Forged in Blood I

Chapter 6

An otherworldly soul-piercing howl drifted across the lake. Sicarius prodded Basilard’s arm, then jogged into the trees lining the frost-slick jogging path. He stopped beneath a stout cedar with branches that didn’t start until they were twenty feet up and put his back to the trunk. By unnoticed reflex, his dagger found its way into his hand. As he listened for further howls, he scanned the dark path in front of them, the patchy snow on the hills, and the mud-turned-to-ice training fields of Fort Urgot. A few early-rising soldiers on those fields stopped and turned toward the lake.

Basilard joined Sicarius in the shadow of the tree, a dagger in his hand as well. It was too dark to read hand signs, if he was making them, but the outline of the weapon stood out against the white ground beneath it.

“A soul construct.” Sicarius couldn’t be positive yet, but no natural animal had issued that keen. “If we cross its path, our weapons will be useless against it.” His black dagger might hurt it, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

Basilard pointed up the tree. That gesture Sicarius had no trouble seeing and interpreting in the darkness.

The howl came again, eerie and undulating as it wafted across the hills. It was vaguely wolf-like, but deeper, with a more resonating timbre, as if issued from a great barrel chest.

“Tree climbing may be premature,” Sicarius said. “I’d guess its origins at two miles away. Do you concur?” He rarely asked anyone for second opinions, but Basilard was a skilled woodsman with hunting skills as great as his own, perhaps greater when it came to tracking prey outside of an urban environment.

Basilard nodded, but also pointed at the Stumps waterfront, its lights visible across the lake. Yes, the source of the howls was prowling about in the direction they were traveling.

“If it is a soul construct, it may return to whence it came at dawn,” Sicarius said, though he and Basilard would cover those last two miles well before the winter sun crept over the horizon. They’d completed their scouting mission at Fort Urgot, so there was little reason to dawdle. “Come.”

Basilard gripped his arm and held up a palm. He stepped out of the shadows and exaggerated his hand signs so Sicarius could read them.

If we have no way to fight it, we should make sure we won’t cross its path. We could go back into the fields and circle into the city from the north. It would add a few miles, but- Basilard shrugged, — we travel greater distances in training each day.

Sicarius considered this piece of wisdom. Basilard was correct. A year ago, he would have nodded in agreement; no, he would have come to the same conclusion without being prompted. What had changed?

“Amaranthe and Sespian will want information about this new Nurian player.” For the first time, Sicarius noticed that he wasn’t calling her by last name any more when speaking to the others. He supposed there was little point in continuing to pretend he was keeping her at arm’s distance. “Whoever sent the wizard hunter may control the soul construct as well.”

A moment passed before Basilard signed, You want us to risk our lives to get a look at it?

“I’d prefer not to risk anything, but it might be possible to find its trail and follow it back to its master.” It occurred to Sicarius that he was using Amaranthe-like logic on Basilard, albeit without the smile or any of the charisma. She truly was having an effect on him. Why should he talk Basilard into risking his life? He’d been useful enough for splitting up the large task of scouting the entire fort, but this was different. “I will go the direct way back to the factory.” Sicarius pointed in the direction of the creature’s howl. “Go the safer way if you wish.”

He returned to the trail, taking up the soundless, tireless jog that he could maintain all night. A moment later, Basilard appeared at his side.

Huh. Sicarius truly hadn’t meant to talk Basilard into joining him. It seemed strange that he would stay out of loyalty or some notion of comradeship.

As if guessing his thoughts, or feeling the need to justify his presence, Basilard signed, Someone will need to tell Amaranthe what happened to you when your body is found mauled and half-eaten on the dock.

“Of course,” Sicarius said.

They continued their jog and, by unspoken agreement, stayed close to the trees. Images of past dealings with soul constructs came to Sicarius’s mind, most recently the blocky panther-like one that had chased him all over Larocka Myll’s mansion and the surrounding grounds. He’d barely stayed ahead of the preternatural predator, and if Amaranthe hadn’t come up with that scheme to bury it in cement, he would have died that night. There had been another instance where he’d dealt with a Nurian soul construct. A giant viper-like creature ritually raised from the sacrifices of a dozen villagers had been sent to chase him, to avenge the death of a great chief Raumesys had ordered assassinated. He hadn’t killed that soul construct, only evaded it long enough to catch a ship back to Turgonia. To this day, he wondered if it still prowled the Nurian continent, waiting for him should he ever step foot on the mainland again.

This one, Sicarius told himself, pushing aside the memories to focus on the present, probably wasn’t here for him. His senses nudged him, and he slowed down. They were nearing the north end of the docks, not far from that yacht club where the Forge woman was supposed to be staying. Coincidence?

