Forged in Blood I

Chapter 10

“Halt, and identify yourself,” came a voice from a nook beside the back door to the molasses factory. At first, Amaranthe didn’t recognize it, but then she remembered. It was one of her new “recruits.” Private Rudev. Not only had the two soldiers not wandered off, but they were standing watch. Huh.

The sun had long since set, and she supposed he couldn’t identify them in the darkness. “Amaranthe and Sergeant Yara,” she said.

“You may enter, Sergeant and, er, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Amaranthe shifted the book she was carrying under one arm and opened the heavy metal door. Inside, a single lantern burned beside the entrance. The only other light came from the offices on the landing. The dusty machinery and empty vats lay dormant and dark. Amaranthe lamented that she hadn’t had time to tidy the place up much yet.

“I’m going to find something to eat,” Yara said and headed for the cafeteria.

Amaranthe waved. “I may join you later.” Her stomach protested at the delay of food, but she wanted to check on the others and examine her pillaged book.

Coldness hugged the inside of the factory, so she hustled for the steps. Snow had started falling outside. If the temperature dropped much more, they’d have to start one of the furnaces to heat the building. Or start sharing bedrolls. Her lips twitched into a private smile.

The light was coming from the office next to hers. Inside, Books and Akstyr sat on opposite sides of a desk. Stacks of papers and tomes in foreign languages, along with a pile of gnawed pork ribs, covered the surface, no plates in sight. The scent of a honey-apple glaze lingered in the air. Amaranthe’s stomach issued a pitiful whine.

“You missed dinner,” Akstyr said. “Basilard made some tasty sauce.”

Her stomach’s whines grew more plaintive.

“You’ve been gone a long time.” Books sat at the desk, his hands folded over a stack of papers, a bright and alert expression on his face. He’d combed his hair and shaven, something he hadn’t bothered with the last few weeks. “Were you at your old business school the whole time? Did you run into trouble?”

“No. A delay or two, but we got past them.” Amaranthe chose not to go into the details of how easily she was gaining access to locked buildings these days-Books always pursed his lips in disapproval at the development of her thief-appropriate skill set. “I didn’t find the records I sought, but this was written by Suan, so it may prove enlightening.” She tapped the leather-bound book. “I was hoping someone would save me dinner.”

Akstyr picked up a rib with most of the meat gnawed off. “There’s a little left on some of these bones. If you don’t mind Books’s slobber.”

Books’s lips flattened. “Are you ever going to start acting like an adult?”

“What do you mean? I was real mature about a certain assassin hacking off all of my hair and burning it like some funeral pyre offering.” This time Akstyr’s lips flattened, the expression oddly similar to Books’s. “I could have spent the day plotting revenge, but I’ve been studying instead.”

“You only came up here a couple of hours ago,” Books said.

“All right, I’ve been studying part of the day. I didn’t let go of the revenge plotting until after lunch.”

“You’re not going to try and convince some bounty hunter to go after him again, are you?” Amaranthe pulled a crate up to the desk and sat down between them.

“No, he’d kill me over that. I was thinking of a revenge that he couldn’t pin on me. Like using my Science skills to light his socks on fire.”

“While he’s wearing them?” Amaranthe eased a few papers to the side, looking for a place where she could set the book.

“Preferably while he’s tormenting us during some training session.” Akstyr grinned. “But he’d probably know it was me who did it then, ’cause I’d be falling down laughing.”

“If you used magic, he’d know it was you anyway,” Books said.

“Not necessarily. Fire’s natural. And things catch on fire sometimes. The Science wouldn’t be the only possible explanation.”

Books stared at him. “Name one possible non-magical explanation that could account for socks randomly taking flame.”

“Well… there’s that one thing. When stuff blows up of its own accord.”

“Spontaneous combustion?” Books asked.

Akstyr snapped his fingers. “That’s it.”

“That generally applies to piles of hay and compost, not undergarments.”

Amaranthe shook her head and opened to the first page. She’d get more read with fewer distractions if she went into the other office, but she didn’t want to be alone. Especially-a yawn stretched her jaw so wide that it popped-at night. Books and Akstyr would help her stay awake until a certain night watchman returned.

Before she could delve into the text, Books cleared his throat.

“I asked you about your evening,” he said.

“Yes…” Amaranthe said.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about mine?”

“I wasn’t planning to, no.” She smiled, but Books’s expression grew consternated, so she relented. “How was your evening?”

