanted the family’s current gossip, not a rehash of old history. His earlier suspicions that Lita had been planted in his path disappeared. She wouldn’t be nagging him if she wanted to talk him into something. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in reuniting with them.” Maldynado tipped his hat. “It was good seeing you, Lita. Give my good regards to your brothers, please.”

“Mal, wait.” Lita must have forgotten she’d been holding the ivory box, for, when she stretched out with her hands, it slipped from her grip.

Maldynado squatted and caught it before it clunked onto the cobblestones. The lid flopped open, and a small black sphere fell out. It took another quick snatch to keep it from falling to the ground and rolling down the street. Maldynado gaped at the cool, smooth object. Utterly devoid of symbols, it appeared to be made of the same material as Sicarius’s knife. And, if Sicarius was right, that’d mean it was made of the same material as that flying craft too.

Lita laughed. “What fabulous reflexes. See? That’s what I mean. You’re not mediocre at all when it comes to innate talent.”

Maldynado tore his gaze from the sphere, lest his interest strike Lita as odd. He stood and cleared his throat. “Mediocre? Me? Naturally not. The ladies have known of my innate talent for ages.” On the outside, he waggled his eyebrows and launched a speculative look at a passing woman; on the inside, his pounding heart threatened to leap out of his chest and sprint a few laps around the block. After Lita finished rolling her eyes, Maldynado asked, as casually as he could, “Say, what is this thing?”

“The box or the ball?” Lita asked.

“The ball. I’ve seen enough dust-collecting knickknack holders to not need an explanation on that thing.”

Lita laughed again. “Oh, Mal. You’re so silly. That’s an antique ivory snuff box from the Tarovic Era.”

“Yes, as I said, a dust-collecting knickknack holder. And the black doohickey?”

“I have no idea, but your sister-in-law sent me to pick it up for her. She’s collecting them, I gather.”

Lita reached for the sphere. Maldynado stifled the urge to snap his fingers shut about it, and she plucked it from his grasp.

“It’s interesting, I’ll admit,” Lita said, “but I don’t see why one would want a collection.”

Not unless that collection included a super powerful aircraft with firepower that would make Turgonia’s best warship roll over and cower under the waves. “I have six sisters-in-law. Which one did you say is collecting?”

“Mari.”

“Ah.” Ravido’s wife again. Maldynado might have found his information for the emperor. “You know, Lita, I think you may be right. If there’s a chance to reunite with the family, I should take it. After all, one never knows how long one’s parents will be around. You don’t want to later regret missed opportunities to make amends.”

Lita blinked a few times and peered up at Maldynado’s face. Maybe he’d slathered too much icing on the cinnamon bun.

“I’m not going to rush to do as Father pleases, but maybe I’ll stop by the estate when I return to Stumps.” Maldynado gave the sphere an indifferent wave. “If you wish, I could give that to Mari in person. You were simply going to post it, I assume?” Inwardly, he shuddered at the idea of a potential weapon going through the mail.

“Actually, Mari’s on her way down,” Lita said. “I’m expecting her to arrive on the Glacial Empress in a couple of days.”

Maldynado’s fingers twitched. He wanted to get that sphere. If he could give it to the emperor along with this information, it could prove that he had good intentions. But if he seemed too desperate to snag it… The last thing he wanted was for some cousin to tell Ravido that he might be angling to thwart his plot. He had enough to worry about already.

“Is she?” Maldynado asked. “And Ravido is coming as well?”

“No, he’s busy with something in the capital. Did you hear? He was reassigned to Fort Urgot recently.”

“I had heard that. I wonder why they moved him. Wasn’t he a post commander somewhere down south?”

“The machinations of the army are beyond me.”

Maldynado had a feeling he’d gotten as much information out of Lita as he would. As it was, she’d probably relay the details of the meeting to Mari, who might mention Maldynado’s appearance to Ravido. Maybe he should have kept walking and pretended not to see his cousin after all. Still, he might be able to find out more about these black artifacts from Mari. If he was brave enough to visit her. The last time they’d been alone in a room together, she’d tried to take his pants off, no matter that her husband had been in another part of the house.

“As long as she’s going to be in town, I’ll have to stop by and visit her,” Maldynado said.

“Do you know her well?”

“Not as well as she’d like,” Maldynado muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Where’d you say she’d be staying?”