Before they reached the first private docks, a faint crunch reached his ears. This time he stopped, easing to the side of the path, hugging the shadows provided by a snow-dusted evergreen bush.

Basilard stepped off the trail with him. You saw something.

The sky had lightened enough in the east that Sicarius could make out the hand signs more easily. He touched his ear in response. It had been a few minutes since they’d heard a howl, but that crunch-

He lifted his head. There it was again.

He pointed.

A creature four or five times the size of a lion hound-it must weight over six hundred pounds-padded out of an alley. Though there were no nearby lamps to illuminate it, Sicarius made out massive muscular limbs and the huge barrel chest he’d imagined when he first heard the howl. Like the panther-like construct they’d faced the year before, it lacked fur, having instead the bare, lumpy features of something sculpted from clay, if by a fat-fingered artisan. The fangs ringing the inside of its stout maw were too long to allow its jaw to close fully, but it probably didn’t matter; it could tear off a man’s limbs-or rip his heart from his chest-without closing its mouth. It didn’t need to eat meat, subsisting, if the stories were true, on less tangible fare. Human souls.

The creature was padding across the waterfront street, toward the lake, but it paused in the middle. Its broad head swung to the right, crimson eyes directed at Sicarius and Basilard. They’d gotten too close. So much for the tracking plan.

A hound-like nose lifted, and snuffling sounds whispered across the intervening quarter mile as it tested the air. A long, thin tail stuck out straight behind it like a flagpole.

Basilard touched Sicarius’s arm and pointed at the closest trees. Sicarius had already taken note of the surrounding options, choosing a sturdy hemlock as a likely candidate. If that creature, with those thick muscled haunches, sprinted toward them, it’d cross the quarter mile in heartbeats, but he believed he could reach that tree and scale it to twenty feet in the same amount of time. What he didn’t know was whether wood would be strong enough to deter the creature. It didn’t look like something built for climbing, but it might have the power to tear a tree’s roots from the ground.

The sniffs halted, the tail grew even more rigid, and its front paw lifted. Like a pointer targeting grouse in a thicket, the creature aimed at Sicarius.

“Go,” he whispered.

Basilard was already in motion. So was the creature.

Sicarius sprinted for his chosen tree. Basilard had picked the same one. Fortunately, the trunk was wide enough for both of them to scramble up on opposite sides. In the quiet morning surroundings, the beast’s exhales were audible, as was the churning of claws on snow as it covered the ground in twenty-foot bounds.

Halfway up to the first branch, Sicarius paused to hurl his throwing knife. The mundane blade would not hurt the otherworldly creation, but maybe it would pause.

Without waiting to see if the blade struck the construct’s eye, Sicarius returned to climbing, his practiced fingers finding holds in the rough bark. He reached for the first branch, his hand brushing the cold wood, but the creature slammed into the tree. The force knocked his hand to the side-he was lucky it didn’t knock him out of the hemlock entirely.

Wood snapped somewhere above, and green needles rained onto the creature. It merely backed up to charge again.

Sicarius picked out a second tree for a backup perch, though it was too far away to reach without returning to the ground first. Crossing the distance would take an eternity during which they’d be vulnerable to attack.

Basilard lowered his hand, offering help. Sicarius climbed into the lower branches without it, giving Basilard a flat look. He’d merely been considering other options, not pausing because he needed assistance.

Basilard looked… amused. At least until the creature slammed into the tree again. More needles fell to the snow below, and a groan emanated from the trunk. Their perch wouldn’t survive the battering indefinitely. Sicarius decided he’d made a mistake in not taking Basilard’s earlier advice. The admission would gain him little now.

Basilard wrapped an arm around the trunk, freeing his fingers so he could sign. This isn’t the first time I’ve been stuck in an awkward position with you, due to your interest in seeking information for Amaranthe.

“It was your choice to come.”

Sicarius considered his knives and the contents of his pockets, wondering if he had anything that could harm the soul construct, or at least deter it from further molesting their tree. His black dagger might scrape its flesh, but he doubted even a pierced eye would stop it. He considered the cloud-filled eastern horizon and thought about sawing through a few branches and dropping them on its head, if only to buy them time. The last soul construct had possessed a built-in sense to stay hidden, meaning it had disappeared at dawn or when great numbers of people were approaching. He hoped this one had a similar instinct, or they would be in trouble.

If I returned and you didn’t, Amaranthe would have been upset with me.