“Most excellent. I finished my treatise, my Constitution for the Turgonian Republic, outlining specific government responsibilities and powers along with declaring fundamental rights for its citizens. Citizens, mind you, not subjects. It is, of course, a preliminary draft. I’d like feedback from my peers, but, ah-” Books gazed out the window at the factory’s innards, “-due to my limited access to colleagues learned in manners of history and politics, I’d like you to read over it.”

“Me?” Even if she hadn’t had an infiltration to plan, Amaranthe wouldn’t have thought herself knowledgeable enough to weigh in on such a document.

“Sespian, too, of course. Despite his youth, he’ll naturally be well versed in the matter of ruling a nation. Sicarius’s opinions might be useful as well, if he’ll deign to read it.”

Yes, and what exactly would Sespian think when he found out Books’s new ideas revolved around a government that elected its leaders? In such a scenario, what odds would a nineteen-year-old boy have of claiming the throne? Would it even be called a throne if Books’s future came to pass?

“It’s not that bad.” For once, Akstyr was paying attention, noticing her hesitation. “I’ve read part of it.”

“You’ve read part of it?” Amaranthe didn’t know whether it surprised her more that Books had shared it with him or that he’d actually looked the documents over, especially given the encyclopedia-sized stack of pages beneath Books’s folded hands. Weren’t constitutions supposed to be short and concise?

“Not exactly, but we’ve been sharing lanterns at night, and he mutters a lot when he writes.” Akstyr shrugged. “I liked the part where it says citizens are freely allowed to pursue the careers of their choices and study whatever subjects they wish.”

“Page eighty-three,” Books said. “Paragraph three.”

“Ah, would you stay in the empire if you were allowed to use the mental sciences?” Amaranthe doubted a government document would change the imperial beliefs about magic, nor how fast people were to punish others who used it, but she latched onto the topic, hoping to distract Books from the idea that she should read his opus that night. After she returned from her mission, she could peruse it. Or-she eyed the thickness of the stack again-ask someone for an abbreviated version.

“Maybe,” Akstyr said. “Though those Kyatt Islands sound real nice. And warm.” He pulled his jacket tighter about him. “Besides, I’ve got that other problem.”

Yes, Amaranthe needed to send the team out to find Akstyr’s mother or blackmail whomever it would take to get the bounty removed from his head. Unfair of things to pile up on one’s to-do list while one was off being tortured. There was a particular cosmic cruelty to that.

“You can take it with you to your room,” Books said, “so long as you promise to be careful. It’s the only copy I have so far, and it’s already been dreadfully difficult to keep the pages together. Oh, when you get to the singed ones in the middle, the new writing is on the back. I must have copies made. I wonder if either of those two soldiers you picked up is literate enough for the task. Probably not. I’ll have to hire a scribe.”

“I could wait to read it until after you have more copies.” Amaranthe tapped the book she’d brought. “I need to study up on the woman I intend to impersonate first, and I wouldn’t want to lose any of your pages.”

“Yes, but if you finish with that… you’ll have something nearby for when you can’t sleep.”

Erg, did everyone know she wasn’t sleeping? “I intend to sleep well tonight.” She chomped down on her lip to keep from grinning and adding that it’d be after some vigorous exercise.

“Oh.” Books’s gaze drooped with disappointment.

“But why don’t I take the first few pages, just in case?” Amaranthe found herself saying. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to get out of reading the thing.

Books brightened. “Yes, good. Here.” He handed her a third of the stack, far more than a few pages. “I’ll see about having the rest copied.”

Clomps sounded on the metal stairs leading to the offices. Amaranthe lifted her head. Sicarius? He wouldn’t make any noise climbing the steps, but maybe Maldynado and the others were with him.

It was Deret Mancrest who walked into view however, yawning and leaning heavily on his swordstick. Amaranthe hadn’t spoken to him since the night before, nor had she thought overmuch of him, she admitted with a guilty twinge. If nothing else, she should be keeping track of him and the new recruits, to ensure everyone remained suborned to her side.

Deret noticed Amaranthe watching him through the window and straightened, making it seem as if the swordstick were a decorative prop, not a necessary tool. He lifted a hand to knock, but Amaranthe waved and said, “Come in, Lord Mancrest.” She gave him a warm please-don’t-get-bored-lingering-in-our-hide-out-and-go-back-to-your-father smile, hoping it would make up for her neglect.

