Forged in Blood I

Chapter 7

A squad of soldiers marched down the street, white armbands taut about their biceps, their sleek repeating rifles held diagonally in front of them. Amaranthe eased deeper between two clothes racks, ensuring the hat stand blocked her from the view of anyone looking in the window. Though she wore a costume-and, yes, she found it ironic that she was wearing a costume to go costume shopping-she didn’t trust the cap, ruffle-laden dress, and artistically arranged ringlets of hair to withstand close scrutiny. A lamppost at the entrance to Millinery Square had shown off her and Sicarius’s wanted posters.

“Oh, there you are, Ruffles,” Maldynado drawled, strolling into view.

He’d been calling her that all afternoon, since she found and donned the frumpy dress, one of a handful of garments in the boss’s closet in the molasses factory. She hadn’t thought anyone over twelve wore such clothing and wondered if the manager’s fashion taste had anything to do with the business’s failure to thrive. Maldynado had made matters worse-he’d called it “flowing with the natural ripples of the ensemble”-by curling her hair into tight ringlets that bounced around her face like trampoline springs.

“Here’s the first and most important item.” Maldynado held up some sort of garment comprised mostly of string. “A foundation piece, if you will.”

“A foundation for what?”

A broad smirk stretched across his face, and Amaranthe started to get the idea. She imagined Maldynado making bets with the men as to whether he could convince her to don such an item or not.

“Underwear?” she asked. “It had better be for you.”

Maldynado extended his arm, the strings dangling on his fingers. “Would you like to try it on?”

Amaranthe blushed at the idea of wearing nothing except that beneath her clothing. Especially during winter. It wasn’t practical at all. “Maldynado, nobody’s going to be checking out my underwear. I need to look like a world-traveling woman from a well-to-do family, preferably with lots of exotic clothing to suggest recent trips to Kendor, Nuria, and the like. What’s underneath that clothing is irrelevant.”

“Of course it’s not.” Maldynado twirled the skimpy garment around his index finger. “What if you find out this woman you’re impersonating has a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? And you’re expected to get amorous?”

“That’s not going to happen. She’s been out of the empire for ten years.”

“I’ve reconnected with all sorts of former bedmates after years apart,” Maldynado said.

Yara stepped out of a nearby aisle. “Is that a fact?”

After proclaiming all the garments in the office closet too small, Yara wore her usual trousers and sweater, her only concession to a costume being a hat with a broad brim that hid her face. Her homespun clothing had caused a few eyebrows to rise as the three of them walked through the upscale neighborhood-her response had been to either ignore or glower at the pretentious eyebrow-raiser.

The underwear stopped twirling and wilted limply about Maldynado’s finger. He cleared his throat, but by the time he’d turned to face Yara, he’d reclaimed a calm smirk. “Of course, but I have no need to seek out such personages any longer. I’ve found true love.” He beamed a smile at her.

Yara scowled and stabbed a finger at the string undergarment. “You expect her to wear that? It’s ludicrous.”

“I was suggesting he wear it,” Amaranthe said.

“That’d be even more ludicrous,” Yara said.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Maldynado stretched the strings and considered the tiny triangle of emerald green material in the center. “It’d be too small to hold anything of mine in, but it’s a lovely hue. Perhaps this could lie beside my… appurtenances. Like a flag meant to highlight a particularly fine specimen in a garden.”

Amaranthe shook her head and met Yara’s eyes, half-expecting her to slap him on the back of the head. “When he started associating with you, I thought he might be encouraged to say less… well, less.”

“You mean you thought I’d beat such nonsense out of him? I’m working on it.” Yara waved a fist under Maldynado’s nose.

He winked. “Alas, I’m an obstreperous student.”

“Just find her some suitable clothing, so we can get out of here, you clod.” Yara thrust a hand toward the window where another squad of men was marching past. “There are soldiers crawling all over this neighborhood.”

“Yes, you’d think Millinery Square was on the way to a particularly boisterous drinking house,” Maldynado said.

“We’re less than a mile from the Imperial Barracks.” Amaranthe squeezed a little deeper between the clothing racks. “I’m sure Ravido is keeping these neighborhoods heavily patrolled so he’ll get an early warning if anyone marches on his new home.”

“A good reason to finish up and get out of here.” Yara handed Amaranthe two dark brown glass bottles. “Here’s the bleach and the dye.”

“Let me see those.” Maldynado intercepted the exchange and held the bottles to the light, examining the labels. “You don’t want the cheap stuff. Your hair will turn orange. Or white. Then you’ll look old.”

