Forged in Blood II

Chapter 11

As dusk gathered in the Emperor’s Preserve, Sicarius strode into Flintcrest’s camp, another sack of heads slung over his shoulder. Most of the soldiers were off on assignment, and he walked the paths unchallenged. He wished he could veer down one of the side trails, letting his feet take him away from the Nurian tent instead of toward it.

Drying blood saturated his clothing and stained the skin of his hands-one of the remaining Forge founders had a Kendorian bodyguard who had sensed Sicarius’s approach. The ensuing battle had been more challenging-and messy-than the others. All through it, in the back of his mind, he’d felt Kor Nas’s presence, watching and enjoying the show. It was Sicarius’s method to make his kills quick and efficient, but Kor Nas liked having the deaths drawn out, a vice that had been growing with each assassination. Maybe Sicarius was his first human “pet,” or maybe he’d never operated in a foreign land without anyone around to enforce the rules and mores of his own culture. Power without the potential for repercussion, an insidious temptation.

On the way back to camp, Sicarius had chanced across a newspaper page caught in the wind, flapping and skidding across a frost-slick street. The headline had made him halt for a long moment.

As Intra-Army Fighting Grows Fiercer, Vicious Assassin Slays Innocent Civilians

His name was in the first sentence, followed by a list of “prominent and upstanding members of society” found dead in their abodes, their heads missing, their bodies mutilated. Worgavic topped the list, along with several other Forge people, though the business coalition itself was never mentioned, simply the names of the “respectable and worthwhile” organizations the dead had run, the charities they’d contributed to, and the scholarship programs they’d financed.

Not surprisingly, the article was out of the Gazette and had been penned by the senior Lord Mancrest. The newspaper must have repaired enough of the building and machinery to return to printing its lies. Lies? Sicarius admitted the article was somewhat accurate, if biased and incomplete-it hadn’t mentioned Flintcrest or his Nurian allies. How Mancrest had known he was the assassin responsible, Sicarius didn’t know; he hadn’t been seen at any of the kill sites. Perhaps the Gazette owner had guessed based on his reputation.

Sicarius would have stopped reading after the first paragraph, letting the newspaper continue scraping and skidding down the street, but a name lower on the page snagged his attention: Sespian.

He’d picked up the newspaper and slipped into an alley, putting his back to a wall to finish reading. It stated that new evidence had been brought forward, proving that the “dastardly and vile” Sicarius, who’d once worked in the Imperial Barracks for Emperor Raumesys, had raped Princess Marathi and that Sespian had been an illegitimate heir all along.

Sicarius had stared a long time at that passage. With Sespian dead, none of it mattered, though he would have preferred it if his son’s reputation hadn’t been tarnished so. With most of the Forge founders dead, this article was nothing but bitterness and spite. He couldn’t help but sigh to himself though, and think of the way Sespian had been concerned about Sicarius’s reputation, about improving it so he might one day work for the throne, in whatever incarnation it continued to exist. Now…

Sicarius crumpled the page and dropped it in the alley. It didn’t matter, he repeated to himself. Sespian was gone, and he no longer cared who stumbled into power.

Unless, came a whisper from the back of his mind, Starcrest could find the support of the people and somehow…

He shook his head, reminded that his thoughts might be monitored.

Now, as Sicarius jogged to the Nurian tent, he clamped down on those thoughts and all others, turning his mind into a blank, unthinking place.

Before he could sweep the flap aside and enter, sounds inside told him someone was coming out. Head bent, Prince Zirabo slipped outside. He saw Sicarius, gave one quick nod, then strode past.

What did that mean? That he’d located Starcrest? Or arranged for the note to be delivered? Or did it mean that Kor Nas had snaked into his mind and learned everything of their exchange? The prince’s face had been grave; that nod might have been a warning.

Again pushing the thoughts out of his mind, Sicarius stepped into the tent, the flap catching on the bulky bag. He came face-to-face with Kor Nas, who stood in the center of the carpet, wearing a fur travel cloak as well as his colorful robes. His long silver hair was tied back in a tight Nurian topknot, a style favored by men about to go into battle. A braided rope belt at his waist supported numerous pouches, some of them giving off auras to those sensitive enough to detect them.