Gnawing sounds arose from below-the canine construct had changed tactics. Instead of ramming the tree with its shoulder, it was tearing huge chunks from the base. The scent of freshly cut hemlock drifted up.

“She would have forgiven you,” Sicarius said.

At least we have clothing this time.

“Nudity would have been impractical given the season,” Sicarius said before realizing Basilard had been joking. Determined to improve his skills in that area, he added, “Also given our need for pockets.” He pulled out a foldaway serrated knife from one of his own pockets.

Basilard grinned. If only Sicarius could get that response from Sespian.

Since the creature was staying in one place-though gnawing off shards of wood at an alarming rate-Sicarius decided to try the branch idea. He shifted positions so he could get to one over its head.

Basilard waved at the base of the tree-the trunk must be six or eight feet in diameter, but the construct had already gnawed a third of the way through. Where to when it fells this tree?

Still sawing, Sicarius considered the tall brick buildings across from the docks. If they had a suitable distraction, they might be able to reach the first of them, climb up, and hop from rooftop to rooftop. Otherwise, their best bet was to run up another tree.

Before the serrated blade cut all the way through, the weight of the branch took it down. It plummeted, and his aim proved true. The branch smashed into the top of the creature’s head. It staggered back, startled for a moment, but it didn’t let out a yelp or whine or anything to indicate it had been damaged. Instead it glared up at Sicarius, crimson eyes full of threat.

Basilard signed, Is it my imagination or does it seem to be glaring at you specifically?

The massive hound returned to tearing chunks out of the base of the tree.

Sicarius eyed the waterfront street. With the approach of dawn, men and women were about, heading for work. Several blocks away, a trolley pulled around a corner, its bell dinging as people hopped off.

“There is easier prey around if all it wants is a meal,” Sicarius said.

A shudder coursed through the tree. Wood cracked, and creaks and snaps sounded from within the trunk. Sicarius braced himself, preparing to leap free.

Basilard signed, The next closest tree?

“You go that way. I’ll run for the buildings.”

Are you being noble and sacrificing yourself so I can get away, or do you believe it’ll chase me, giving you time to reach the rooftops?

The trunk shuddered again. The soul construct backed up, preparing itself for one last ramming.

“Amaranthe would be displeased if I deliberately sacrificed you,” Sicarius said, on the balls of his feet, ready to spring free.

It’s not escaping me that you didn’t answer my question. You’ve displeased Amaranthe before.

Sicarius didn’t answer. He doubted the soul construct would follow Basilard; for whatever reason, it was intent on him.

The creature raced full speed at the tree and leaped, hurling all of its weight at the trunk. A final snap announced the hemlock’s demise. The tree pitched several feet to the side, and Sicarius was on the verge of leaping, but the trunk halted, not quite ready to plummet all the way down.

“Wait,” Sicarius said, for the construct had paused, an ear cocked toward the lake.

Basilard had been in the middle of springing away, and he tried to catch himself, lunging for a branch, but another shudder coursed through the tree, and he missed the grasp. He dropped to the ground not ten feet from the creature, his feet slipping on the ice.

Sicarius jumped down, hurling the serrated knife to draw the beast’s attention, then raced toward the buildings. He knew as he ran that he wouldn’t have enough time-he’d gauged the speed at which the construct covered ground and run the calculations in his head-but maybe if he got close enough to the dockworkers, it’d decide that it couldn’t reveal itself, then turn away.

When he didn’t hear paws hammering the ground behind him, Sicarius glanced back. The creature wasn’t following him. A feeling of concern-one he wouldn’t have expected in regard to anyone except Amaranthe or Sespian-came over him. He slowed down, searching the snow for Basilard. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. But there wasn’t any blood nor other signs of a fight either. Only the wool cap he’d been wearing lay in the snow. Maybe he’d simply run up the next tree. The construct remained in the same spot, its head cocked toward the lake. Like a dog that had heard its owner’s whistle to come home?

That big, blunt head rotated slowly, its red-eyed gaze landing on Sicarius again. Maybe not a command to come after all. Maybe one to kill. The creature turned so it faced him, and Sicarius prepared to race away. He had a head start this time. He’d reach the buildings. He’d-

The creature sprang. Not, as he expected, toward him, but toward the lake. It ran to the shoreline, leaped into the air, and was paddling its legs before it hit the water.

Still crouching, ready to run, Sicarius watched for a long moment before he relaxed. Remembering the bounty on his head and that human dangers existed in the city as well, he took a quick survey of his surroundings-in the poor lighting, nobody seemed close enough to have seen the incident, though a couple of men on a dock were pointing in the direction of the destroyed tree. Sicarius jogged back to see if Basilard was indeed safe.