Amaranthe stuck a fist on her hip. “I will not look old.”

“Add it to those bags under your eyes, and you will. Don’t you sleep?”

Yara smacked him.

“More than you,” Amaranthe blurted. It was the first thing that came to mind. Cursed ancestors, could everybody tell she wasn’t sleeping? “Akstyr was complaining this morning about all the furniture moving that was going on in the room you two claimed for your own.” When the truth struck too close to the target, and a suitable comeback wasn’t available, divert the topic of conversation.

“Furniture moving?” Maldynado blinked a few times before a fresh smile sprawled across his face. “Ah, yes. Furniture moving.” He winked at Yara, eliciting a deep blush from her. “It is invigorating. And you sleep like a turtle basking on a log afterward. You should try it, boss. For health purposes.” He tapped his jaw thoughtfully. “Though I’d recommend you try it with somebody fun. For maximum effect.”

Not Sicarius, Amaranthe assumed that meant. This new shift in conversation wasn’t any better than the last. “Still lobbying for Mancrest?” she asked.

“Nah, he’s a grump of late too. Maybe I can find you a sexy young wrestler at the gymnasium.”

“Let’s… focus on acquiring this costume and getting out of here. Finishing this mission will be the best thing for my health.” Amaranthe grabbed the dubious underwear from his grip. If it would move them onto the next round of this dueling bout, she’d take it.

Yara’s mouth drooped open at the garment exchange, but her cheeks were still red, and she didn’t comment.

“Oh, sure,” Maldynado said. “Let’s hurry up and get you onto a ship full of old matrons. Just where a young woman in need of a furniture mover should go.” He lifted his eyes skyward and strolled into the bowels of the shop.

“Don’t stop yourself from punching him on my behalf,” Amaranthe told Yara. “He could use a little-” A flash of light outside of the window caught her eye.

Another squad of soldiers was marching past, identical to the others except for the leader. The man walking at the head of the column had salt-and-pepper hair beneath his cap and a row of medals hanging on his jacket. The sunlight glinting off them-or perhaps off the large four-sword brass rank pins on his lapels-must have been what had drawn her eye.

“A general,” Yara whispered, slipping behind the garment rack with Amaranthe.

“Not just a general.” Amaranthe hadn’t seen Ravido in person before, but he possessed Maldynado’s chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. If all the Marblecrests looked like that, she’d never misidentify one.

“Let’s hide,” Yara said at the same time as Amaranthe said, “Let’s see where he’s going.”

Yara snorted. As soon as the last soldier’s back was to the clothier, Amaranthe slipped out from between the racks and jogged to the window. She leaned close to the glass, only to jerk her head back. The entire squad of soldiers had halted at the shop next door.

A commanding bark of, “At ease,” passed through the window. The soldiers broke ranks, no longer all facing the same direction. More than a few eyed the surrounding stores.

Amaranthe scurried sideways, ducking behind a thick, velvety curtain. She peeled back an inch so she could see out the window without-she hoped-anyone seeing her. Someone leaned an irreverent elbow onto a weathered headless statue perched between the clothier and the building next to it-a military uniform shop, she recalled. Was Ravido shopping for new belts? She pressed her nose against the glass. Gray mingled with the brown in the hair of the man leaning on the statue, and she realized it was Ravido himself. What was he doing? Waiting for someone?

A sergeant barked a few orders to the squadron, but Ravido said nothing. His head did move, though, and Amaranthe stood on her tiptoes, trying to follow his gaze. A second officer, this one with slate-gray hair and a colonel’s rank pins, strode down the street, also with a squad of soldiers trailing him.

In the back of her head, Amaranthe acknowledged that this probably wasn’t a good place for her to loiter, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spy on the opposition. Even if it was some sort of military shopping trip, she might be able to glean a-

A throat cleared behind her.

Amaranthe jumped, letting the curtain fall as she spun about. The store proprietor stood not three feet away, both hands on her hips, her lips pursed as she stared through her spectacles and down a long nose at Amaranthe. When she noticed the nose print on the window, those lips went from pursing to puckering. She couldn’t have made a sourer face if she’d been sucking a lemon.

Yara stepped away from the other curtain, a defiant lift to her chin. Feeling like a kid caught stealing pies from windowsills, Amaranthe couldn’t manage the expression.

“Are you ready to make your purchase?” the proprietor asked.

“My what?”