“Starcrest has been located,” Kor Nas said, his eyes shut to slits. “But this news is not unexpected to you.”

Sicarius said nothing, and he tried to keep his mind from saying anything as well.

“Interestingly, I understand I have you to thank for providing the suggestion that allowed my seer to locate him.” Kor Nas held out Sicarius’s black dagger. “Less than an hour ago, he gave me the news.”

Though Sicarius accepted the blade, and he longed to know when the seer had first learned the news and if he’d informed Prince Zirabo first, he kept his mind a blank.

“Drop those off in Flintcrest’s tent.” Kor Nas pointed to the bag. “Then join me on the south perimeter. We are leaving immediately.”

“Later would be better,” Sicarius said. “This early in the evening, Starcrest will still be awake, as will the men he brought with him. I doubt he came into the capital without troops at his back.”

“We are leaving immediately,” Kor Nas repeated. “Lest he have time to prepare for your visit.”

The cold, hard look the practitioner gave before stalking outside said much. He knew that Sicarius had arranged a warning. Had he learned of it in time to stop it? Sicarius guessed not, otherwise there’d be no reason for haste now. He hoped the note had been delivered in time for Starcrest to receive it and read it. Had encoding it been wise? Sicarius had assumed it would be passed through the hands of lesser soldiers before finding Starcrest’s desk, and he hadn’t wanted others to understand it, but what if it took the wife to decode the message and she wasn’t there when it arrived?

If that was the case, he could only hope that Starcrest had expected attacks from assassins all along and was prepared. Sicarius, under the influence of that stone, needn’t be his craftiest, but physically, he could be no less than utterly competent. And it was without arrogance that he acknowledged his competence far surpassed most people’s best days.

Compelled by the thing in his head, Sicarius delivered the heads, and strode off to join Kor Nas. As he inhaled the crisp freshness of the snow and the creosote taint of numerous camp stoves, he accepted that he was either walking to his death or to Starcrest’s death. One of them would no longer live in the morning. Odd to think that all this effort was to ensure he was the one who wouldn’t see another sunrise. So be it.

• • •

When her weary group slumped into the factory, the first thing Amaranthe noticed was that there were a lot fewer soldiers than there had been when she left. Her first concern was that the factory had been attacked or discovered, forcing men to flee, but all the rucksacks and bedrolls remained. Maybe the men were simply off working on some assignment? Revolutionaries couldn’t be expected to keep normal hours, after all.

Night had fallen again in the time it had taken her group to land the lifeboat, send the rescued relic hunters off on their own way-without any purloined gear-then reunite with Tikaya’s nephew and get a ride back to the city. Tikaya and Mahliki had figured out a way to sink the lifeboat to the bottom of the lake. It wasn’t the deepest trench in the ocean, but it would have to do for the time being. Basilard had stayed behind to make sure none of the would-be treasure hunters followed the team back to the factory-at least two people had eyed Tikaya’s sphere as she returned it to her pack.

The lights burned in the offices on the catwalk. Amaranthe headed straight for the stairs. She already knew she wouldn’t find Sicarius waiting for her in the factory-she certainly hoped not, or she’d have to watch her scalp-but she wanted to check in with the others. Not only did she need to know what Starcrest was up to, but she needed to start planning a rescue mission, to figure out how she could sneak Sicarius away from that wizard. Or, more likely, she thought with a determined set to her jaw, figure out how to kill that wizard so his trinket wouldn’t control anyone any more.

“Does she always walk this fast?” Tikaya asked from a few steps behind Amaranthe.

“No,” Maldynado said, “sometimes she paces about slowly and thoughtfully, such as when she’s mulling over some new scheme.”

“What does more rapid leg movement mean?”

“She’s already thought of a scheme and is about to put it into action,” Maldynado said.

“Given what I’ve witnessed in the last twenty-four hours, I’m guessing we should be concerned?”

“Oh, very much so.”