As Sicarius approached, Basilard shimmied down the trunk of the nearest standing tree. He appeared unharmed, though he offered a sheepish shrug and retrieved his cap. That was lucky.

“Indeed.” Sicarius watched the creature as it continued to swim. It wasn’t heading to the yacht club after all. Recalling the theory about the ancient aircraft hiding on the lake bottom, he wondered if the construct would disappear beneath the waves, swimming down to join an underwater master. But would Forge be working with Nurians? Their plans were to support Ravido, not assassinate him.

Where’s it going?

The size of its head kept it in view for several moments, and Sicarius guessed it had swum a couple of miles before it finally faded from sight. In that time, it didn’t dip below the surface. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the Forge people. He considered the direction it had been swimming. Southwest. He’d run around the entire lake enough times to know the geography by heart. “In the winter, there’s an ice harvesting camp over there,” he said, remembering a mission he and Amaranthe had shared there once. “It’s too early in the season for that though.” He nodded toward the few inches of frozen crust at the edge of the lake.

I know the settlement of which you speak, Basilard signed. There are permanent log dwellings. Perhaps someone has moved in. Such as a Nurian wizard.

Sicarius thought about jogging out to investigate, but it would take a few hours, roundtrip, and he still needed to talk to Amaranthe and share that letter with her. And the pastry. He admitted it irked him slightly that she’d been too busy to talk privately to him, but he wouldn’t want to push Sespian aside for something that might be insignificant.

Mancrest may know if someone is over there, Basilard added.

Sicarius didn’t let any reaction onto his face at the mention of the name, but Basilard gave him a sidelong look anyway.

He is a handsome man. Do you fear he will…

Basilard’s hands faltered, hanging in midair as Sicarius gave him his most quelling glare. He did not wish to discuss the possibility of a relationship between Deret and Amaranthe. That would not happen.

Basilard diffidently finished with, …print news of your relationship to Sespian if he learns the truth?

“He is not the one most likely to do that,” Sicarius said.

Have you seen Books’s documents? What he proposes in this new government?

“No.” Sicarius didn’t know what Basilard’s topic shift implied, but, after one last look toward the lake, he headed toward the city.

Basilard walked beside him. Among other things, he suggests an elected official take the role of emperor. Rulers that go in and out of office every few years. Though the Turgonian empire has problems as it is, at least in the eyes of the rest of the world, I know that if Sespian returns as emperor, I have a chance at having an advocate for my people’s concerns. An unknown has no reason to help me. I do not know if I’d wish to fight for this.

So, Basilard was thinking of leaving the team if they couldn’t get Sespian onto the throne. Why divulge this to him? Maybe he thought Sicarius had some insight into Sespian’s thoughts. Or maybe Basilard simply thought they had bonded in the tree and should now be divulging secrets. Right.

“Understood,” Sicarius said, because Basilard’s continuing glances meant he expected an answer. The answer seemed to satisfy him.

• • •

Though daylight had come, it had not yet permeated the darkness in the factory. On his way in, Sicarius had spotted Maldynado taking a turn at watch on the rooftop, but everyone inside seemed to be sleeping. Basilard had gone straight to his bedroll. A few occupied blankets lay on the cement floor near a back wall covered with pipes. Stacks of books edged a couple of them-Books and Akstyr’s areas. Sicarius recalled a mention of private offices upstairs, so he glided past the snorers without rousing anyone, heading for the nearest set of metal steps.

On the wall near the base of the staircase, a recently used mop hung from a peg, a bucket upturned to dry beneath it. He wished Amaranthe had been sleeping instead of cleaning, but the damp implements didn’t surprise him.

The stairs led to a wide landing and catwalks allowing access to giant vats and two- and three-story-high machinery. On the left, there were three offices with windows and closed doors. In a less olfactory-dense environment, he might have been able to identify which room belonged to which team member before entering, but the pungent odor of syrupy molasses, mingled with hints of sugar beets and alcohol, dominated the air, even weeks after the factory had closed for work. Fortunately, the last office offered another clue: a clean window. Trusting it marked the spot Amaranthe had claimed, he strode toward it.

Sicarius entered soundlessly-if she’d managed to achieve sleep, he did not wish to disturb it. Her blanket was stretched on the floor behind an old metal desk. She wasn’t lying on the blanket; rather she was hunched in a ball on one end, leaning against a rickety filing cabinet. Though her eyes were closed, distressed mumbles came from her lips. Her hands twitched, clasping and unclasping the blanket.