“Rabbit Island. The Glacial Empress stops there upon request, so that its warrior-caste clientele needn’t mingle with the commoners at the city docks.”

“Yes, of course.”

Maldynado exchanged a few parting words with Lita-and foisted a couple of the boutique’s business cards on her-before walking away, but he was already thinking of the ramifications of their meeting. With the luck he’d had lately, he might end up in more trouble than ever. Busy worrying over that possibility, he almost crashed into someone standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

Yara. After her dismissal, Maldynado had assumed she’d left town without him. He hoped she hadn’t been close enough to hear the conversation-he hadn’t been so oblivious to his surroundings that he wouldn’t have noticed her leaning against the wall behind Lita-but she might have caught a few words. And seen that black sphere.

“That was my cousin,” was all Maldynado said. “Ready to rejoin the others?”

Yara considered him through half-lidded eyes.

“Or-” Maldynado hefted the bags, “-did you want to try on your outfit first? It’s quite alluring. If you have curves under those bulky sweaters and unflattering enforcer uniforms, these garments will show them off.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Yes, yes, I am.” Maldynado smiled as they started walking, relieved that he seemed to have distracted her from whatever she’d been thinking about as she studied him. But they’d gone only a few dozen paces when she spoke again.

“Who’s Tia?”

Maldynado stumbled. If Yara had heard Lita mention Tia, then what else had she heard? He’d been planning to share some information with the emperor, but now he’d be forced to divulge every detail. Grandmother’s hairiest wart, his role as family snitch was assured. If they didn’t sculpt statues of men who walked behind others, he was even more certain tattletales didn’t earn them. He couldn’t keep himself from glowering at Yara.

“I didn’t know they taught eavesdropping tactics at the Enforcer Academy.” Maldynado straightened his bags and continued down the street toward the bridge.

“Corporal Lokdon has never eavesdropped on you?”

“She doesn’t need to. She always knows what I’m thinking whether I talk about it or not.”

“So she knows about this Tia and the details of the estrangement from your family?”

“No, she’s not as nosey as you.” Maldynado gave Yara a pointed look. In truth, Amaranthe was nosier than anyone he’d ever met, but she hadn’t dug into his history, at least not that he knew about.

“Perhaps, given your current predicament, you’d be wise to share everything you know with the emperor.”

“You think it’s within me to be wise?” Maldynado said it jokingly, but at the moment he had doubts himself.

“Less foolish might have been a better word choice.” For once, Yara’s face wasn’t hard or condemning. Maybe it was the soft light of the sunset, but she actually seemed… sympathetic.

Maldynado’s lady-wooing instincts kicked in, and he realized that he might win some sympathy from her if he shared his story. Almost as soon as she’d joined up with the team in Forkingrust, he’d been mulling over ways to get her into bed. Oh, she wasn’t the sweet, voluptuous sort he usually went for, but she was handsome enough in her own square-jawed, hard-eyed way, and challenges always enticed him, at least when it came to women. Much like taming a tiger, there was an exhilaration in winning over someone determined to ignore, or even loathe, him. He’d never used Tia’s story to win anyone over though, and he shied away from the idea. It would be disrespectful to her spirit. Besides, it wasn’t as if the story would guarantee him sympathy. His family had condemned him over it, and maybe Yara would too. He’d certainly never forgiven himself.

“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” Maldynado said.

“Was this Tia one of your lovers?” Yara asked as they continued to walk. “Was there some scandal that embarrassed the family?”

The fact that she was asking questions surprised Maldynado. So far, all she’d done was throw insults at him. Why change now? He searched her face, wishing he was as good at reading people’s thoughts as Amaranthe was. Yara seemed to be… looking for confirmation that he’d messed up his life because of some stupid affair. Maybe she’d have an easier time continuing to dismiss him that way. Why not? Most others did. He’d come to accept that, but the idea of someone thinking Tia had been some throwaway female roused his hackles.

“She was my little sister,” Maldynado said.

The base of the bridge had come into view, and he quickened his step, leaving Yara to trail behind. He’d shared as much as he cared to that day.