Not bothering to comment, Amaranthe took the stairs three at a time and… halted at the top with her leg in the air. Four shirtless men were jogging toward her. Not toward her, she amended as she took in the sweat-drenched hair and gleaming torsos, but toward the stairs, as part of a training circuit. Her breath formed clouds in the air in front of her, so it must have taken them time to warm up enough to sweat in the cold factory.

“Hm.” Amaranthe had imagined finding Admiral Starcrest hunched over a desk in the office, head bowed in some meeting with his men, not doing laps with Ridgecrest, Sespian, and Books.

“What’s going on?” Maldynado asked, stopping on the landing next to her.

“Strategy planning session?” Amaranthe guessed.

“Yes,” Tikaya said. She and Mahliki had stopped a couple of steps below, but were tall enough to see the men rounding the far corner and jogging onto their stretch of the catwalk. “I’ve learned Turgonians are vigorously active when they’re pondering, not at all like our Third Century Kyattese sculptures of people sitting with their chins on their fists, gazing out at the waves, poised in eternal contemplation.”

“Who’s that?” Mahliki asked.

Guessing it was neither her father nor the sixty-something General Ridgecrest who had caught her eye, nor-sorry, Books-her fit but graying scholar, Amaranthe said, “Sespian.”

He wasn’t as muscular as Sicarius, but the last few weeks of adventure, along with a natural filling out as he reached the end of his teenage years, had added pounds, none of it fat. Though he might describe himself as bookish-or, bookly, as Maldynado called him-he had his father’s natural athleticism and jogged along with the older men at an easy lope, speaking and gesturing, not at all winded. Though Amaranthe’s tastes had come to favor a certain man with a harder, more chiseled face-and body to match-she had no doubt Sespian would attract any number of young ladies, should he take the time to place himself in their midst.

“The Sespian who was emperor up until recently?” Mahliki asked.

“Yes, that’s him.” Amaranthe decided not to say, and he will be again, for she had no idea how the tile bag would truly shake out. Whatever Books was saying to Starcrest, it was accompanied by enthusiastic gestures.

Starcrest might have been listening earlier, but he lifted a hand toward Books as soon as his gaze encompassed those on the landing. His wife and daughter specifically, Amaranthe guessed, and stepped to the side when he surged ahead, long legs swallowing the remaining meters of catwalk. A wise decision, for she might have been flattened otherwise.

Starcrest enveloped Tikaya in a long fierce hug, then extended the embrace to his daughter as well. “That was quite an explosion,” he said, striving for casual commentary, though his hoarse voice betrayed his feelings. Amaranthe belatedly realized how the destruction of the Behemoth must have appeared to those watching from the ground. From what little she’d seen, packed into the back of that lifeboat, it had been fiery, orange, and enormous in the late afternoon sky. Starcrest must have wondered if his wife had escaped the explosion. “I can only assume the trench-immersion plan was abandoned in favor of a more… complete method?”

“Mother found the immolation button,” Mahliki said dryly.

Books gripped Amaranthe’s arm and pulled her up onto the landing with him and Sespian. He gave her a hug, too, then stood her out at arm’s length to eye her from head to toe. “We’re relieved you survived and seem to be intact.”

Sespian lifted an arm, as if he might offer a hug too, but he settled for gripping her shoulder.

“I’m intact too.” Maldynado propped a fist on his hip.

“Yes, we’re relieved to see you well too,” Books said.

Maldynado squinted suspiciously, expecting some sarcastic addition perhaps, but Books only patted him on the back.

“Everyone in Stumps stopped fighting to stare at the sky,” Sespian said. “It dwarfed the manmade explosions in the mountains and in the city.”

“Yes, I was wondering if anyone here knew anything about those…”

Starcrest hadn’t finished with his reunion-he’d switched to putting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and asking her a couple of quiet questions-so Amaranthe looked to Ridgecrest instead. The one-eyed general was leaning against the railing, his arms folded across his chest, the accompanying frown making it an aggressive posture. He grunted at Amaranthe’s comment, but didn’t offer anything more conclusive.

“Come,” Starcrest said, pulling Tikaya and Mahliki onto the landing and pointing toward an office door. “We have much to discuss.”

As the group filed into the office, Books walked beside Amaranthe and whispered, “I’ve been telling him all about my treatise.”