Deret entered, looked around for a chair, and settled for perching on the edge of a low bookcase. “I need to talk to you, Amaranthe, but I have news also.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been communicating with a few of my contacts, those I can be reasonably sure my father doesn’t own-” his lip twisted in a sneer, “-and there are a couple of tidbits I believe will interest you.”

Amaranthe leaned toward him, elbow on the edge of the desk. She waited for him to continue, but he merely met her gaze frankly.

“Are we trading information again?” she asked.

“I’m still waiting for the information you promised me yesterday.”

Another task she didn’t have time to complete. “Books has recently completed his project. I believe he’s available to brief you.”

Books had indeed been watching the exchange-Akstyr had his nose pressed into the pages of some tome on Kendorian magic and probably didn’t know Mancrest was in the room-though his eyebrows twitched at this new assignment. “You’ve certainly learned how to delegate in this last year as a leader, haven’t you?”

“It’s part of my important new job. Didn’t you hear? Sespian named me as…” Hm, what was that title again? Oh, yes. “High Minister in charge of Domestic and Foreign Relations.”

Books’s eyebrows went from subtle twitching to outright acrobatics on his creased brow. “Are we then throwing our weight behind Sespian as emperor? Rather than establishing a new more modern and progressive regime?”

“Such as a republic?” Amaranthe asked.

“Such as.”

“I don’t think we’ll get the backing we need if we attempt to open with that gambit. However, if we can get Sespian onto the throne, he’d be amenable to giving up absolute power in favor of gradually instituting some of your suggestions. He’s often spoken of how he wants to turn the empire in another direction. He might be willing to carry your documents to the Company of Lords himself.”

“I was imagining this as a revolution, one that would render the Company of Lords obsolete,” Books said.

“Nonetheless, I think we’ll have less opposition if we try to make these changes gradually.”

“I think that a revolution must be swift, thus to catch the power players by surprise, or it’ll never take place at all. This is the time. Forget trying to win the favor of lords or even soldiers. It’s the common man to whom we must appeal. With no obvious choice to put forward as an imperial candidate, this is the ideal time for upheaval. If we wait… those currently in power are perfectly capable of burying my ideas in a quagmire of bureaucracy.”

“Quagmire of bureaucracy?” Deret asked.

“If your question is, ‘Does he always talk like that?’ the answer is yes,” Akstyr said.

“No, I’m curious about these ideas and…” Deret leaned forward, eyeing the stack of papers on the desk. “What is that? Have you drafted up a proposition for a new government?”

Deret oozed interest, and Books latched onto it like a tick on a dog. “Indeed I have. Would you like to see what I have so far?”

Before Deret could do more than nod his head, Amaranthe gripped his arm. “You had other news, I believe?”

Deret tore his attention from Books’s opus. “Yes. You’ve heard that the ships coming up the Goldar River are being detained, right? They’re being searched by the military to make sure no unauthorized troops or weapons are ferried into the city.”

“Yes, we had to come in on foot to avoid being discovered that way ourselves,” Amaranthe said.

“That’s not the only reason we came on foot,” Books murmured.

Deret’s eyebrows arched.

“We sank the steamboat we were taking upriver,” Akstyr said.

“For good reason,” Amaranthe said when Deret’s curious gaze swung in her direction. “Books will explain it to you when you two chat.”

“That should prove interesting,” Deret said. “The reason I bring it up is that there’s a ship being detained now that’s out of Kendor. The Dancing Salamander. One of my contacts got the roster, thinking there might be something newsworthy-warrior-caste families returning home who might have a sway in the succession struggle, that sort of thing.”

“And?” Amaranthe prompted, though she had an idea as to why Deret was bringing this up.

He dug a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. Amaranthe skimmed through the names, and her shoulders slumped at the familiar one two thirds of the way down the page. Suan Curlev.

“Bloody ancestors, I knew she was coming, but I thought I had a couple of weeks.”

“What is it?” Books leaned across the table to read the list.

“The lady I want to impersonate may be arriving at the same time as me.”

“The boats have been delayed up to twenty-four hours at the mouth of the lake,” Deret said.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough time, even if I go tomorrow. Unless…” Amaranthe tapped her chin. “Yara isn’t that enthused about going with us. Maybe she can stay here, while I take only my mental sciences adviser and the scribe who handles my business books.” She waved to Akstyr and Books, naming the roles she’d made up for them. “Deret, I don’t suppose you and Sergeant Yara would like to go on your own mission together?” Yara could hunt for weapons on the side.