Amaranthe had expected a spacious cell, given the monstrous size of the aircraft-in her head, she had started calling it the Behemoth. Something stark, bleak, and black certainly, but roomy. Instead, Pike and his guards had taken her to an empty room with nothing but a surgeon’s operating table in the center and a bronze-and-iron crate on the floor, the sort of thing one might stick a dog in for traveling. A small dog.

Without anything so friendly as a, “Welcome to your new home” or “Step in please, ma’am,” the guards had forced Amaranthe into the crate, their strength and numbers defeating her attempts to fight the entombing. The inside lacked windows, grates, or even pinholes for light. What if she ran out of air? Her body tensed at the thought. In the cramped blackness, with her knees to her chest and her back, shoulders, and feet smashed against the walls, she couldn’t do anything to release that tension, that fear. Relax, she ordered herself, and inhaled deep breaths, trying to find calm. It worked-sort of-but she found a new emotion too: disgust. The scent of lye soap clinging to the interior failed to hide the underlying odor of urine and feces. Pike must not be the sort to let his captives out for latrine breaks.

With no room to turn around or switch positions, Amaranthe almost dislocated a few joints when she probed the door and seams to search for weaknesses. A few minutes convinced her that there were none. There wasn’t any noise either. If anyone remained in the room outside her crate, she couldn’t hear signs of it.

After exploring her prison, there was little to do but sit and think. Especially about what would happen on that operating table. To distract herself, Amaranthe made a list of things she wanted to ask Pike. Perhaps it was overly optimistic, but she figured as long as she was in the enemy stronghold, she ought to gather what intelligence she could. And keep the conversation away from Sicarius.

The idea of betraying him worried her as much as thoughts of Pike and that table. It had happened before, when that shaman, Tarok, had used the Science to delve into her mind. She’d been powerless to stop him. Sicarius had killed Tarok before he could spread any secrets, but Sicarius wasn’t here. If the information escaped through her lips, there’d be no one to silence Pike.

She dropped her chin onto her chest. In the first few months she’d known Sicarius, before they’d developed a… friendship-yes, she felt confident in calling it that-Amaranthe had wondered if he might ponder the benefits of her death. With his dearest secret in her head, she represented a threat to him. Anyone who learned that Sespian was his son could use Sespian to strike at him. After a lifetime as an assassin, Sicarius had a long list of enemies who’d like to do just that. Amaranthe also represented a threat to the stability of the empire, or at least Sespian’s right to rule. Sicarius had to have thought of that from time to time, that if he got rid of her, this very scenario could never play out. But he hadn’t, and here she was. She could not betray him.

When hours passed and nobody came to question her, Amaranthe drifted back to less useful thoughts, like what would happen on that table. Logically, she knew she had to keep her mind busy lest self-pity, defeat, and fear start to gnaw at her, and she knew also that being stuffed in that tiny crate was meant as some marinade to tenderize the meat before roasting it. But the discomfort of growing thirst, hunger, and muscle cramps from being unable to shift positions intruded upon her thoughts, making it difficult to send her mind elsewhere. Most of all, she noticed the silence, the utter lack of anyone with whom to talk. Sicarius would probably find the solitude restful, but Amaranthe liked being around people. A few days with no one to talk to and she’d be in the right state of mind to babble every secret to Pike.

“Easy, girl,” Amaranthe whispered. “Don’t let him break you before he’s so much as plucked an arm hair out.”

A soft clank sounded, the first noise to penetrate the metal walls of her crate. Someone had entered the room. Amaranthe wished she could maneuver her feet beneath her, to prepare to spring out and attack-or flee-if she saw the opportunity, but the tight space denied that much movement. Several moments passed, and nobody opened her door. Ear pressed to the wall of her prison, she listened for voices or footfalls. Maybe there were people out there, but the crate possessed a sound-dampening quality that kept her from hearing them.

When the door swung open, Amaranthe spilled out. Light blinded her, and she squinted her eyes shut. Her legs were numb after being locked in one position for so long, and she couldn’t feel her feet, much less get them beneath her. Several hands grabbed her and hoisted her from the floor. No, not hands. Something harder, colder.

Amaranthe forced her eyes open and urged them to adjust to light as harsh and as brilliant as the sun. It emanated from all directions, the walls, the ceiling, and even the floor, though there were no lanterns or obvious sources.

Whatever held her was moving her through the air. It halted with a jolt.

“No, not that one, that one. Yes.” Odd. It was a woman’s voice.