“Has he been listening?” she asked.

“In between reports from his men, yes.”

One of those men thundered up the stairs behind the group, pushing Amaranthe and the others aside to reach Starcrest. “My lord!” The young man’s heels clacked together and he thumped his fist to his chest.

Starcrest’s hand twitched, as if he meant to return the salute, but he stopped himself, opening his palm instead. “Yes?”

Though he’d found a pair of black army fatigues that fit him, he was neither in the military any more nor a Turgonian subject. Nobody should have been saluting or “my lord”ing him, but none of the soldiers Amaranthe had crossed while in his presence acted as if these missing credentials mattered.

“Captain Greencrest reports that the-” for the first time he glanced at all the additional people in the room, “-the items have been secured in their new location.”

“Thank you, Private. Let Colonel Stonecrest know.”

“Yes, my lord.” The private spun on his heel and rushed out.

“Items?” Ridgecrest rumbled. “He talking about the rice?”

“I assume so,” Starcrest said.

Amaranthe perked. “We saw the granaries blow up. The professor suggested that might be… is that our doing? And if so, why?” She didn’t manage to keep all of the anguish out of her voice, though she told herself to be patient and wait for an explanation.

“You saw it?” Starcrest tilted his head curiously. “From the ship?”

“We’ve seen a lot,” Tikaya said, “and collected a great deal of data on troop positioning, movements, and… allies. Rather I should say, Corporal Lokdon did. I was searching for that-” she glanced at her daughter, “-immolation button.”

Mahliki had been stealing glances at Sespian, but marshaled her attention to the conversation at her mother’s look. Amaranthe shrugged off her rucksack and dug out the journal full of notes she’d made. She handed it to Starcrest.

He accepted it and waved to the chairs. “Sit. Let me get you caught up.”

That “you” was more for his wife, Amaranthe sensed, but his wave did include her and Maldynado. They dragged chairs around the tables, and she ended up between Sespian and Books. Good, if Starcrest didn’t answer her questions, she could interrogate them for details. If the jog was an indicator, they’d insinuated themselves into the inner circle.

“We are responsible for the explosions at the aqueducts, the granaries, the freighter docks, and two of the main railroads,” Starcrest said. “It will appear to the public that food stores and water supplies have been devastated. We did destroy the main lines by which more food can be brought into Stumps, though the railways were attacked in such a way that repairs should not be extensive for a competent team of combat engineers. The Blue Bluff Bridge was in abysmal condition anyway and wouldn’t have passed an inspection I led.”

Amaranthe couldn’t believe that in the middle of admitting to being responsible for all of this destruction, he sounded genuinely affronted at the condition of the bridge, a bridge he’d ordered blown up. Or blew up in person. What exactly had he been doing in the night and day her team had been gone?

“Appear?” Maldynado asked, his usual baritone on the squeaky side.

“The food in the granaries was moved overnight, before the explosions, and it is safe,” Starcrest said. “The aqueducts were not, in fact, damaged, insofar as their capabilities to deliver water. We blew up the auxiliary line, which is widely believed to be the main and only line, and have only temporarily dammed the flow.”

“How do you know that wasn’t the main line?” Amaranthe remembered her thought that Sicarius, having been part of the team that had researched the underground water passages for their mission the year before, had told Flintcrest. But if Flintcrest and Sicarius had had nothing to do with all this… “That’s secret information, I understand. Or…” She faced Sespian. “Did you know about it?”

“You’d be amazed at how little I do know-” Sespian rubbed his head, perhaps remembering his months of being drugged, “-insofar as imperial secrets go. Raumesys didn’t share as much with me as you’d think. I wonder now if he somehow knew, all along, that I wasn’t… Well, no, that’s unlikely, or he would have killed me.”

Amaranthe patted his arm, though she returned her attention to Starcrest.