The woman pointed to Amaranthe’s hands. Erg, she hadn’t realized she was still carrying the skimpy underwear around. At some point, she’d draped it over one wrist. “I, ah, yes, but my designated shopper will be making the purchases. I believe he’s-we’re-getting quite a few things.” She held out the underwear, stealing a glance toward the window as she did so. Ravido no longer leaned on the statue, and the other officer had disappeared as well. “Would you mind putting this with his-our-other purchases?”

“Your designated shopper? Is that the dandy wandering around with a peacock-feather hat on his head?”

Maldynado hadn’t come in wearing a hat, but Amaranthe said, “That sounds like him. He’ll handle the rest. We need to meet a friend. Can we use your back door?”

The proprietor checked outside the window, no doubt noticing all the soldiers. “Your friend awaits in the… alley?”

“He doesn’t like crowds.” Amaranthe gave a cheery wave and hustled away before the woman could interrogate her further. She hoped her actions hadn’t already made her suspicious enough to report.

On the way to the back door, she passed Maldynado, who was indeed trying on hats, decidedly masculine hats designed to fit his head, not hers. Numerous feminine garments-not so feminine as the string underwear, thank his ancestors-were draped over his arm, so Amaranthe didn’t chastise him for wandering off task.

She stopped long enough to whisper, “Keep the proprietor busy, will you? She may have decided Yara and I are… suspicious.”

“You’re aware,” Maldynado said, “that it takes a special kind of female to get in trouble while clothes shopping, right? Women are supposed to be naturals at this.”

“Sorry.” Even as she apologized, Amaranthe hastened toward the door. They might not get another chance to spy upon Ravido. She didn’t intend to miss it.

Belatedly, when she was already in the alley, it occurred to her that she should have warned Maldynado his brother was next door, or at least told him that she meant to poke her nose into a pregnant badger’s den. Well, if gunshots fired and chaos broke out in the street, he’d know she’d found trouble.

Surprisingly, Yara followed her into the alley.

Amaranthe asked, “Are you coming because you’re curious, too, or because you think I’ll need someone to keep me out of trouble?”

“Yes.”

“I see you’ve been training with Sicarius.”

Amaranthe climbed three steps to the back door of the neighboring shop and tugged on the latch, relieved to find it unlocked. She slipped into a dark cubby cluttered with officers’ dress uniforms and fatigues in various stages of customization. Baskets of pincushions and spools of thread littered a workbench. Brown curtains sectioned the work area off from the rest of the shop. As soon as Yara closed the door behind her, cutting off the outside light, Amaranthe crept forward and parted the curtains an inch. She pressed her eye into the gap while listening for familiar voices.

It would have been convenient if Ravido and his chum had been chatting in front of her peephole. Alas, they were near the front of the shop, some thirty feet away. Racks and shelves filled the space between, along with several soldiers shopping for themselves. Not five feet from the curtains, a bald man in a vest adorned with as many needles as the pincushions, tutted to himself as he worked on the trousers of an officer standing before a mirror. Up front, Ravido was talking, but Amaranthe couldn’t make out a word.

She let the curtain fall shut, then leaned close to Yara’s ear to whisper, “I’m going to get closer.”

“How?”

Amaranthe mimicked Basilard’s hand gesture for a snake moving through the grass.

Yara peeped through the curtain, no doubt considering the likelihood of using the intermittent cover to remain hidden from all the shoppers. There weren’t any other women in the establishment.

“I’ll stay here,” Yara whispered. “I wouldn’t make a convincing snake.”

“Never had to slither across a field to sneak up on criminals, eh?”

“In my experience, it’s usually the criminals who partake in such actions.”

Amaranthe waved a hand in agreement, then dropped into a crouch at the side of the curtain, as far away from the tailor as possible. Working with Sicarius had given her copious practice in sneaking about. Now to see if she could employ the lessons in a clothes shop instead of in woods or alleys.

The tailor bent to examine a trouser cuff. The officer was admiring his form in the mirror. Amaranthe slipped out, forgoing the instinct to rush in favor of a less urgent move to the nearest case of shelves. Rapid movement would be more likely to draw the eye.

When no startled shouts arose, she considered herself past the first obstacle. It took another five minutes to slip around and wriggle under sweater cubbies and jacket racks, all the while making sure nobody was turned in her direction. She feared Ravido would be done talking about important things by the time she reached him and would be discussing reputable eating and drinking houses.

That’s ridiculous, she told herself. Chances were he’d never been talking about “important things” to start with, not in the middle of a busy store. Still, she held out hope that she’d overhear something worthwhile.

As she belly-crawled the last ten feet, Ravido’s voice finally grew distinguishable, though she struggled to hear all the words. He and his confidant were keeping their voices low, and the racks full of clothing muffled their words further. How irritating when the villains didn’t enunciate clearly when discussing dastardly plans. Didn’t they want everyone in the store to be impressed by the cleverness of their schemes?

