Forged in Blood II

Chapter 13

Pain. He’d experienced it countless times in his life, and this, he told himself, was no different. He set about erecting the barriers in his mind, walling off the areas that were affected. Later he could meditate and work on healing those areas, but first he had to regain full consciousness and assess the exterior situation. He couldn’t remember exactly what, but something important had been going on.

Breathing. He hadn’t been doing it, he realized, so he focused on that for a time. The expansion of his lungs, in and out, drawing in rejuvenating air. He gradually grew aware of cold stone beneath his back. The grate, the drain. Amaranthe. The memories returned in a rush, bringing a fresh wave of pain, if a different kind.

She was alive!

And he’d almost killed her. Again.

Sicarius had experienced a surge of pure joy when he’d realized she was the one in the factory, that he’d been mistaken and that she’d somehow survived that crash. But he’d rushed to squash the feeling, afraid of how Kor Nas would react. Now shame and anguish filled him, underlaid with frustration for his inability to thwart that cursed Nurian. The memories of the man’s thoughts, of what he’d wanted Sicarius to do to Amaranthe, the pleasure he’d derived from learning that “his pet’s woman” still lived and could be tormented as punishment for Sicarius’s attempts at defiance. Or maybe Kor Nas’s fantasies hadn’t had anything to do with anything as logical as punishment. He’d simply delighted at-

No, Sicarius told himself. Push it aside, like the physical pain. Kor Nas was gone, or at least Sicarius was free of him.

She’d done that. Yes. He owed her again. He hadn’t been certain if the stone could be removed without killing him-or if some fate worse than death might await. Having his throat slit had seemed a superior alternative. She’d made the decision for him though. Good.

A new sensation pierced the cloudy haze of pain and awakening awareness that surrounded him. Moisture. On his face, his cheek and nose. Saltiness touched his lips.

Tears. His?

No…

It took an eternity before he could open his eyes-he needn’t have bothered, for only darkness awaited-and he realized that he remained in the pit. And that Amaranthe was down there with him. Her arms were around him, his head cradled to her breast, her fingers twined in his short hair.

“Should let you… cut that… sometime,” he whispered, his voice hoarser than a blade rasping across a whetstone.

Amaranthe stiffened, lifting her head. Her forehead had been pressed against his, he realized when an unpleasant coolness replaced the warmth of her flesh.

“You’re alive,” she blurted.

“Yes.”

“But you weren’t. You weren’t breathing.”

“A temporary setback,” Sicarius said.

“Did you… did the wizard…” Her grip tightened about him. “Is he gone? Are you… you?”

He remembered her asking those exact words once before on Darkcrest Isle, and a fresh surge of disgust came over him for his inability to do better this time. Focus on her, dolt, he told himself. She’d asked a question.

“I believe so.” Sicarius lifted his fingers to his temple and probed about the crater in his flesh. That would take a while to heal. He hoped he hadn’t endured brain damage that might afflict him later in life. “My body will suffer another scar though. Allying with you remains deleterious to my health.”

Amaranthe let out an explosive laugh, or maybe it was a sob, given the way her chest trembled against his head. “That has to be you. No Nurian wizard would be so…”

“Sespian suggested he and I may share hereditary tendencies toward social awkwardness.”

Amaranthe snorted and wiped her eyes. “An understatement, though he’s not so awkward as his father.” She lifted her gaze toward the open grate above. “What are the odds of either of us, being rather battered and broken, climbing out of here and finding a more comfortable place to sit? Perhaps even growing so ambitious as to apply bandages to each other.”

Sicarius didn’t feel up to standing, much less climbing out of the pit. He’d be content to continue to lie there for some time with Amaranthe cradling his head. Such weaknesses shouldn’t be admitted aloud. Besides, he didn’t know how long she’d be willing to cuddle with him once she learned about the atrocities he’d committed for Kor Nas. Or how little he’d fought to avoid committing them. If he’d known she was alive… and Sespian too. To learn they’d survived delighted him of course, but it deepened his shame as well.

“I’ll construe your silence as a stolid, ‘I could if I truly wished to, but I’m suitably comfortable here right now,’” Amaranthe said.