“My fourth-year engineering professor at the military academy designed the current aqueduct system,” he said. “I was one of his student assistants at the time and was much honored to be chosen to help. In the beginning, I assumed I’d be running calculations for him and double-checking his work. Instead, I learned quite a bit about… excavation that semester. I did, however, manage to have myself removed from the laborious assignment, inadvertently I assure you, by presuming to make a few field improvements to the Model 4L Steam Shovel. To this day, I maintain that my improvements made it more efficient. And powerful. Had the operator simply allowed me to instruct him in the changes to a few key controls… Well, it’s not my fault he refused to take advice from a seventeen-year-old boy. He-”

Tikaya touched his arm. “In most circumstances, I wouldn’t interrupt your enthused rambles, love, but these folks are waiting for an explanation as to why you, a presumably loyal imperial man despite your years in exile, are blowing up important parts of the city’s infrastructure. I, too, am curious.”

Rias cleared his throat, the faintest tinge of red brightening his cheeks. “Yes, forgive me.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “We do not have the forces to combat anyone in a straightforward confrontation, so we must use guerrilla methods. Every one of our opponents must protect the city, otherwise they’ll win a poor prize should they come out on top. Each knowing that the other wants an intact capital to take over, I’m guessing they will suspect some outside invasion force is responsible for the destruction.”

Amaranthe nodded. Hadn’t she herself thought along those lines?

“Unless they’re self-absorbed idiots, they’ll recognize the need to stop these attacks. They’ll either band together, to deal with this unknown enemy, or they’ll attempt to solve the problems on their own. They cannot, however, afford to ignore the threat. The citizens… Thus far, most of the citizens have been hiding indoors, letting the various armies fight amongst themselves, but they’ll no longer be willing to be bystanders once the food and water threat is revealed. Thus our enemies will have problems to deal with on two fronts. Our guerrilla attacks, at which we are not lingering around to address opposition, will force them to place troops at strategic points. Also, the citizens will demand a resolution sooner rather than later, giving our opponents people at their backs with whom to deal.”

Sespian and Books were nodding, so they must have already heard all of this and come to accept the plan. Tikaya’s frown was more dubious, but she didn’t protest aloud. She might be the kind to wait until she was in private with her husband to accuse him of megalomaniacal lunacy.

No, not megalomaniacal, Amaranthe admitted. Just… shifty. If she was honest with herself, it sounded like a plan she would come up with. All right, it was a bit grander in scale than most of her plans, but still.

“What will we be doing while all this is going on?” she asked. “Or are all of our-your-troops busy with the guerrilla attacks?”

“Our troops,” Starcrest said, extending a hand toward Sespian and Ridgecrest. “Many of them are busy planning further mayhem, albeit doing as little genuine damage as possible, to keep our opponents running around with blankets, trying to swat out the fires. But assassins have been striking at the Company of Lords as well as Forge operatives. I’ve dispatched a team to check on-”

A knocked sounded at the door.

“Come,” Starcrest called.

Four natty soldiers in pressed uniforms marched into the room, their rifles gripped in front of them in perfect parade configuration. A bald man with heavy jowls, walked between them, a rumpled dressing gown sweeping about his ankles. His fur-lined boots were the only piece of clothing appropriate to the cold night. Alarming, since he couldn’t have been less than eighty years old.

Amaranthe didn’t recognize him, but from the way Sespian stirred in his chair, she thought she should.

“Books?” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

“Lord Delvar Markcrest,” Books replied, “one of the senior members in the Company of Lords.”

“Lord Markcrest,” Starcrest said. “I’m glad you could make it to-”

“Make it? As if I had a choice. I’ll not vote for you, I don’t care which one you are.”

“I’m not… any of them, my lord,” Starcrest said. “I learned that you and your brethren were being targeted-”

“Targeted? Seven of my colleagues are already dead,” Markcrest growled. “That I know about.”

“That is why we’re offering refuge for those who remain. I wish you to take the first train north. I’ve sent word to my brother in the countryside, and he’ll board you at Ravenwood Estate until the smoke clears down here.” Starcrest nodded toward the soldiers. “Continue your mission, please.”

“Yes, my lord.” They thumped their fists to their chests and marched out.

“Ravenwood Estate?” Markcrest’s forehead wrinkled, as if he were trying to dredge something from his memory. He peered more closely at Starcrest. “You aren’t… are you… General Kreg Starcrest’s boy?”