With trouser cuffs swiping the top of her head, Amaranthe inched closer. Her movements stirred strands of thread and clumps of dust on the floor. The fine particles tickled her nostrils, and she crinkled her nose to keep from sneezing. It’d be hard to explain herself if someone hauled her out from beneath the garment racks.

She inched closer. The light from the storefront window highlighted two pairs of brown leather military boots, recently shined and rarely scuffed military boots.

“…Company of Lords,” Ravido said, his low baritone drifting down to her. “They’re being pests about the boy because there was no body. If I’d been running that train attack, I would have grabbed a random charred corpse and brought it back for a public funeral pyre. Cursed women.”

“You’re the one working with them.” The other officer had a gravelly voice, like someone might have tried to garrote him once.

His boots turned toward Amaranthe, and a squeak sounded as he pushed hangers across a metal bar. She scooted back, nearly cracking her head against the rack stand. More voices sounded as other customers entered through the front door. Wasn’t this a workday? Shouldn’t these officers be out ordering their soldiers to do important military things?

Conscious of someone walking by behind the rack, Amaranthe tucked her legs to her chest to make sure nothing was sticking out on the other side. Her movements stirred dust, and she pinched her nostrils shut to stave off a sneeze. What kind of self-respecting rebel leader sneezed on the usurper’s boots?

“Sorry about your wife,” the second officer added once the new shoppers had moved into another aisle.

Amaranthe grimaced. She hadn’t heard all the details when it came to Maldynado’s sister-in-law’s death, but suspected her team would get blamed for it. She pulled out a kerchief and swept up some of the dust balls.

“Yes, thank you, Horat,” Ravido said. “It’s hard to find a woman of the proper lines who’s horny and unfaithful.”

His comrade, Horat, grunted. “You’ll miss her. You’re just as horny and unfaithful. You had a good arrangement.”

“I’m more concerned about arranging things with the Company of Lords right now. Unless I’m willing to replace every dissenter in the chamber, it won’t matter how many troops I control or how much of the city I take over. If they don’t make my claim for emperor official it isn’t.”

The hangers squeaked and the men’s boots shifted again as they grunted greetings toward someone passing, then turned their backs toward the room. A couple of salutes might have been exchanged, but it was hard to tell from under the trousers.

“You can replace people,” Horat said. “It’s been done in the past.”

“I know, but killing a bunch of warrior-caste men would set a bad precedent for a new ruler. Your father’s on the Company. Talk to him, will you?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ve already promised you the Commander of the Armies position,” Ravido said. “What more do you want?”

“You could send a few of the younger, more buxom women in that business organization to warm my toes at night.” Horat chuckled. “No, I jest. I’ll talk to Father. But you better figure out if the boy is really back in the city. With your family connections, you could have most of the votes from the Company if you could prove he’s dead, but if he’s not…”

Amaranthe’s kerchief stilled. The boy. Sespian.

“If he was dumb enough to come back here, he won’t be alive for long. If my men don’t get him, there are others who will. Besides, my contacts said he’s not even the legitimate heir.”

Horat let out a low whistle. “Truly?”

“I’m surprised the papers haven’t run the story yet. They-”

“Lords General?” came a solicitous call from a few racks away. “I have those uniform designs ready for you to look at now.”

“Good,” Ravido said.

As the two men walked away, the last thing Amaranthe heard was Horat saying, “You better find something you like this time. Those gutter-swinging gang brats can do better than sashes tied around their arms.”

“One can’t rush fashion decisions, old boy,” Ravido said, for a moment sounding exactly like Maldynado. “An impeccably dressed army is full of pride-it makes your men fight better.”

If Horat had a response, Amaranthe didn’t hear it. A pair of alligator-skin boots with lizard-riding spurs clanked into view behind her. She vaguely remembered Maldynado mentioning the Kendorian attire was growing popular in the capital. It hardly mattered. She took the foot traffic as a sign that it was time to scoot out of the shop before someone spotted her. She turned about, preparing to scurry to the next rack as soon as the man passed, but a silver ranmya coin clunked onto the wooden floor and bounced under the rack with her.

She stifled a groan. If he noticed and stopped to hunt for it…

The alligator boots halted, and the man turned around. A knee came into view, then a hand touched down, patting the floor not inches from Amaranthe’s legs. For lack of a better idea, she picked up the coin and rolled it back out into the aisle. Maybe he’d think it had bumped against the rack stand and was coming back of its own accord-his lucky day.