“Indeed,” Sicarius murmured.

“There are things I should tell you,” Amaranthe said. “I… oh, let’s save it for later.”

Her fingers traced the side of his face, the side without the raw wound, and he let his head loll back, content to let his mind rest and to appreciate the ministrations. He had a notion that he should return them, in some manner or another, but his mental war with the practitioner had exhausted him in a way physical skirmishes never did. Another time, he thought, then reluctantly added, if she wished it. If she saw the newspaper article, or, worse, the row of heads on pikes that Kor Nas had set up to show Flintcrest how effective his Nurian allies were, Amaranthe might not wish to accept any “ministrations” from him.

He reminded himself that he was appreciating, not thinking, and for a time his mind lay quiet.

“In retrospect,” Amaranthe mused, “I should have tied a rope up there and climbed down that way instead of flinging myself into the pit.”

“Such premeditation is rarely part of your strategies,” Sicarius said. He hadn’t meant it as an insult, rather a bit of that teasing she’d encouraged him to do, but her stroking fingers stilled, and he worried he’d hurt her feelings. After all that he’d put her through that night, he would not wish to cause her further upset.

“True, I must admit,” Amaranthe said. “I’m not sure when that happened. I used to go by the book and consider consequences before enacting a plan. Maybe my plans just grew so unprecedented and grandiose that I couldn’t foresee the consequences, so I stopped trying.”

She sounded chagrinned but not hurt, so he attempted teasing again, thinking it might lighten her mood more than a terse affirmation. “You could not foresee the consequences of jumping into a pit without a rope?”

“Not that.” She swatted him on the chest. “The Behemoth and its… landing spot. This-” she pointed toward the lip of the pit, “-is simply a result of me being too worried you were dead to think of more than hurling that junk aside and jumping down here to check.”

“Ah. Your solicitude is appreciated then. Almost as much as a rope would be.” Though she wouldn’t see the faint smile that touched his lips, he hoped she’d hear it in his voice.

“As if you’ve ever needed a rope.”

“As you pointed out, I was recently in a non-respirating state. I remain grievously weakened.”

“A non-respir… you are socially awkward. Now I see the real reason you’ve never talked much.”

No doubt it was a reflection of said weakened constitution that his smile lingered. It was too much effort to maintain the mask, and in the darkness alone with Amaranthe, what did it matter? Sicarius closed his eyes and hoped she’d go back to stroking his face.

“Are you in much pain?” she asked instead, her voice gentler, serious now. “I’m sure I could claw my way up there and find a rope and a first-aid kit.”

He hadn’t taken a thorough inventory of his body, but found he could move his arm. Nothing corporeal seemed damaged from the fall; it was only his brain that ached. Given their positions, with his upper body in her lap, wrapping that arm around Amaranthe was awkward, but he did it anyway. “Stay.”

“Not exactly an answer to my question, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt me to obey your orders once in a while.”

He might have found another teasing response, but she bent, touching her forehead to his. Some of her hair had come free in the… he couldn’t bring himself to think of it as anything other than a harrowing trial. It had been for both of them, though certainly more so for her. The locks of hair brushing his cheeks made him forget the role he’d played in it, at least for a moment as he inhaled the smell of her shampoo. The delicate cherry and almond scent was far more pleasant than the smells of cold sweat and fear that lingered about both of them. He thought of teasing her again, this time about the new blonde coloring of her locks, but her lips brushed his, gentle and sweet, and he forgot all about hair.

I do not deserve kisses, he thought-bless her ancestors, didn’t she know he’d been trying to catch her to torture her, to please that sadistic prick ruling his mind? He should have turned away, told her exactly why her compassion was misplaced, but his lips betrayed him. They parted and invited her to explore. For days, he’d thought her dead, that he’d never again stand at her side and feel the warmth of a smile directed at him alone. To have her back only to push her away? He couldn’t.

Later, if she decided she couldn’t stomach the level of… monster he’d reverted to, he’d understand. For now, he accepted her tender kisses, finding them far more of a balm than anything in a first-aid kit.

Sometime later, a door banged open in the factory above. Voices sounded, too muffled to identify, but there were a number of them.