Sicarius closed the door and considered whether to wake her or simply leave the letter and the pastry on the desk. Had her sleep appeared restful, he would have done the later, but perhaps she’d appreciate an escape from whatever nightmare haunted her.

On the journey to Stumps, after they’d been forced to abandon the steamboat, the team had camped in the woods each night, many people shivering under shared blankets to stave off the late autumn cold. Amaranthe had refused to sleep with the group, not wanting to disturb anyone with her rough nights-or perhaps not wanting anyone to know she had rough nights. As if that were possible with everyone living in close quarters-she and Yara had been roommates on that boat before it sank. Sicarius, of course, had known. Requiring little sleep himself, he was often up at night anyway. He’d thought of going to her, offering a shoulder to lean on or whatever else she might wish, but whenever she’d seen him watching her, she’d been quick to proclaim herself fine. Fit to fight. Perhaps he’d focused too much on training in the last year, for she seemed to think that was all he ever had on his mind. He’d done little to show her otherwise, he admitted. He didn’t know how.

Sicarius set the items on the desk, intending to leave, but Amaranthe’s twitches and mutters grew more agitated, more pronounced. She gasped, blurting a clear, “Don’t! Please, not again. I–I can’t tell. I won’t.”

He padded to her corner. He doubted it was in his capacity to help her, but he would try.

“Amaranthe,” he murmured, touching her shoulder.

She cringed inward, tucking into a tighter ball, burying her head in her arms.

Though he knew she wasn’t experiencing the here and now, and the gesture didn’t signify fear of him, it stung anyway, having her shy away from him. Once it wouldn’t have mattered. Once he’d expected that response from everyone and had not cared whether he received it or not.

Sicarius sat down beside her, his shoulder to her back. Face to her knees, she only muttered, “No, no,” over and over.

“I suppose telling you it’s dawn and time to train would only evoke a similar response,” he said.

He didn’t expect the comment to pierce her dreams and was mulling over ways to wake her without distressing her further, but her head jerked up, eyelids springing open, her hand clutching her chest. Sitting with his arm against her back, he could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage.

“Train?” Amaranthe blinked, confusion crinkling her brow. Her eyes focused on him, and she gulped, lowering her hand.

“Not now,” Sicarius said. “Everyone is sleeping after the late night. You should go back to sleep too. A more restful version.”

Amaranthe winced. “Sorry, did you hear me?” She glanced at the door, as if fearing her outcries had been audible throughout the factory.

“Not until I came in.”

“Oh.” She drew away from his arm, eyeing his position on the edge of her blankets.

There was a time, Sicarius thought, sighing inwardly, when she would have been pleased to see him sitting so close with blankets spread out beneath them. She would have made self-deprecating jokes, or perhaps teased him playfully, all the while looking up at with him with hopeful eyes, wondering if perhaps he’d be interested in doing more than simply talking.

It was your choice never to act on those opportunities, Sicarius reminded himself. Now, she merely looked uncertain. And self-conscious.

Amaranthe scraped her hair away from her face, pushing locks behind her ears. The windows weren’t the only things she’d washed before bed-her face and hands were clean of the grime from the Gazette explosions. The scent of her almond bark and cherry blossom shampoo teased his nostrils. After the restless sleep, her garments were in disarray. Though few would categorize long underwear as sexy, his gaze snagged on the skin exposed between waistband and shirt. That was clean, too-he removed his gaze and kept his attention from deeper contemplations of that skin and surrounding… skin.

“You had news, right?” Amaranthe rubbed her eyes.

“Yes.”

She waited expectantly.

“I will deliver it in three hours.”

“What’s happening in three hours?” Amaranthe asked.

“I will deliver my news.”

She snorted. “I mean, what’s happening now and for the next three hours that will delay this delivery?”

“You’re going back to sleep.”

“Erg, I think I’ve had enough of that.”

“You require more than two hours to function optimally as team leader.” Yes, he told himself, keep saying things like that. That’s what’ll teach her to relax in your presence. “I will stand guard to ensure your sleep is restful.” There, maybe that was a little better?

“Oh, really?”

Good. She looked intrigued, despite his tactless way of letting her know he was concerned for her and wished her to find peaceful rest. There’d been so few times in his life when he’d attempted to appear inviting that he didn’t know how to manage it, but he lifted an arm, hoping it would be enough.

“Hm.” Amaranthe rearranged the blankets, shifted her body so they faced the same direction, and slid in under his arm. After a tentative glance at his face, she slipped her arms around his torso. Mostly. The dagger collection gave her trouble as she tried to avoid being poked by hilts. “Do you always climb into women’s beds with all your weapons bristling?”