The hand jerked back as the prize rolled out. The blunt, stubby fingers made a grasp, but missed, only bumping the coin and causing it to spin out of sight beneath the trouser rack on the opposite side of the aisle.

A head wearing an outlandish ostrich feather hat dropped into Amaranthe’s view. If she hadn’t known Maldynado was in the building next door-and wearing different clothes-she might have thought it was he. It certainly seemed his style of clothing. But, no, he had better reflexes. He would have caught the coin.

While the man patted around beneath the opposite rack, Amaranthe eased backward, thinking she’d risk slipping out that way, even if it wasn’t far from the front window. She could take a side aisle toward the rear of the store. But a fresh pair of boots came into view over there. It had to be lunch hour or something. Or this was the trendiest military clothier in the capital. Given that Maldynado had chosen the shopping district, it might very well be true.

She scrunched up into a tiny ball, hoping the shadows would hide her if Alligator Boots looked her way. He was fishing all over for that cursed coin. Couldn’t someone who could afford to shop in Millinery Square afford to lose a coin?

Finally, he knelt back with the ranmya in his hand. He glanced under Amaranthe’s rack. She froze, holding her breath. There were shadows. Were there enough? Now and then, Ravido’s voice drifted up from the back of the store-it wasn’t safe to be spotted yet.

The man squinted into her gloom. What was he doing? Hoping there were more lost coins down there?

He must have seen her, for he parted the trousers, letting light beneath the rack.

With no other options, Amaranthe scrambled out. She stayed on her knees, so nobody in the back of the shop-or standing in the street beyond the window-would see her and waved her kerchief up at the man.

“Those are fine ones,” she said. “I’ll only charge you five ranmyas if you’re interested?”

The man rose to his feet, the ostrich-feather hat shadowing his features, but not quite hiding his blinks of confusion. “For… what?”

“Your boots, of course.” Amaranthe waved the kerchief again, hoping the dust smearing it made it look authentic. Of course, boot polish would be better, but she hadn’t come that prepared. “A shine. It won’t take long.”

“You work here?”

Right, her ruffled dress didn’t exactly say shoeshine girl. “During my lunch break,” Amaranthe said, though she couldn’t imagine what sort of daytime job she might claim while wearing the childish dress. “A girl’s got to make a ranmya when she can. For a handsome gentleman such as yourself, I’ll do your boots for four ranmyas.” She beamed a smile up at him and gazed into his eyes-hadn’t Sicarius said something about her eyes being warm and innocent once?

The ostrich-hat turned toward the back of the shop. “Murkos, do you know there’s a shoeshine girl trying to home in on your customers?”

In the seconds his head was turned, Amaranthe slithered under another rack and into the aisle along the wall. Staying low, she darted for the curtain in the rear.

“A what?” came the return question. “No, there shouldn’t be. Grab her, will you?”

Not likely. Amaranthe reached the back curtain, belly-crawled under it so she wouldn’t disturb the fabric, and popped up. Yara was still there, though she stood by the back exit, the door ajar as she peered into the alley.

“We need to go,” Amaranthe whispered.

“My oaf is outside chatting with a squad of soldiers,” Yara said.

“Chatting?”

Yara closed the door. “Chatting at gunpoint.”

“Their gunpoints, I presume.” As much as Amaranthe appreciated the idea of Maldynado surrounding a squad of soldiers by himself, she doubted it was the case.

“Yes, and they’re right in front of the door. Any chance we can go out the front?”

“No, Ravido is still out there.”

“Where’d she go?” a familiar voice demanded from somewhere in the middle of the store-the miserly ostrich-hat man who couldn’t let a coin go.

“Also, it’s possible I’d attract attention going that way.” Amaranthe slipped past Yara. She wanted her own peek outside.

Unfortunately, her peek didn’t reveal anything more appealing than Yara’s. Eight burly soldiers surrounded Maldynado, four on each side of him, trapping him in the narrow alley. Though he was amiably talking and gesturing as they searched his shopping bags, there were no less than six guns pointed at his chest. The men’s white armbands proclaimed the squad belonged to Ravido, detached from the group out front most likely.

Amaranthe closed the door. Yara was right; there was no way they could walk outside without being seen. If they caught the soldiers by surprise, she, Yara, and Maldynado might get the best of eight men in a fight, but with twenty more waiting out front, she didn’t like the odds overall.

“I don’t suppose telling them that their general is in here buying them new uniforms would excite them to the point of forgetting about us,” Amaranthe muttered.