Amaranthe sighed and her lips left his, though with a palpable reluctance, and she kissed his eyes, careful to avoid the wound at his temple, before drawing away fully. He wanted to capture the back of her head with his other hand and pull her back down. It might be their last kiss-why let it end because of a few people roaming about upstairs?

“I suppose those are the reinforcements,” she murmured, “here belatedly to save me from you.” She chuckled as she said it, as if the thought-the memories-weren’t horrific, but the reminder quenched his passion as surely as a hot iron being thrust into a bucket of water. “Maybe we can get them to supply our rope,” she went on, unaware of his thoughts.

Frantic bangs and shouts came from above. They were calling her name, not his. Understandable. He’d been the villain of the night. Who, except Amaranthe, cared if he’d survived?

“Down here,” she called when someone came close enough to their corner to hear.

The yellow glow of lights preceded the appearance of two familiar faces, Books and Akstyr.

“Amaranthe!” Books leaned over the open pit, his lantern extended. “Are you all right? Is that… uhm?” He squinted, probably trying to pick out Sicarius’s black-clad form in the gloom.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said, “and yes. We could use a rope and some bandages.”

“Of course, I understand.” Books scurried away.

Akstyr remained. He wore a self-satisfied grin as he thrust out a familiar rope belt adorned with several pouches. “Look what I got.”

Amaranthe regarded the item without comprehension. “If you’ve been out shopping with Maldynado, I would have expected something more stylish. Or at least grandiose and flamboyant.”

“Nah,” Akstyr said, “this belonged to the practitioner who was controlling Sicarius.”

“You killed him?” Sicarius asked, not having to modulate his voice to make it come out cold and flat.

If Akstyr had killed Kor Nas when Sicarius hadn’t been able to so much as give the man a hangnail… He ground his teeth. He hadn’t thought he could feel like more of a failure than he already did.

“I did.” If Akstyr had lifted his chin any higher, he would have fallen over backward. “And I was the one who found him, on account of the Science he was working. Sort of. At first I couldn’t do more than get the general vicinity down. He was able to mask himself somehow. Starcrest had his team and our people searching building by building. But then we heard this yell of pain.”

Yes, it didn’t surprise Sicarius that Kor Nas, too, had felt a mental backlash to the breaking of that bond.

“He was on the rooftop,” Akstyr went on. “Starcrest wanted to storm up there with all of his forces, but I didn’t wait for him to finish explaining. I thought the practitioner might sense them coming, even when he was in pain, and that he’d run away. So I crept up there first while they were still deciding things. He sensed me coming, and I thought he’d kill me, but I told him I’d been looking for him all over the city, that I wanted to be his apprentice. That little lie let me get close. I thought maybe I could stick a dagger in his chest. But he was a telepath and rifled through my mind. He flattened me-” Akstyr’s face grew sheepish at this, “-and I figured my plan hadn’t been so bright after all. But by then Starcrest and Maldynado and Basilard and the others were all climbing up to get him, blocking all the escapes, and he panicked. I got my chance and stuck my dagger in his back. Then the others were swarming all over him, finishing him off before he could hurt anyone else. It was great.” Akstyr grinned again and waved his belt. “I haven’t gotten a chance to see what all he had yet, but I hope I can learn from it.”

Something to his left drew his gaze-Books returning with the requested items.

Sicarius hadn’t removed the arm he had wrapped around Amaranthe, and he took this last moment alone with her to rub her back. “You made that happen,” he said, trying to let his approval seep into his voice. “If you hadn’t cut that thing out of my head, he wouldn’t have cried out. They never would have found him.”

Though it remained dark at the bottom of the pit, he heard the grin in her voice. “Can we pretend it was some premeditated brilliance then and not utter desperation? Much like me shutting myself down here and crawling out the sewage hole?”

“Yes.” Sicarius levered himself into a sitting position and would have kissed her, Akstyr’s observing eyes be cursed, but several more figures stepped up to the ledge above them.

“Amaranthe!” Maldynado called.

Basilard raised a triumphant fist.

“Are you all right?” Yara asked. “We were afraid… it took so long, everyone was afraid we were too late.”