A few Maldynado-esque comments floated into his mind, but Sicarius squashed them. He’d been spending far too much time in close proximity to that man this last year. He thought about explaining the soul construct and his trip to Fort Urgot, but he wanted her to sleep. Any talk of work would convince her it was time to start the day. “It would be amateurish of me to stand guard without them.”

“Of course. What was I thinking? I’ll just… make do.”

He took satisfaction in the upturning of her lips as she wriggled closer and let her eyelids droop closed. For once, it seemed she was too tired to worry about appearances. Or perhaps, all along, he should have been offering to stand guard from her bedside instead of outside her door.

Sicarius closed his own eyes, though he pursued meditation instead of sleep, the quiet, thought-free state of mind he’d learned to achieve from the same Nurian tutor who’d taught him defenses against the mental sciences. It allowed the body to regenerate as efficiently as a night’s sleep and in less time. During the meditation, he could also focus on healing wounds more quickly than nature would have accomplished on its own. It was the calming effect it brought to the mind that he appreciated most. The skill had allowed him to deal with his own nightmares in the aftermath of Pike’s… lessons.

Sicarius’s eyes popped open. Perhaps he could teach the practice to Amaranthe. With the way her mind raced about at all times, scheming up some plot even when she was in the midst of a training session, she would find it difficult to free it of thoughts and find tranquility, but if she could master even a modicum of the ability to meditate, she might be able to push the nightmares from her mind.

Later, he decided. She had nodded off, her head on his chest, her breathing gentle and even. He closed his eyes again, his mind empty, his senses focused inward, though he remained distantly aware of his surroundings. Something metal batted against the roof as the wind picked up. Someone walked across the catwalk, heading to the water closet. Men snored on the floor downstairs. Maldynado returned from his watch shift and, a short time later, engaged in coitus with Yara, an activity that continued for a tediously long time and made it difficult for Sicarius to remain in a meditative state. He was relieved when, near the end of the three hours, Amaranthe roused of her own accord. It was time to get the team to work-and share his news.

She smiled up at him, not yet lifting her head from his chest. “Thank you. You should come stand guard for me more often.”

“If you found it valuable,” Sicarius said, his chin drooped, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at her. Strange how much it pleased him that she’d slept quietly in his arms. He’d distanced himself from so much of the human experience over the years that he hadn’t realized he could be pleased by anything. He’d been denied pleasures in his youth and, after that, it’d seemed practical to abstain-a man with so many hunting him shouldn’t allow himself any predictable vices.

Thumps and groans reached his ears from the office next door-Maldynado and Yara, embarrassing rabbits all over the empire with their superior breeding instincts. Amaranthe blushed, apparently having no trouble identifying what the sounds indicated. Not for the first time that morning, Sicarius thought of the kiss they’d stolen in the smokestack of that steamboat. It’d been unprofessional, ill timed, and inappropriate. He wanted to do it again.

Amaranthe cleared her throat and sat up, drawing away from him. “I believe you mentioned news.”

“Yes.” Sicarius rose and plucked her gifts off the desk. He handed her the bag and held up the envelope. “This was delivered to a desk in a back office at Curi’s Bakery last night while I was waiting for your party to rendezvous with ours.”

Amaranthe started to reach for the letter, but something about the rumpled bag distracted her, and she opened it first. When she peered inside, her mouth fell open. “For me? You stole a pastry for me?”

“I paid for a pastry for you.” Albeit he didn’t know if he’d paid the right amount. He held the envelope out, offering her the chance to break the seal.

Amaranthe was busy staring into the bag. Her mouth continued to hang open, though it stretched into a wide grin. “Thank you.” She flung her arms around him, this time not worrying about whether knife hilts poked her in the ribs, then she pulled the pastry out of its bag.

Sicarius was still holding out the envelope, now somewhat crinkled after her embrace. Since she seemed unfathomably distracted, he slid out a dagger and broke the seal himself.

Ms. W. -

As requested, I am securing passage and will be returning to the empire within the next two weeks. While my sister is more than apt in handling the ancient language, I have been in contact with the Kendorians and the Nurians and can advise you more closely in person. The Kendorians are open to working with our bankers and your imperial figurehead, but the Nurians are enacting some plan of their own. I’ve traveled extensively in their country and may be able to negotiate with whatever spy they’ve sent to observe the action. It will be good to see you and the others again and finally bring our plans to fruition. Where shall we meet?

— S.