“I don’t know. I had a mission of my own planned. Besides, I can’t imagine what I’d talk about with a woman who finds Maldynado fascinating enough to sleep with.”

“I’m not sure it’s his fascination that draws her,” Amaranthe said.

Books snorted.

“What mission did you have in mind?” Deret asked.

“Nothing particularly challenging. Just kidnapping an intelligent globe-traveling woman and holding her here until I get back.”

Books lifted a finger. “Perhaps I should volunteer for that one.”

This time Amaranthe snorted. From the description, this Suan did sound like the type of woman for him. But… “I need you down there, Books. You and Akstyr, both. If Retta isn’t there, or if we can’t find her, we’re going to need to figure out how to destroy the Behemoth, or at least nullify it so Forge can’t use it. Success squabbles aside, Forge could take over the city with the power of that craft alone.”

“I know,” Books said. “I understand.”

Deret stroked his chin. “If I help you do this, will you help me take my newspaper back?”

Amaranthe almost blurted a ‘yes’ right away-she’d much rather have an ally in charge of the city’s most influential paper than an enemy or indifferent party manning the presses-but she didn’t have many people left to send with him. “How quickly do you need it done?”

“The sooner the better. Right now, the Gazette will be somewhat… disheveled. An ideal time to attack.”

“I’ll help as soon as I’m able,” Amaranthe said. “You could take Yara now and… the two soldiers down there on guard. Maybe Akstyr can heal the injured one-” she almost choked on the idea of introducing a superstitious imperial man to magic that way, “-and you can take them on the kidnapping too.” Better to have them off on some mission than here alone where they might decide to wander back to their own unit and, oh, report the location of Lokdon, Sicarius, and their heinous band of outlaws while they were at it.

“For my team, a woman and two soldiers inept enough to be caught by the likes of Maldynado, eh?” Deret asked.

“Yara’s an enforcer sergeant and extremely capable.”

“And the two soldiers?”

“I don’t know them that well yet,” Amaranthe said. “They stand guard nicely.”

“What an accolade,” Books said.

Amaranthe spread her hands. “If Sicarius and the others return tonight with good news, I may have more men that I can assign to your task. Retaking the Gazette would benefit us as well, so I’d be pleased to help you with that.”

Deret grimaced. At first she thought it was because Sicarius was the last person with whom he’d want to work, but he said, “That’s my second piece of news.”

A heavy feeling of dread settled in Amaranthe’s stomach. “What is?”

“Your other men… They went to Fort Urgot tonight, didn’t they?”

“Yes…”

“Fort Urgot has been surrounded by twenty thousand troops.”

Amaranthe gaped at him and mouthed, “What?”

“I don’t know if you’ve kept up with the papers, but Satrap Governor Lord General Heroncrest captured one of the railroads a couple of weeks ago, and he’s been ferrying soldiers into the area. He has enough of the right blood in his veins to make a bid for the throne. It seems he’s ready to make his first move.”

Amaranthe dropped her head onto the desk. If her men had been caught inside, she might not see them for days. Or weeks. And Sicarius certainly wouldn’t be standing guard for her that night.

• • •

Inches of snow blanketed the walls around Fort Urgot as well as the window ledges in the clock tower overlooking the square. Thick flakes wafted down from the dark sky, and, even with a spyglass, Sicarius could barely see the knot of uniformed men huddled on a white field to the west. Four of General Ridgecrest’s officers were out there along with a small contingent from the invading army. Whatever they were discussing, they’d been at the conversation for some time.

He shifted the focus of the spyglass to Ridgecrest and Sespian again. Along with several other officers, they stood on the west wall, overlooking the group of men on the field. Sespian was keeping his hood pulled close to his face. If anyone except Ridgecrest knew who he was, it wasn’t apparent.

Hours had passed since the thousands of soldiers had amassed around the fort, and they were setting up tents and digging trenches out there, but no weapons had been fired since the opening rounds from the invaders, more of a warning to cooperate than a true attack. The auto cannons mounted on the walls remained quiescent, though they’d been loaded, ready in case the invaders drew close enough for an assault on the fort.

Sespian’s head turned, and he scanned the rooftops inside the compound. Looking for someone? His father? He must wonder where Sicarius and the others had gone, if they’d stayed inside or left him to fend for himself.