Yara’s only response was a withering look. Probably a no.

Amaranthe peered about the back room, searching for inspiration. The recently tailored uniforms hanging on the wall and the cloth swatches on the worktable might be flammable, but she couldn’t picture creating anything spectacularly explosive using them. Aside from scissors and needles, there wasn’t much else to note. A couple of featureless ceramic busts held wigs, while others supported fur caps in the middle of receiving embroidered designs that signified prominent battles the owner had served in. Amaranthe touched one of the wigs. Explosions might not be the only way to escape.

She considered the uniforms again. On some of them, the rank pins hadn’t been removed. She selected one that might do for someone around six feet tall and handed it to Yara with a smile.

“Congratulations on your promotion to-” she glanced at the brass swords on the collar, “-captain.”

“Are you insane?” Yara whispered. “Nobody’s going to believe we’re officers. Or men.” She waved toward Amaranthe’s chest.

“It’s cold outside. We can bundle up. We only need to pass scrutiny for a minute. I’ll think of something to distract them.”

“Why don’t I find that comforting?” Yara growled, but she snatched the uniform.

“I’m certain I don’t know.” Amaranthe gave a cheery wink and grabbed the shortest uniform on the wall.

“They’d be more likely to be distracted if we ran out naked,” Yara muttered, fiddling with buttons.

“We want to distract the soldiers, not Maldynado.”

“…look around, don’t you think?” someone asked from the front. “…was a shifty looking girl… stealing from you.”

Stealing?Shifty? Hmmph. Amaranthe tore off her distasteful dress, hid it in a waste bin, and pulled on the uniform trousers. She donned a white shirt, not bothering to button or tuck it in before throwing on the jacket. There wasn’t time to dally over the subtleties of the costume. All she could do was make sure the rank pins on the collars matched those on the hats she grabbed. She’d be the lieutenant to Yara’s captain. She hoped the men outside didn’t stop to wonder why an LT was doing all the talking, or to look too closely at the ill-fitting uniforms. Too bad it wasn’t dark out. That would have hidden a lot of discrepancies.

“What about boots?” Yara whispered.

Amaranthe didn’t see any lying around. The military cobbler’s shop was probably next door. “Just wear your own.”

“We’re going to be the most disheveled officers in the army.”

In the midst of pulling up a pair of suspenders, Amaranthe froze. The “something to distract them” she’d been trying to think up had popped into her mind. “Yes,” she said, smiling. “Yes, we will.”

Yara shook her head in an I-don’t-want-to-know manner and pointed at Amaranthe’s face. “You look too much like a girl.”

Yes, between Yara’s height, more angular features and her short hair, she’d have an easier time passing for a man at a glance, but Amaranthe…

She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off a swath of hair on one of the wigs. She dug into a brown glass jar labeled wig glue and cobbled together the worst fake mustache anyone had ever seen.

“That is not going to fool anyone,” Yara said.

“Sure it will,” Amaranthe whispered as she glued hair to her upper lip, “because I’ll be standing behind you and staggering.”

“Staggering?”

“I’ll check in the back,” someone said from the other side of the curtain.

Their time was up. Amaranthe grabbed Yara’s elbow and propelled her toward the door. “We’ve just been mauled in a surprise attack, and we’re injured. Stagger!”

Yara growled again, but she shoved open the door and staggered appropriately. Amaranthe clutched her abdomen, hunched over, and tumbled outside and down the steps after her. She bumped into Yara’s back, adding realism-she hoped that was the right word for it-to the staggering.

“What-” one of the soldier’s near the stairs asked.

Fortunately, none of the guns swung toward Amaranthe and Yara, not yet anyway. Maldynado, still surrounded by soldiers, his shopping bags on the ground with their contents strewn about, stared at Amaranthe, but didn’t say anything.

“They’ve got General Marblecrest,” Amaranthe blurted, making her voice as deep as she could. “General Flintcrest’s men.” She flung her arm toward the door, even as she tumbled to her knees. “Hurry, the others are knocked out. Some slagging magic.”

Before she’d finished speaking, soldiers were charging for the stairs. Only a sergeant and private with their guns trained on Maldynado hesitated.

“But, sir, we’ve got a prisoner. It’s Lord Marblecrest’s little brother. He might be in on it!”

“I’ll watch him,” Yara said gruffly, doing her own male-voice impression as she reached for the soldier’s pistol.