Starcrest blinked. It must have been a long time since someone referred to him as his father’s son. “Yes, sir.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and nobody spoke. It was doubtlessly only in Amaranthe’s mind that Starcrest stood taller, trying to look worthy in the older man’s eyes.

“I’ve only recently returned from… exile,” Starcrest said. “We’re attempting to find a resolution to this mess that’s been created. We want to work with the Company of Lords, not against it.”

“I should hope so,” Markcrest snapped, though much of his anger had faded.

“Joth,” Starcrest asked Ridgecrest, “can you take him down to the cafeteria? See to his needs? Lord Markcrest, I’ll come down and talk to you shortly.”

Ridgecrest bowed his head and ushered their guest out.

As soon as the door shut, Amaranthe blurted, “You’re kidnapping people.” Everyone stared at her. “My lord,” she added.

“You don’t approve?” Starcrest tilted his head, his lips twitching in… was that bemusement? “This morning, at her bequest, I met the prisoner you instructed to be kidnapped.”

“Er, yes,” Amaranthe said. “I mean, no. I don’t disapprove, given the desperate nature of these times, and, ah…” Erg, why was everyone still staring at her? “It’s just that you’re Fleet Admiral Starcrest. I wasn’t expecting you to be-” she cut off before uttering “just like me” or, worse, “as crazy as I am.” After all, she hadn’t achieved quite what he had with her unorthodox problem-solving style, and he wasn’t some scummy outlaw in the eyes of most of the population. Some unfairness in that, she decided. He was exiled-wasn’t that every bit as bad as being an outlaw? — yet nobody cared.

Tikaya leaned against her husband’s arm. “She expected you to play fair, love.”

“Oh,” Starcrest said, drawing out the syllable. “Well, I wouldn’t have lived past thirty if I made a habit of doing that. How would one win a battle against superior man- and firepower if one stuck to common and acceptable wartime practices?”

“Uh.” Amaranthe winced at her lack of eloquence. “I understand. But I’d thought, you being a Turgonian hero…” She stopped herself before she devolved into whining. She would not, for the sake of herself and her ancestors, stand there and sulk about how everyone considered him a hero for apparently using the same tactics that made her an outlaw. “Your tactics aren’t what I expected, my lord, but I’m sure they’ll get results. In fact, you seem to have your thumb on the pulse of… everything.” Had they truly only been gone for twenty-four hours? He’d been busy. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a few of my men and go…” She met Books’s and Sespian’s eyes. “Flintcrest has Sicarius. No, Flintcrest’s Nurian wizard has Sicarius. With some kind of magical control device.” She tapped her temple. “He’s being forced to work for him. There are… a bunch of pikes in Flintcrest’s camp with severed heads mounted on them.”

Books swore under his breath. Sespian looked out the window. Starcrest… had grown hard to read again.

“Guess that explains who’s assassinating the Company of Lords,” Sespian murmured.

“I wouldn’t be sure,” Amaranthe said. “Those heads suggest Flintcrest is dismantling Forge right now. Either way, we-I-have to get Sicarius back. There must be a way to kill that wizard or find some other way to free him.” With so many people in the room, Amaranthe didn’t go into how much she owed Sicarius or how she wouldn’t be able to sleep as long as she knew he was out there, being forced to carry out some sadistic bastard’s whims again. Curse everything, she’d tried so hard to get him away from that, to create a less violent world for him to live in, one in which… She swallowed and made the simple argument that would ensure their help. “I’m sure none of us wants to see him in our enemies’ hands. We all know what he can do.”

Starcrest and Tikaya exchanged looks.

Yes, they were a part of that “all.”

“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, turning, but he had slipped out at some point. To find Yara? “Never mind, I’ll get Akstyr. I’ll need his advice. And I welcome any other advice.”

“Do you intend to walk into Flintcrest’s camp?” Starcrest observed her through hooded eyes, no doubt thinking this a bad plan.

“Of course not. Although…” If she allowed herself to be captured, or even pretended to be switching sides, might she not find herself in a meeting with Flintcrest and his Nurian advisers? If she could see Sicarius, talk to him for a few minutes… What, girl? If this was anything like their time together on Darkcrest Isle-she shuddered at the memory-she’d be powerless to get through to him. “No.”