Sicarius would have expected Amaranthe to be at his shoulder, reading as he read, but she was near the window, holding the pastry to the light and squinting suspiciously at it.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“No. I just thought there might be fish eyes or cut up bits of liver hiding under the frosting. You’re always trying to feed me healthy food. And you always have derogatory comments for anything sweet. Even fruit, which I’m sure has never looked at you in a threatening manner.” She lowered the pastry and studied his face. “This is… I want to adore you, but I fear a trap. Will I have to run twenty miles after eating this?”

Earlier, Sicarius had been dwelling upon how much she thought about everything. Clearly receiving a treat was no exception. He couldn’t blame her-he’d never brought her such a thing before. “If you fear it’s a trap, you needn’t eat it. I would approve of such a refusal, as it would indicate you’re finally coming to accept that superior foods must be consumed to ensure superior physical performance.”

Amusement touched Sicarius as Amaranthe’s slit-eyed gaze went back and forth from him to the pastry. Finally she took a chomp, and, after a few test chews, grinned broadly with frosting smeared across her nose.

“Oh, fantastic,” she purred. “The pastries on the steamboat were tasty, but nothing is as perfect as a Curi’s bun.”

“I trust your taste buds detected no hidden liver morsels.” Sicarius joined her by the window, intending to show her the letter, though his gaze did snag on that smear of frosting. She must not know it was there. Perhaps he should clean it off… somehow.

The catwalk creaked beyond the window, and a few seconds later, Akstyr shambled into view, heading for the water closet with his book stuffed under one arm. Sicarius straightened, adopting a professional distance between himself and Amaranthe, and held out the letter for her perusal.

“No liver.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she was quick to lower her face to read the note-perhaps she too had been thinking about frosting cleaning?

Often, she’d teased him about dragging him off somewhere private once they’d accomplished all of their goals. Since reuniting with Sespian and retrieving her from the alien vessel, he’d been experiencing similar thoughts. Often.

“You found this on Curi’s desk?” Amaranthe asked, anguish in her tone. She stared at the half-eaten pastry, an expression of betrayal on her face. “She’s part of Forge? She’s… she’s… seventy years old and matronly and plump and nice. She can’t be colluding with the villains.”

Sicarius refrained from mentioning that many people in the capital would consider Amaranthe and her men villains, and that few wouldn’t consider him one. “She may simply be allowing them to use her premises for message delivery purposes.”

“That’s still colluding.”

“They could be blackmailing her.”

“Oh.” Amaranthe brightened. “True. I’ll reserve judgment of the baker until I know more.” She took another chomp out of her pastry. “Thank you for bringing the letter. If they’re expecting Suan to show up, that’ll be perfect for my plan. Hm, mostly. It does mean I’ll need to get started more quickly than I’d had in mind.”

“This is your Forge infiltration plan?” Sicarius did not approve of her new scheme, since it thrust her into danger all over again. A part of him wished he hadn’t shown Amaranthe the letter.

“Exactly so. Would you mind using your artistic skills to make a copy of this letter? Only change the first line to say ‘S’ will be arriving in the next day or two. This is fantastic luck. Or is it too much luck? Is there any way they could have anticipated we’d visit Curi’s and see the letter being delivered? No, that doesn’t seem likely. Does it?”

“It is likely a chance occurrence,” Sicarius agreed.

“Great. I’ll grab Maldynado and go costume shopping today. Our world-traversing Forge founder is a blonde.” She touched her brown locks, which she hadn’t tied up in her customary bun yet this morning. “Maldynado probably knows how to dye hair nicely. Or he’ll know someone who does.”

“You should reconsider taking me with you.”

“To shop for clothes?” Amaranthe touched his sleeve. “Did you want to try on some outfits too? Something more daring and vivacious than your customary black? Gray perhaps?”

Sicarius let his eyes close to slits. He knew when she was feigning misunderstanding and attempting to redirect someone’s displeasure elsewhere. It was not an uncommon tactic for her. “You’ll need someone good at your back if you’re trapped on the bottom of the lake in that craft and your true identity is discovered.” He thought it unlikely that Amaranthe could pass for long, if at all, as a woman who shared a long history with her colleagues, however little visual contact they’d had. “I could also… wear a costume.”

“That’d be interesting to see, but I could be stuck down there for days. Do you want to leave Sespian for that long? He’s going to need someone good at his back as much as I do, if not more.”

Sicarius was going to retort that Sespian would be fine for a few days, but an image of the soul construct flashed into his mind.

“I know.” Amaranthe gripped her arm. “You wish you could be in both places at once. And I wish you could be with me.” Sincerity warmed her eyes as she spoke. “But your place is with Sespian.”