The private started to hand it to her, but the sergeant was peering at Yara’s face. “Wait. Who are-”

With the sergeant’s attention on her, Maldynado launched a fist at his jaw. It connected with enough force to spin him about. Maldynado rammed his shoulder into the man’s back, sending him face-first into the side of the stone building. Before the private could react, Yara grabbed his pistol with one hand and slammed her heel into his nose with the other. He reeled back, and she thrust him into the other wall.

Confident her comrades could handle those two, Amaranthe sprinted past them, scooped the fallen clothing into the bag, and grabbed the handles. “We need to get out of here. If Ravido’s still inside, it’s only going to take them a second to-”

The back door of the uniform shop slammed open.

“Go, go,” Amaranthe barked.

Yara took off promptly, though Maldynado paused to snatch a bag that Amaranthe had missed. “Can’t forget this one.”

“There they are!” someone shouted from the doorway.

Amaranthe shoved Maldynado toward the nearest intersection and took off at a sprint. Yara reached the corner first and raced around it. A pistol fired, a ball blasted into the brick building, inches above her head. Shards of red dust flew everywhere.

Amaranthe took the corner so quickly she almost smashed into the far wall.

“Careful,” Maldynado warned from right behind her. “Those bags have already been-” another weapon boomed, though he’d already ducked around the corner, escaping the line of fire, “-manhandled enough by ill-mannered louts with no fashion sense.”

Amaranthe had no idea how he could spout all that while sprinting. She followed Yara, who was weaving into alleys at random in the maze between thoroughfares, content to let her lead until a sturdy drainpipe came into view ahead. Conscious of the shouts and boots pounding the cobblestones behind them, she surged forward, tapped Yara’s elbow, and mouthed, “Up.”

“Up?” Yara slowed, neck craned as she considered the flat roof four stories above them.

“Up,” Amaranthe confirmed, darting past her and shimmying up the drainpipe. The climb would take a moment, so there was no time to spare.

Maldynado leaped and caught the pipe several feet up, scurrying up as nimbly as a cat scaling a tree. “Like this, my lady.”

Yara hadn’t experienced Sicarius’s urban obstacle courses yet, but it didn’t seem she’d let Maldynado show her up. She clawed her way up after him.

Amaranthe reached the rooftop and pulled herself over, dropping into a low crouch to scan the area. Though she didn’t expect anyone to be up there waiting, Sicarius had, more times than she could count, drilled her to always be aware of her surroundings. Nobody was up there. She could, however, hear the soldiers racing down the alley perpendicular to the one she’d just left. If they rounded the corner before Yara and Maldynado reached the roof…

Maldynado popped over the side, spun about, flattened to his belly, and caught Yara’s hand as soon as it was close enough. He hauled her up and over the edge as the soldiers rounded the corner.

“This way,” Amaranthe whispered, then led them in the opposite direction from their pursuit.

She’d been across the rooftops in that section of the city before, often in the dark, and she chose a route where the jumps between buildings weren’t too far apart and the vertical rises and falls weren’t too challenging. More than once, Yara cursed, arms flailing as she struggled to keep up without losing her balance, but she stuck with them.

The sounds of pursuit faded, but Amaranthe stayed on the roofs as long as possible, suspecting more soldiers would be scouting below. Even if she hadn’t been identified, word would get out quickly about Maldynado’s presence in the area.

The clang of a trolley bell floated above the din of the city. Amaranthe veered in that direction, reaching Third Street in time to spot the two-car vehicle ambling up the track toward their corner. The wooden sign dangling above the cab promised the trolley was on its way to the waterfront.

Amaranthe pointed. “That’ll work.”

“You are insane,” Yara said, no longer asking but making statements. Breathing heavily, she added, “It’s coming down the… middle of the street. That’s at least a… ten foot jump.”

“Ah, but we’re higher. It’ll be easy. Just get a running start and soften your knees when you land.”

With the trolley approaching, there was no more time to debate it. If Yara didn’t want to jump, Amaranthe trusted she’d find another way down and back to the waterfront. For her and Maldynado… this would keep them from being seen. There were pedestrians on the street, but nobody in uniform-at the moment. It wouldn’t take long for those soldiers to set up a search net though.

“Ready, boss.” Maldynado hefted his shopping bags and jumped first.

He sailed through the air, landing lightly behind the smokestack without dropping a bag. Amaranthe leaped after him, dropping into a low crouch, trying to keep her touchdown soft so people in the trolley wouldn’t hear a heavy thump. Fortunately, there weren’t many passengers aboard in the middle of the workday.

She looked up in time to see Yara run off the edge of the roof, arms flailing, an expression of anger on her face. She was angling toward the second car, but Amaranthe feared she’d thrown too much power into her leap. If she overshot, that’d be a painful landing.