Sicarius heard and saw them, as well as Books, Deret Mancrest, and a handful of soldiers with ropes and grappling hooks, but it was the silver-haired man in insignia-less black fatigues onto whom his eyes locked. Fleet Admiral Sashka Federias Starcrest. The man he’d asked to come to the empire, and the man he’d come to the factory to kill that night. Aside from the hair color and deeper lines around the mouth and eyes, Starcrest hadn’t changed much. He’d gained a few pounds, but he’d been on the edge of gaunt at their last meeting, fresh off that time on Krychek Island. He appeared hale and fit, as befitting a warrior.

“Corporal Lokdon,” Starcrest said, his voice quiet but carrying to the bottom of the pit regardless. “I am relieved to see that your plan worked.” His gaze shifted, and he nodded once. “Sicarius.”

This wasn’t how Sicarius had envisioned them meeting again after twenty years. He’d wanted… what? To be able to march with pride at the head of an army he’d built? Perhaps not, but at least to be able to hold his head up and know he hadn’t spent the last few days as some wizard’s lickspittle.

At a wave from Starcrest, one of the soldiers dropped a rope down. Sicarius touched Amaranthe, indicating that she could go first. After she scrambled out of the pit, he marshaled his strength, crouched low, and leaped up, catching the lip. He pulled himself over the side. Who he meant to impress by ignoring the rope-Amaranthe? Starcrest? — he didn’t know, but he hadn’t wanted to appear weak. He already knew his appearance, with dried blood streaking his face and gore smashed beneath his fingernails, did not match the tidy one he preferred.

Of course, Amaranthe was equally blood- and gore-covered, but that did not keep her from greeting her comrades with hugs and offering Starcrest a firm handshake. He accepted it and added a comradely, or maybe fatherly, pat of approval to her shoulder.

Sicarius kept his face composed in his stoney mask, showing nothing of the chaos and pain that remained in his mind, nor the childish feeling that he’d like a pat of approval from the great admiral.

He noticed another man standing back from the gathering, and it took a great deal of effort to maintain the mask he’d so carefully reapplied. Sespian. Amaranthe had said he was alive, and he’d believed her, but it wasn’t the same as seeing his son with his own eyes.

Sicarius strode around the others and toward Sespian. For a moment, he had a notion of hugging him, but his approach evoked a look of hesitant wariness. Sespian glanced at his temple, as if he worried Sicarius might still be under someone’s control. Or maybe he was more aware than Amaranthe of what Sicarius had done in the last few days.

Instead of extending his arms for a hug, one he realized with lament he’d been far closer to receiving on that water tower, Sicarius stopped a pace away and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am pleased to see that you are alive and undamaged.”

“Uhm,” Sespian said, and Sicarius sensed his simple statement hadn’t been the correct one, or at least not the one Sespian expected. “Thanks.”

“I thought you’d died at Fort Urgot.”

Sespian winced. “I should have. I was lucky. Thousands of others weren’t.”

“So I understand.” The stiltedness of the conversation pained Sicarius, but he did not know how to smooth it out.

“Heroncrest’s army had tunneled under the walls. Maldynado, Basilard, and General Ridgecrest, and I were fighting the troops trying to enter that way.”

The tunnel borer, of course. Sicarius hadn’t thought to hope that it could have somehow come into play in saving Sespian. He was relieved the soul construct had interrupted their spy mission, for, given enough time, he might have thought to sabotage that equipment.

Sespian’s gaze shifted over his shoulder. Sicarius glanced back in time to catch Amaranthe mouthing something and making a gesture toward Sicarius. She caught him looking, shrugged, and returned to a conversation with Books and Deret.

Sespian cleared his throat. “I am… pleased to see that you are alive as well. And only… somewhat damaged.”

It wasn’t the hug Sicarius would have preferred, and Amaranthe had goaded the statement out, but it was better than stiff coldness.

Sicarius nodded once. “Good.”

“You’re supposed to say thank you to something like that.”

“An artificial social construct that is no more of an acknowledgment of your statement than my ‘good.’” It was an automatic response, not a well-thought out one, and, as soon as Sespian shook his head, Sicarius knew he should have simply voiced gratitude. This was why he didn’t get hugs…

Sicarius sighed to himself, wondering when he’d ever figure out how to interact with his son.