Amaranthe’s eyes finally adjusted to the light. She hung horizontally in the air, face toward the ceiling. The first things she made out were six black bars, or maybe arms, around her. They articulated and had six-pronged pincers at the ends, pincers that gripped her as effectively as human hands. She tried to squirm out of their grasp and decided they were more effective than human hands. The arms were attached to a vertical bar that attached to a blocky device-some machine, she supposed-mounted on the ceiling. The claw-like device carried her away from the crate and swung her toward the operating table. It appeared depressingly secure with a sturdy metal body and legs somehow sunken into the floor.

The gripping machine slid her onto the table, almost. She wasn’t high enough, and her head clunked against the edge.

“Oops,” came the woman’s voice again, followed by a few words in another language. Curses, Amaranthe would guess. She tried to see the speaker, but the claw blocked her view. It bumped her against the table again before rising a couple of inches and laying her flat on her back.

“So this is how it’s to go?” Amaranthe asked. “I’m to be beaten against things with strange alien technology until I talk?”

“It’s generally not a good sign when the prisoners are mocking you,” came Pike’s voice from somewhere behind Amaranthe’s head. The dry amusement in his tone surprised her. He hadn’t struck her as someone human enough to have a sense of humor.

“I’m sure you’ll put an end to that shortly,” came a new female voice. “The girl needs practice with the equipment. It took too long to shoot down that dirigible.”

Amaranthe’s mouth sagged open. The voice was familiar. Her thoughts flashed back to her school days. One of… her teachers? Yes, that sounded like-

“I translated everything in the navigation chamber, Ms. Worgavic,” the owner of the first voice said, “but even a year of study couldn’t prepare me to understand and operate the Ortarh Ortak fully.”

“Ms. Worgavic?” Amaranthe twisted her neck, trying again to see the speakers.

Ms. Worgavic had taught economics at the private business school Amaranthe had attended as a girl. It shouldn’t be a shock that one of her old teachers had been drawn in by Forge-Larocka Myll had been providing scholarships for the school, after all-but Ms. Worgavic? She’d liked Ms. Worgavic. She still quoted the woman on occasion.

The claw pincers held Amaranthe fast, keeping her from seeing much, but the two female speakers walked over to stand beside the table. Yes, that was definitely Ms. Worgavic, a short, buxom woman with a few strands of gray in wavy black hair pulled back from her face with a clip. Dressed in a long wool skirt and short jacket that accentuated but didn’t flaunt her curves, she was the epitome of professionalism, or so Amaranthe had always thought. Her teacher had changed little in the last ten years, though the spectacles perched on her nose were a new addition.

It took Amaranthe longer to identify the younger woman. She was even shorter than Ms. Worgavic and more chubby than curvy beneath her wrinkled clothing. A pencil perched above one ear, and, beneath it, a gold chain clipped to her collar held a monocle with a thick magnifying lens. She clutched a couple of books and had a finger stuck in one, acting as a bookmark. She was about Amaranthe’s age, no, a year younger. That was right. She’d been in the class behind Amaranthe. Retta Curlev. That was it. A frumpy girl, who’d avoided eye contact with everyone, read constantly in class, and been teased often. Amaranthe might not have remembered her at all, except that Retta had an older sister who’d been a legend at school, holding all of the academic records, and reputedly never missing an answer on a test. The last Amaranthe had heard, the older sister had gone on to be some world-traveling entrepreneur. The younger sister had become… well, Amaranthe was about to find out.

A slight sneer twisted Retta’s lips as she gazed down at the table. Amaranthe didn’t think she’d ever participated in teasing the girl, but she doubted she’d offered her any kindnesses either. Their paths hadn’t crossed often. Unfortunately, Retta had the look of an angry young woman out to take revenge on the world for the collective wrongs received as a youth. Still, talking to her and Ms. Worgavic had to be better than dealing with Pike.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Amaranthe said. “It’s nice of you to come visit. I’ve been lonely in my crate. Is this your flying vehicle? It’s quite the technological marvel. Find it at an archaeological dig, did you?”

Retta’s eyebrows flew up. Had she been wearing the monocle, it would have dropped away. She turned toward Ms. Worgavic, a question on her lips, but the older woman lifted a hand to silence her. One correct guess, anyway.