“Good,” Starcrest said. “In case you might change your mind, I’ll point out that my presence in the city isn’t widely known yet-with luck, none of those vying for the throne have learned about it-and we have an advantage as long as that remains so. Though I don’t know Flintcrest, Marblecrest, or Heroncrest well, it’s possible they’ve read my work.”

Possible? Amaranthe snorted. Try likely.

“They may know enough of me to suspect that I’m behind the explosions. It’ll be better for our plans if they believe they have to defend against an outside threat to the empire.”

“Yes, I understand,” Amaranthe said. “I have to figure out a way to get to Sicarius, to his keeper though. I’ll ask Akstyr if there’s any way we can sever the link, but I’m guessing the wizard is the only one who can free Sicarius. Either voluntarily or not.” She let the statement hang in the air, figuring they’d know what she meant.

“A likely assessment,” Tikaya said. “Only those with a great deal of training can resist mental intrusions from strong telepaths or devices crafted by telepath Makers.”

Amaranthe winced, remembering how easily Retta had gotten through her own defenses with that tool. Tikaya was grimacing as well. Sharing a memory of a similar experience?

“Does anyone have ideas on how I can reach the wizard without having to go through Sicarius?” Amaranthe asked. “I’m assuming he’s being used as bodyguard as well as assassin. Not unlike a soul construct.” Maybe that was what had happened. Sicarius had gotten rid of the wizard’s soul construct, then been turned into the replacement.

“Let me think about it and look over the data you brought.” Starcrest lifted the journal; he hadn’t had time to more than glance at the first page yet. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go on a mission to save him without letting me know first.”

“I won’t, my lord.” She would gather her people to discuss this. She thought about asking Starcrest if he truly meant to think about it or if he was too busy juggling all those others balls. It would seem rude though, or demanding. She ought to be able to come up with something anyway. Sicarius was her prob- no, just hers. “Sespian, Books, do you want to help, or…?”

Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. They were helping Starcrest, and they’d probably find that nobler work than worrying about Sicarius.

“I’ll help,” Sespian said, surprising her. He pushed away from the chair to join her at the door.

Books’s lips flattened, but he pushed away from the table too.

“You can stay,” Amaranthe told him. “I’ll let you know if we need your help.”

He continued to stand. “You may need my input during the planning stages, to keep from coming up with something… imprudent.”

Amaranthe managed a smile. “When have you ever kept me from imprudence before?”

“I keep hoping there’ll be a first time.”

Hand on the door, Amaranthe meant to walk out, but a knock on the other side surprised her. She stepped away to let in a nervous private with an arrow clenched in his hands. A piece of paper was tied around the shaft.

“Sir, ma’am,” the private murmured, not looking up as he ducked his head toward people. “Uhm, my lord, Starcrest? I’m sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t find my LT, and I thought this might be important.”

“What is it, Private?” Starcrest held out his hand.

“I don’t know, my lord, but it has your name on it.”

“An arrow with your name on it?” Tikaya asked. “That’s distressing.”

Starcrest grunted and accepted the shaft. The private hadn’t dared unravel the note, but STARCREST was indeed written across the visible side, the name in block letters. Starcrest held it up to his wife, his brows lifting slightly. Tikaya considered it through slitted eyes, then shook her head.

“Nothing Made about it, no taint.”

Amaranthe hadn’t realized Tikaya had personal experience with the Science, but supposed it wasn’t uncommon on the Kyatt Islands, hence why Akstyr wanted to move there.

“Where’d you get this, Private?” Starcrest asked as he unfastened the note.

“The side of the building, my lord. Someone fired it toward us from several rooftops away. We, my corporal, I mean, sent men off to try and catch the archer, but I don’t think they did. I figured I’d rush this inside right away in case it’s important.”

“You did well. Thank you, Private.”

The soldier took this as a dismissal and scurried out the door.

Starcrest unrolled the note and handed it to his wife. “It’s encrypted.”

Amaranthe sucked in a breath. “Like the letter from Sicarius?”

“Maybe,” Starcrest said. “There’s a line of Nurian at the bottom though.”