• • •

After washing and changing clothes, Amaranthe was on her way to join Starcrest and the others in a midnight planning meeting, but Deret Mancrest blocked her path. He stood at the base of the catwalk stairs, his swordstick in one hand and the other on the railing as he spoke with a blonde-haired woman in spectacles. Though Amaranthe had never seen her in person, she knew exactly who this was. The nose, in particular, was quite familiar, though the woman was a little stouter than she had been in her ten-year-old tintype. She was smiling as she spoke to Deret, a pleasant smile with dimples, but it disappeared when she spotted Amaranthe approaching.

The wry smile Deret issued suggested he’d intentionally put himself-and Suan Curlev-into Amaranthe’s path. Yes, he knew she’d been avoiding this chat for days. Suan was neither bound nor gagged, though enough soldiers guarded the factory perimeter that one might be deterred from escape attempts. Or perhaps she’d been given her parole in exchange for… what? Some promise from Deret? She was standing closer to him than one would expect from a pair of enemies, or rather, kidnapper and kidnap victim.

“Ms. Curlev,” Amaranthe said, and that’s as far as she got. How did one say, “I’m sorry I had you kidnapped and, oh, did I mention that I’m responsible for your sister’s death? No? Sorry about that too.”?

“Corporal Lokdon,” Suan said. “Lord Mancrest assures me that your assassin will not be knocking on my door tonight, but I would like to hear these assurances from your mouth. Does being imprisoned by you indeed grant protection?”

Er, what?

“You won’t be assassinated while you’re here,” Amaranthe said, “but Sicarius is his own man, not my assassin.” After what he’d been through, the last thing she wanted to do was claim ownership of him. That was sure to make him bristle, no matter who tried it.

“Then you can’t promise he won’t kill me the way he’s single-handedly annihilated most of my sisters?” Suan frowned at Deret.

Sisters. She meant the Forge women, not Retta, but the link made Amaranthe wince nonetheless. Did Suan know about Retta yet? Or did her knowledge only extend to what had been in the latest newspapers?

You’d know, Amaranthe told herself, if you hadn’t been avoiding her.

“He will not,” came Sicarius’s voice from behind her, “kill any of Corporal Lokdon’s prisoners.”

Though his words were for Suan, he stopped beside Amaranthe, standing shoulder to shoulder with her. She’d missed that this last week, and she drew strength from his presence. Retta’s death had been regrettable, but she had to accept it, and accept whatever this woman’s reaction would be.

Suan had taken a step back at Sicarius’s approach, her fingers tightening on the railing like vise clamps. Despite Sicarius’s words, Deret shifted to stand protectively in front of her. Surprise flickered in her eyes, but, after a moment, she shifted her hand from the railing to Deret’s arm.

It occurred to Amaranthe that, however last-minute and desperate her order to have the woman kidnapped had been, she had one of the Forge founders in her hideout. Maybe she could use that-and this friendship she’d apparently developed with Deret-to put an end to the bloodshed. The Forge bloodshed, anyway. Amaranthe was happy to leave the ending of the military bloodshed to Starcrest and Sespian.

“Ms. Curlev,” Amaranthe said, “Sicarius was under a wizard’s control when he killed those people-” his lips flattened; he doubtlessly did not wish to be reminded of the fact, and she resolved to move the conversation away from it quickly, “-but that has ended. You’re safe as long as you’re here, with us. Should you choose to escape and conspire with what’s left of your comrades…”

“Was he also under a wizard’s control last month when he killed Ambree, Sia, Tabthra, and so many others?” Suan asked.

The image of Books’s notebook, the one he’d used to research Forge members, popped into Amaranthe’s mind, along with the neat checkmarks Sicarius had made beside the names of each person he’d assassinated. She didn’t know how to explain that his actions that night had been a retribution for the threat to Sespian-it wasn’t as if that fact could legitimize assassinations anyway.