“Amaranthe Lokdon.” Ms. Worgavic clasped her hands behind her back and shook her head slowly. “You were a promising student until you dropped out of school to become an enforcer… What a waste.”

Amaranthe should have offered a witty comeback, or at least a good sneer, but she found herself blurting an excuse. “My father was dying. I had to take care of him, and, after he was gone, I couldn’t afford to finish school.”

Ms. Worgavic kept shaking her head. Given how often her team had thwarted Forge schemes of late, Amaranthe found it strange that her enforcer background seemed to disappoint Worgavic more than anything else.

“Your… ingenuity over the last year shows that you can find a way when you want something badly enough,” Worgavic said. “You could have stayed in school, if you’d truly wished it. If nothing else, you had friends and were well-liked by your teachers.”

Retta frowned at the last statement, perhaps remembering lonelier school years.

“Why didn’t you simply ask someone for help?” Ms. Worgavic asked.

“I… ” Erg, her old teacher had Amaranthe more on the defensive than Pike had. She had to figure out a way to cast old feelings aside; she was no longer a student yearning for the praise of a respected mentor. This woman was plotting against the throne and, for all Amaranthe knew, may have hurt or killed the men on her team.

“You used your father’s death as an excuse to walk away from your education and the future he worked very hard to ensure you had. Why? Did you fear failure?” Worgavic shook her head again, a hint of disgust underlying her disappointment.

Amaranthe closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Worgavic was stirring up old doubts that Amaranthe didn’t want to deal with, certainly not then and there. Nobody had a knife to her throat-yet. It was time to ask questions of her own. “What I chose to do was stay loyal to the empire and the emperor. My father would not fault me for that.” Even if he might fault her for spending time with assassins and taking the law into her own hands. “Why are you plotting against the throne? Why did you align with Forge?”

“Align with it, dear? I’m one of the founders.”

If not for the mechanical arms holding her down, Amaranthe would have fallen off the table. As it was, the blatant admission knocked her other questions off the tip of her tongue.

Somewhere behind Amaranthe, a soft rasping started up. The sound of a blade being sharpened.

Worgavic spread her fingers, laid her hands on the table, and leaned as close as she could without bumping into the metal arms pinning Amaranthe. “You do remember your history? Yes? Good. Name a powerful imperial woman for me, will you? One who was powerful in her own right, not because she married or birthed someone important.”

“Uhm, Lady Taloncrest supposedly ran twenty miles while eight months pregnant to warn Fort Darkling Spire of a Nurian invasion in 433.” A fact Amaranthe only knew because she’d competed in running events as a youth, and one of the distance races was named after the woman. “She was given an advisory position on the emperor’s staff.”

“An honorary seat with no real power. And, as you said, she was given the position. Power is taken or created from within. Try again. Someone important, someone of whom Major Pike over there would have heard.”

The rasp of the sharpening stone continued without pause.

“I’m unaware of the depths of his education. Was history a part of his Advanced Torture Techniques class?” As Amaranthe expected, that didn’t draw a laugh from anyone in the room. Given time, and less ominous background noise, she might have come up with more examples of relevant women from the past, but she doubted Worgavic truly wanted them. She wanted Amaranthe to admit that women had had little influence throughout the empire’s history. “Why don’t you let me go, and I’ll work on becoming someone important? I have plans, you know.”

Amaranthe wriggled her eyebrows and offered a conspiratorial wink, not at Worgavic-if she truly was one of the Forge founders, there was no way Amaranthe would be able to sway her-but at Retta. Despite the sneer, she seemed the most likely person in the room to be won over. Retta blinked in surprise, but the surprise turned into a scowl, one that deepened when Worgavic looked her way.

“Don’t include me in your plans,” Retta rushed to say, probably worried Worgavic would find that wink suspicious. “I don’t even like you.”

“Why not?” Amaranthe asked, wondering if she’d offended the girl irreparably at some point.

Retta only scowled.

Worgavic tapped a nail on the table. “Whatever your plans were, they’ve failed, child. Emperor Sespian is dead. We incinerated your dirigible and everyone on it. Whatever it is you hoped to gain from opposing us matters little now.”

Amaranthe’s stomach clenched, but she kept her face neutral. She had no reason to trust Worgavic’s words. “You wouldn’t be asking me about Sicarius if you thought everyone had died on that dirigible.”