Sicarius exhaled slowly. He wouldn’t object to standing at Sespian’s back if she weren’t determined to fling herself into a smoldering volcano. “You should not go. Not into their lair. We could find Worgavic and kidnap her as an alternative. Question her or hold her hostage. Get the information we need that way.”

“But it’s not just information. It’s the Behemoth. You told me what it did to that swamp, to your dirigible. Am I wrong in believing it’s very likely the most powerful weapon in the world?”

“No,” he admitted.

“It has to be nullified somehow. Otherwise… as long as they have it, they could kill us all. If things don’t go as planned for them, maybe they can simply wipe out the entire city and start from scratch.”

Sicarius understood the power of the technology perfectly. It was why Starcrest had worked against him all those years ago, to keep Emperor Raumesys from acquiring it; the admiral had known it’d give one man the tools needed to rule the world. What was harder to understand was why it had to be their fight. Sespian wasn’t the rightful emperor, so what obligation did he have to the people now? And Amaranthe. Would this clear her name? Probably not. It was possible nothing would at this point. They ought to walk away from Stumps, all of them, and leave this battle for others. He was on the verge of voicing his thoughts when Amaranthe spoke again.

She gripped his arm and gazed into his eyes, her own eyes liquid brown and imploring. “Someone has to stop them, Sicarius, or they’ll own the world before long, a world that we might not like living in very much, one that our children won’t like living in.”

It was as if she’d thrown a wrench into the workings of his mind. His mental machinery ground to a halt, locking onto that single word. Children. She’d never mentioned wanting any. Was she now implying she did? With him? Or had it been figurative?

Now who’s thinking too much, he asked himself with a silent snort.

“Nobody else knows that thing is out there in the lake,” Amaranthe went on. “Nobody else is in a position to stop them.”

But was she? Amaranthe was capable of much, he knew that, but this sounded like too much. Yet he wasn’t going to be able to talk her out of it; he could see that.

“At least take Maldynado and Basilard, not Books and Akstyr,” Sicarius said. “You’ll need fighters at your back.”

“I… think I’ll need brains at my back to navigate around in there. It’s a confusing warren. Even the doors don’t look like doors. I’m hoping one of them can figure things out.”

“Take all four of them then.”

“I’ll be lucky if I can get myself invited down,” Amaranthe pointed out. “I’m sure Suan doesn’t travel around with an army of mercenaries.”

The doorknob rattled.

She let her hand fall away from Sicarius’s arm. Akstyr poked his head inside, his lopsided hair sticking out all over like a topiary shrub abandoned in the aftermath of a war.

Amaranthe’s fingers twitched and pointed. “Do you want me to… cut that today? Trim it up so it’s even?”

“I guess.”

“That,” Amaranthe said, eyeing Sicarius, “is the response you’re supposed to give when a woman offers to cut your hair. An enthusiastic ‘yes’ is also acceptable.”

Sicarius did not respond, though he knew what she referred to-she’d been offering to cut his hair all year, as if such things mattered beyond social conventions. All he required was for it to be short so it couldn’t be grabbed in a fight and didn’t fall into his eyes when he worked.

“Is there any food in this place?” Akstyr asked.

“No,” Amaranthe said, “but I’ll take Maldynado shopping later.”

“I thought he might have gone this morning. I’m starving. And tired. Some idiot has been up here moving furniture around for hours. Who could sleep through that?” Akstyr glowered around the room, as if Amaranthe might have been responsible for the disturbance.

“Moving… furniture,” she said. “I believe that was Maldynado. Perhaps you can ask him to do it more quietly next time.”

“He’s going to do it again?”

Sicarius listened to the exchange impassively, though Amaranthe seemed amused. Given Akstyr’s forays into the Pirates’ Plunder and other brothels, he was more naive than expected in this regard.

“Oh, I think that’s a given.” Amaranthe pointed toward the roof. “Was there any sign of the-”

“Nah, I checked right off,” Akstyr said. “The soul construct left before dawn,” Akstyr said.

“Good,” Amaranthe said.

“You knew about the soul construct?” Sicarius asked her.

“Last night after you left, it visited our factory, doing a good long stalking-about.”

The statement chilled him. Sicarius remembered the creature’s focus on him that morning, but what if the Nurians had found out Sespian was alive, and they’d sent it for him? They’d have no more use for Sespian than they would for Ravido Marblecrest, not if they had some other candidate in mind for the throne. It might have been Sespian and Sicarius’s shared blood that confused the soul construct, making it veer from its path to chase Sicarius up a tree. Had it mistaken him for Sespian? If it was after him…

Amaranthe had been right; Sicarius couldn’t leave Sespian, not now.