Though it went against his nature-the last thing he wanted to do was draw a soldier’s attention to his position-Sicarius waved a hand when the searching gaze drifted in his direction. Sespian’s eyes lifted, then halted. They looked at each other for a moment, then Sespian turned back and responded to some comment Ridgecrest had made. It occurred to Sicarius that all Sespian would have to do was say a few words, and squads of soldiers could be sent to the clock tower with orders to kill him. Sespian didn’t have the heart of a murderer, but was it truly murder to give an order to have a notorious assassin slain? Or, in his eyes, was it justice? Perhaps he’d find that more amenable than having to deal with his father’s attempts at establishing a relationship with him.

Stop being melodramatic, Sicarius told himself. Sespian might have once loathed him, but surely familiarity had resulted in a modicum of… tolerance. Hadn’t Amaranthe often said that people had a hard time killing those they knew? Of course, she had a knack for getting people to like her, not simply know her. Either way, he’d already picked a couple of likely escape routes if he had to flee the clock tower. Even if the exit below were blocked, he had rope in his pack and could toss a line to the wall or a rooftop. Besides, the soldiers were intent on those outside the walls at the moment.

“Is there an army order against pissing in a corner of a clock tower?” Maldynado asked.

With his back to the men, Sicarius didn’t see Basilard’s signed response.

“Are you sure?” Maldynado asked. “You’re not even Turgonian. How would you know?”

Sicarius ignored the conversation and shifted the spyglass back to the field. The knot of men was breaking up with the four from the fort heading back to the gate.

“Fine.” Maldynado walked up to the window beside Sicarius. “Then is there a rule about pissing outside of a clock tower? We’ve been cooped up in here for hours, and I haven’t unleashed the snake since we left the warehouse.”

Without lowering the spyglass, Sicarius turned his coldest stare onto Maldynado. “You will not urinate out the window.” Soldiers previously occupied by the invaders might develop an interest in the clock tower should suspiciously yellow snow catch someone’s eye.

I told you, Basilard signed.

“Where then?” Maldynado propped his hands on his hips. “The way things are going, we’ll be here for days. Even you can’t hold it that long.”

A creak drifted up from the double doors marking the fort entrance. The four officers jogged through the sally port and headed for General Ridgecrest’s portion of the wall. Their route took them near the clock tower, so Sicarius drew back into the shadows, glancing at Maldynado to ensure his “snake” wasn’t anywhere near the window. Intent on their mission, the officers did not look up. They ran up the stairs, stopping before Ridgecrest, and a long dialogue ensued. At the end, Ridgecrest drew Sespian to the side.

Sicarius lifted the spyglass again, trying to read lips. Ridgecrest’s back was to him, though, and he couldn’t decipher much of the conversation. After a few minutes, Sespian nodded, pointed toward the field, then walked down the stairs. Ridgecrest also descended, though he strode in another direction, toward the headquarters building in the center of a complex of offices.

Sespian’s route zigzagged, first down one street, then up an alley, and Sicarius realized he must be coming to see him, choosing a route that someone watching from the wall wouldn’t be able to follow. Judging by the gesticulations and curses being flung in the direction of the army outside, few people were paying attention to him. Sicarius didn’t think anyone noticed him come out of an alley and jog across the square to the base of the clock tower.

A soft thump drifted up from below, the sound of the door closing.

“What was that?” Maldynado blurted, in the middle of… Sicarius stared at him. He had chosen a dim corner in which to relieve himself.

I told you, Basilard signed again, this time adding, They’re coming for you.

“What? Who?”

The military police.

“Very funny.”

The wooden stairs leading to the top of the tower creaked. Cursing under his breath, Maldynado hastened to button himself in.

A second step creaked, and this time it was Sespian who cursed under his breath. “Just so you know,” he called up softly, “I was stepping on the edges. These stairs are hundreds of years old. And creakier than a granny’s rocker.”

Sicarius grunted softly and almost responded that it took time to master the art of stealth, but Maldynado and Basilard’s presence squelched his thoughts of speaking.

Sespian climbed out of the shadows and went straight to Sicarius at the window. “I have a message for you.”

Sicarius waited.