Worgavic lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “It’s true. We’re not certain we got him. He’s tougher to exterminate than termites, and he’s ten times as annoying. Especially now that he has some vendetta against us.” She lifted her eyebrows, as if inviting Amaranthe to explain.

“Huh,” Amaranthe said, imitating one of Sicarius’s unhelpful grunts.

“I will retrieve the information from her,” Pike said.

“Yes, I imagine you’ll be most efficient.” For the first time, Worgavic’s gaze softened as she regarded Amaranthe. “You needn’t suffer through this. Just tell me why Sicarius has been protecting the emperor and if he’ll continue to be a pebble in our shoes once Sespian has been replaced.”

A pebble, right. A pebble that had killed thirty of her colleagues in a twenty-four-hour span. The rest of Forge had to be terrified that he’d come after them next. No matter how much security they’d set up, they must fear they couldn’t hide from him forever.

“And then what? I tell you what you want to know, and you’ll let me go?” After all the grief Amaranthe had given Forge, she couldn’t believe anybody in the coalition would do anything except kill her.

Worgavic nodded. “You may have your freedom.”

Amaranthe decided it might not be in her best interest to scoff openly, but Worgavic must have guessed at her skepticism. She leaned forward again, lowering her voice. “We aren’t evil, Amaranthe. We’re simply assuring our futures and the futures of our children. If Sespian had been amenable to working with us, he could have lived a long, healthy, and wealthy life. But since he was not, we’ve chosen another who’s willing to grant our modest requests.”

Maldynado’s brother. How much had he agreed to give away in exchange for the throne?

“What are your modest requests?” Amaranthe asked.

“You see,” Worgavic went on without acknowledging the question, “it matters little what man is in charge of the empire, so long as he works with us. Giving Sespian, or any other warrior-caste snob, your loyalty is pointless. And if it puts you on the wrong side, it’s worse than pointless. It’s to your detriment.” Worgavic waved to encompass the operating table. “You must put your emotions aside and weigh, with dispassionate calculation, each opportunity that comes your way. Everyone in Forge understands that you can either make the future or be subject to its whims. What I do today ensures a legacy for my children and their children, and for the descendants of all who ally with us.” Some vision only she could see filled her eyes. She and her Forge colleagues. “We have become a formidable force. Opposing us would be just as pointless as staying loyal to those who are destined to fall. Give me the information I seek, and you may walk away unharmed. I have no wish to see one of my former students, however misguided she may be, tortured.”

Those vision-filled eyes never wavered, and Amaranthe started to believe the offer might be sincere. It didn’t matter.

“You’re wrong, Ms. Worgavic.” Amaranthe turned her head away from the woman and stared up at the claw entrapping her. “Loyalty doesn’t begin to have a point until it puts you on the wrong side.”

Major Pike stepped into view, a three-bladed trench knife with a brass knuckle-guard in one hand and a rolled up canvas kit full of tools in the other. “Time to begin, eh?”

“Get the information,” Worgavic said, “nothing more.”

“Of course.” Pike’s smile was tight, his dark eyes gleaming. “Of course.”

Ms. Worgavic strode out of sight, disappearing through a door that opened automatically and closed behind her. Surprisingly, Retta didn’t follow her. Amaranthe wouldn’t have thought her the type of person who’d want to watch a torture session.

Pike nodded toward her.

Retta hesitated, but only for a heartbeat beneath Pike’s hard stare. She propped her monocle over her left eye and opened her book to the page she’d been holding. Her lips moved as she mouthed a few lines. After a moment, she closed the book, moved to the end of the table, and touched something on the side.

A click sounded, and pain slammed into Amaranthe from six directions. Her back arched, and she tried to buck off the table, but the claw held her fast. Something sharp-like swords being driven through her body-had sprung from the pincers, piercing her body at the thighs, wrists, and shoulders. Moving, what little she could budge, only increased the pain. Those blades had pierced straight through her body in each place, all the way to the table beneath her. She took short, quick breaths, trying to control the pain. It didn’t work.

“I better go now,” Retta whispered and hustled toward the door. Not before Amaranthe glimpsed distress in her eyes.

Little good that did. Pike, a smile on his lips, remained at Amaranthe’s side, stroking his wicked knife.