Amaranthe ran across the roof of her own car and leaped onto the second. Yara was already landing. She’d spun in the air, obviously realizing she’d over jumped, and caught the lip of the car. Her torso hit, and a painful-sounding oomph shot from her lungs. Amaranthe dropped to her knees and grabbed her hands. With Yara’s legs dangling in front of the windows, there was zero chance she wouldn’t be noticed, but Amaranthe pulled her up as fast as she could.

Yara flopped onto her back, that expression of anger still riding her face as she glared up at Amaranthe. It shifted over her shoulder.

“Where were you?” Yara demanded as Maldynado plopped down beside them.

“Sorry.” Maldynado tucked a dangling garment back into one of his bags. “The boss’s new scarf got caught on a screw.”

“I’m going to start sleeping with her if you can’t be bothered to save me when I fall,” Yara growled.

Amaranthe blinked in surprise at this threat. Maldynado only grinned. “I get to watch, right?”

“You people are insane.” Yara must have decided that would be her word of the day.

“You’re just now noticing?” Amaranthe forgot sometimes how much Sicarius’s training had inured her to daunting feats of athleticism. A year ago, she also would have found it nerve-rattling to fling herself from rooftop to rooftop. Somewhere along the way, such exercises had become commonplace.

“Soldiers ahead.” Maldynado flattened himself to his belly.

Ravido’s men-Amaranthe recognized a few of the faces from the uniform shop-spewed out of an alley, halting on the sidewalk to look in both directions. She and Yara also dropped flat. The height of the trolly ought to keep anyone on the street from noticing them, but if some of the men farther back in the alley had a better angle to see up there…

A scrape sounded beneath the trolly roof. A handsome fellow wearing a fur cap stuck his head out of the window and peered at the collection of people who’d landed above his seat.

With her ear flattened to the roof, Amaranthe was looking right at him. She had no idea if he’d raise an alarm or simply gape at them for their audacity, so she groped for something to say that would distract him, at least until the trolley moved away from the soldiers.

“Can you believe how much the fares have gone up this year?” She vaguely remembering reading that they had in a newspaper article that fall.

The man blinked a few times. “You’re a woman.”

Oh, right. Amaranthe had forgotten about her officer costume. She touched her upper lip and was surprised to find the hastily constructed mustache still adorned it, if crookedly. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Are you all women?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Yara said, as Maldynado issued an emphatic, “No.”

The man’s chin tilted upward, toward the roofs drifting past on the side of the street. “That was amazing. Are you burglars or outlaws? Wait, I’ve seen your face before. You are an outlaw. That female one who runs with Sicarius.”

“Uhm.” Amaranthe lifted her head to check on the soldiers. They were a few blocks behind the trolley now, and she relaxed a bit. “Possibly. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention you saw us.”

“Hm.” The man’s head dropped out of view.

“Was that a hm of assent or a hm, I wonder if there are any enforcers on board?” Amaranthe wondered.

“I think he liked you,” Maldynado said. “Even with the mustache.”

The man’s head reappeared. This time he held a pen and a piece of paper. “Will you sign this, please?” He thrust the page into her hand before she could respond.

Amaranthe found herself looking at her own face. Tack holes dotted the corners of the familiar wanted poster-dear ancestors, were they hanging her likeness in trolleys now? The man waved the pen, a wide grin across his face.

Well, at least he wasn’t threatening to turn them in. She took the pen and signed her name at the bottom. What could it hurt? By this point, any of her enemies who were paying attention knew her team was back in town.

“Thank you!” the man said when she returned the pen and paper.

Maldynado propped himself up on an elbow and touched his hand to his chest. “Do you want my signature?”

The man considered him for a moment, then said, “No, thank you,” and dropped out of view again.

Maldynado sniffed. “How disappointing.”

“Sorry,” Amaranthe said.

Yara rolled her eyes.

The trolley rounded another corner and the lake came into view, frost edging the banks and the pilings on the docks. Their abandoned molasses factory was only a few blocks away.

“Time to get back to work,” Amaranthe said.

“Yes, but in the meantime you-” Maldynado was farther ahead on the rooftop and had to use his toe to nudge Amaranthe, “-should remember that you have options. Just wait until we get Sespian back on the throne and it comes out that you were instrumental in saving his life and putting him there. You’ll have men lined up, hoping for a lot more than signatures. No need to stick with a humorless, glowering assassin.”

“Shall I let him know you said that?” Amaranthe asked.

“Ah, no. That’s not necessary.”

“You are an oaf,” Yara told him.