“What’s it say?” Though they hadn’t invited her to, Amaranthe inched around to their side of the table. She remembered the block letters used to address the first letter to Starcrest, and these looked the same. But why would Sicarius have added Nurian? Unless the wizard had. What if he’d caught Sicarius trying to pen a note? Or-a queasy surge flooded her stomach-what if they’d been working together to write it? It could be a trap. “Would your awareness of the Science allow you to sense if it’d been poisoned?” she found herself asking.

Tikaya gave her a sharp look. “No.”

Starcrest grew grimmer, but all he said was, “We’ve already touched it. What’s it say?”

“It’s the same code as was used on the letter he wrote to you,” Tikaya said.

No longer inching, Amaranthe came to stand at her shoulder. The message was gibberish to her eye. She bounced on her toes, waiting for a translation. Why was Sicarius sending letters to Starcrest instead of her?

“He explains that a Nurian practitioner named Kor Nas has captured him,” Tikaya said.

Starcrest’s gaze shifted upward thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the name. He’s one of their more powerful battle mages and Makers.”

“A telepath?” Tikaya waved the letter.

“Meaning does he know that was written?” Starcrest asked. “Probably. We’d better hurry.”

“He says he was injured when trapping the soul construct and searching for Corporal Lokdon after the Behemoth crashed. He saw where the ship landed and knows who and how many died.”

Amaranthe cringed. He’d think Sespian was dead. And Maldynado and Basilard as well. She had.

“And he saw Lokdon’s body,” Tikaya said.

“Pardon?” Amaranthe asked.

Tikaya’s finger ran across the line of gibberish, rechecking the translation. “That’s what it says. Kor Nas embedded some device in his head to control him, and he’s been working as the man’s assassin. He can’t disobey. Kor Nas has learned-” Tikaya swallowed and gripped her husband’s arm. “He’s learned you’re in the city. He doesn’t know where yet, but he intends to send Sicarius to kill you, a tactical move for Flintcrest’s army, but more importantly it’d be an honor for this Kor Nas to dump your head at his Great Chief’s feet.”

Starcrest ran a hand over his hair. “It seems the years and the gray haven’t diminished my head’s value.”

“Sicarius writes to expect him soon.” Tikaya jerked her hand downward, the paper crinkling in her fingers. “I knew you couldn’t trust-Akahe spit on that blond monster.”

“It’s not his fault,” Amaranthe said. “He’s warning you, so you can do something. Sir, my lord,” she said, fumbling the honorifics but not caring, “you have to know he idolized you growing up. His life was hard and he had no freedoms, but I know he read your work and wished…”

Starcrest lifted a hand. “I understand. And he’s done me a service in warning me, though he may have given away my position as well. If Kor Nas has been in his thoughts, or in the thoughts of the one who arranged to have this delivered, he’ll know about this factory. He could come tonight. I wonder who it was that helped him deliver this, and why. Maybe it’s a trap. Or even a trap within a trap.”

“What’s the line in Nurian say?” Amaranthe asked.

“I have noticed that Kor Nas grows intensely inwardly focused when his pet makes his kills. He enjoys the show.”

His pet? “Sicarius knows Nurian, but that’s nothing he would have written,” Amaranthe said.

“No, it must have been an addition from the messenger. It’d be helpful to be able to trust it, but-”

“Wait.” Tikaya’s grip tightened on his arm. “We saw Prince Zirabo. He’s there in Flintcrest’s camp.”

“Ah? That explains much.”

“Not to me,” Amaranthe said.

“That’s one of the Nurian Great Chief’s younger children, isn’t it?” Books asked from the doorway.

“Yes, it is.” Sespian scratched his head.

Good, Amaranthe wasn’t the only one perplexed by receiving assistance from the son of the enemy ruler.

“We saved each other’s lives once,” Starcrest said. “Long ago. I’m certain he wouldn’t betray his father or his people on my behalf, but this small favor?” Starcrest took the letter from his wife’s hand and smoothed it onto the table. “This makes sense. I don’t think it’s a trap.”

“Trap or not, love, that assassin is coming to kill you.”