“The confabulation out there wasn’t useful. General Ridgecrest hasn’t learned anything except that the army is being led by Satrap Governor Lord General Heroncrest-his are the soldiers who’ve been wearing the blue armbands around town-and that he has a lot more men in the area than anyone expected. He’s got one of the railroads, which everyone has known about, but the last stop before Stumps has been monitored, and that many people-” he waved toward the encamped army, “-never disembarked. We’re surmising that his men have been coming in day and night, but getting off at the previous stop and forming up in the mountains.”

“This message is for me?” Sicarius asked.

“No, but I thought you’d want to know the background information. What Ridgecrest is interested in from you is… he wants more intelligence, for someone to spy on that camp and report back to him.”

Sicarius stared.

“You can’t be surprised,” Sespian said. “Everyone’s heard of you. As his X.O. said, you’re legendary.”

“He used that word?”

“It was close to that word,” Sespian said. “His actual choice might have been infamous.”

“I see.”

“But Ridgecrest nodded.”

“They thought of me for this intelligence-gathering endeavor? Of their own accord?” Sicarius deemed it unlikely. To the army, he was nothing more than a loathed criminal who’d killed dozens, if not hundreds, of soldiers over the years. Besides, the general would have his own trained spies.

“I… may have volunteered you,” Sespian said.

“Oh, this should prove interesting,” Maldynado chimed in.

Basilard gave him a shushing swat.

Sicarius said nothing, merely waiting for a further explanation. He understood that Sespian wanted to ingratiate himself to Ridgecrest, but found it hard to believe the general would have accepted this offering.

Sespian lifted a hand. “Now, before you get huffy…” He glanced at Maldynado and Basilard and whispered, “Does he ever get huffy?”

Not in a manner that would cause most people to notice it, Basilard signed at the same time as Maldynado said, “Yes.”

Sicarius stared at them briefly-this caused defensive shrugging, then squirming from Maldynado-before returning his attention to Sespian.

“I’ve volunteered myself for the mission too,” he said.

Maldynado gaped at Sespian. “You did what?”

Though also surprised, Sicarius kept his face neutral. “You wish to go on a dangerous mission with me?”

Sespian grimaced. “I’m not sure wish is the word, but I sense that this might improve General Ridgecrest’s opinion of me. He hasn’t been rude, but from a few comments… I had the impression he doesn’t have a lot of respect for… what did you call me?” He glanced at Maldynado. “Bookish?”

“Bookly.”

Basilard signed, Is that a word?

Maldynado pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you start. I get hounded about words enough from Books.”

“Bookly, yes,” Sespian said. “I don’t think Ridgecrest respects bookly types as much as warriors.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Maldynado said, dropping his goofy expression in favor of a more serious mien. “He came by the house some when I was a boy. He’d served a few years on the west coast and was a contemporary of Lord Admiral Starcrest. He had all sorts of respect for him, and by all accounts Starcrest was on the bookly side. But he used his smarts to succeed in war, and the stories say he was the type to lead men into battle, a cutlass in one hand and a pistol in the other.”

Sicarius had wondered if Ridgecrest had ever met Starcrest. If the two had a past bond, it could prove useful if-

“Perhaps I should have been asking you for cutlass- and pistol-wielding lessons these last weeks,” Sespian told Sicarius with a sigh.

Sicarius refrained from pointing out that he’d been available and that if someone hadn’t been sulking someone could have had as many lessons as he wanted. “We can begin anytime you wish.”

“Can we gather intelligence for Ridgecrest first?” Sespian asked. “Everything Maldynado said makes me believe my impression was correct, and that Ridgecrest might respect me more-no, be more willing to ally with me-if he saw that I’m capable of the sorts of physical feats that Turgonian emperors have always demonstrated. He needs to know that I’m a man who’s not afraid to walk into danger; I won’t simply hide in the Imperial Barracks and send others out to die for me.”

Normally, Sicarius would approve of this line of reasoning, but the earlier howl of the soul construct concerned him. If the creature was, as he suspected, after Sespian, he’d be safer inside these walls and surrounded by thousands of people. Heroncrest might be the man who’d allied with the Nurians. If Sespian walked into their camp and was captured… Heroncrest would get rid of him in a second to make his own route to the throne simpler.

Sespian cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the clock tower. “I know I’ll slow you down, but I thought… maybe you could show me a few things out there-the things you do so well. Less the throat-cutting ideally. Amaranthe said… I mean, it seems like you want to. Show me things, that is.” He gave a self-deprecating eye roll at the awkwardness of his words. This must mean much to him-perhaps he saw Ridgecrest as his only chance.

Basilard and Maldynado’s heads swung toward Sicarius. He sensed that they were enjoying the chance to see a side of him that was more than the assassin. Sicarius, however, didn’t care to share that side with anyone except Sespian. And Amaranthe. He did his best to ignore them.

“I thought you were more interested in fishing,” he said.

Sespian managed a wan smile. “Wrong time of year for that, I fear.”

“Are we coming too?” Maldynado asked.

“As I recall, you’re here to spread rumors about Ravido,” Sicarius said.

“Preferably not through Ridgecrest’s daughters,” Sespian added.

“They’re absolutely no fun, either of them,” Maldynado muttered to Basilard.

Basilard ignored him, signing toward Sicarius, And me?

Sicarius considered the question. He’d prefer to take no one and gather intelligence on his own-or simply eliminate this Heroncrest-but if he had to take someone, he’d rather have the more proven Basilard than Sespian. Practically speaking. But if he went with his heart, something Amaranthe would doubtlessly encourage, he’d take Sespian and Sespian alone. How could he refuse to do so when Sespian had finally asked for it? He’d made no mention of taking Maldynado or Basilard.

Hoping this decision of the “heart” wouldn’t get his son killed, Sicarius said, “Keep watch from in here, Basilard. If an alarm is raised or if we’re captured-” or killed, he added silently, thinking of the soul construct, “-let Amaranthe know what’s happened.”

Understood, Basilard signed.

“A word,” Sicarius said, waving for Sespian to join him to one side.

“Yes?”

“I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out the logic of assassinating your rival instead of spying on him,” Sicarius said.

Sespian sighed. “I knew you’d bring that up. We’re not killing anyone.”

“It’s unlikely we’ll make it in and out without casualties.”

“I thought you were better than that-in and out without anyone knowing you’re there. Or are you worried I’ll be the one to snap a twig and alert someone of our presence?”

Yes, Sicarius thought, but he didn’t say it.

He didn’t need to. Sespian sighed again. “If that happens, just knock the person out or otherwise subdue him. I know you can do that. We don’t need to kill anyone.”

“You’re being optimistic.”

“Better than pessimistic.” Sespian set his jaw.

Sicarius flicked away the argument-the guards were inconsequential anyway-but he wasn’t ready to concede on the enemy commander. “If we’re going through the effort of sneaking past the perimeter, which won’t be easy because they’ll be expecting spies, it’s logical to kill Heroncrest while we’re there. If these two armies clash, he’ll be a target in the battle anyway. You or Ridgecrest will be standing on the wall, directing artillerymen to shoot rounds at him. He’s someone who is plotting to take the throne. With you still alive, that’s treason, punishable by death. Getting rid of him in the beginning could save lives later. Further, there’ll be a headless army out there without a candidate to back. If you show your face, you’ll be their logical leader. You could have thousands of men, at which point Ridgecrest might be more likely to back you as well. The combined forces would rival those Ravido can claim.”

Sespian shook his head and walked to the window. He gripped the sill, hands tight on the cold snow and stone. Sicarius didn’t know if that was an utter rejection or not-Amaranthe was always more vociferous about her rejections. He went to stand beside Sespian, curious if he’d be pushed away.

“I understand your logic, and I won’t try to pretend that it’s false,” Sespian said, “but you can’t always use logic when it comes to human beings. There are methods that are honorable and others that aren’t. I won’t win Ridgecrest’s respect by sending in an assassin to kill my competition in his sleep. And I won’t… respect myself either. I refuse to believe that a man has to give up his self-respect, his sense of honor, to rule a nation.”

Sicarius doubted many leaders of nations, especially ones not born into the position, had reached such lofty heights without trading their honor for gains somewhere along the way. For good or ill, Hollowcrest and his tutors had chosen to instill practicality into him, not honor. If he saw an opportunity to assassinate Heroncrest, he’d take it. Sespian’s honor need not be besmirched if he wasn’t a part of it.

Out loud, Sicarius said, “Very well. I will not mention it again.”

“Thank you,” Sespian said. “Do we go tonight?”

Sicarius gazed out the window, back toward the city. As much as he’d like to return to the factory-to Amaranthe-he doubted it would happen soon. “The night is already half-spent, and many will be alert still. We’ll go tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“As will I,” Sicarius said and pulled out the sharpening kit for his knives.