“No,” Amaranthe said. “If you’re aware of his relationship to Sespian, which most of the world seems to be now, then you’ll understand why he took those actions. He doesn’t kill… whimsically.” She glanced at Sicarius, wondering if that would draw an eyebrow twitch. No, he was wearing his facade of granite, with neither his face nor body hinting at his thoughts. He’d washed and changed into a fresh set of his black clothing, but that didn’t make him appear any less dangerous. He either hadn’t been offered, or more likely hadn’t accepted, a bandage for his temple, and the fresh puckered wound only gave his visage a new degree of deadliness.

“I’ve lost so many old comrades.” The edge in Suan’s voice softened. “And… Retta? Do you know… I can only imagine she died in that explosion. But maybe…?” She lifted hopeful eyes.

“She died in the crash,” Amaranthe said. “Ms. Worgavic’s shaman friend tried to stop some deadly alien devices with fire and Retta was caught by the blast.” Leaving out the fact that Retta had only been in the line of fire because of her didn’t sit well with Amaranthe, but if Suan could be convinced that her “old comrades” were in the wrong, and she could become some conduit through which a new law-abiding business class could be created, might not the omission be acceptable? For the greater good?

“I see,” Suan said. “I feared this plot of theirs would not end well. Though I never thought…” She closed her eyes for a long moment. “I never thought Retta would end up in the middle of the fire. All she ever wanted to do was study in her field.”

Amaranthe latched onto the word “theirs,” noticing Suan hadn’t said “our plot.” Might she have disapproved all along?

“Do you think Forge will be finished with… their plot now?” Amaranthe asked. “If you’re no longer a threat to Sicarius, or those he cares about, he’ll have no reason to pursue you.”

“From what I understand…” Suan watched Sicarius, not meeting his eyes, but making sure he didn’t come closer to her. “There’s not much left of Forge anyway. What is left will have little reason to target Sespian now. As you pointed out, his heritage has been made public and will disqualify him from the throne.”

“Possibly disqualify him,” Amaranthe said. “None of the other potential candidates is doing anything to ingratiate himself with the public by marching through the city, imposing martial law, and killing members of the Company of Lords. Dead ancestors know what else they’re doing by now. You might be best served by ingratiating yourself with… someone else.”

Sicarius gave her a sharp look. She ignored it. Surely turning one’s enemies into allies was a military strategy with a long tradition.

“Ingratiating isn’t quite the word I’d use,” Suan said, “but, yes. I spoke with Lord Starcrest. I understand political changes may be in the air. If they are, it’d be wiser for me to work with the new regime rather than against it. I imagine someone who gets in early could have a substantial say in the way businesses are treated by the government going forward.”

Huh. Starcrest must have tried to plant the same seed. “I imagine that might be the case,” Amaranthe said.

“Excuse me, please.” Suan glanced at Sicarius again, then released Deret’s arm and stepped away. “I told Lord Starcrest I’d write up a proposal.” She hustled away, and Amaranthe wondered if her sudden urge to do homework had something to do with Sicarius looming nearby.

Deret gazed after her for a moment, then frowned at Amaranthe when she tried to pass him. “Are we still keeping her as a prisoner?”

“I don’t think I’m in charge here any more,” Amaranthe said. “Why don’t you ask Admiral Starcrest?”

Deret looked toward the offices at the top of the stairs. “I wouldn’t want to bother him, but…”

“Deret, old boy, hasn’t any plucky young private shot you yet?” came Maldynado’s voice as he approached from across the factory floor.

Deret’s lips flattened. “Not yet.”

His lips flattened even further when Maldynado, who was passing Suan, gave her backside a speculative eyeing.

“Given the size of your head,” Deret said, “I’d think you’d make a more appealing target.”

“I’ve been out of the city on an important mission. They can’t shoot me if they can’t find me.” Maldynado winked at Amaranthe.

Sicarius headed up the stairs, apparently disinterested in listening to the old friends banter. Remembering her own mission, Amaranthe waved to the men and followed after him.

“So,” Maldynado drawled to Deret, “that Forge girl is cute. Have you ever considered crashing your train into her bunker?”

Deret made an exasperated noise, but allowed himself to be drawn in. “Isn’t the expression gliding your train into her station?”

“Yes, but that sounds terribly sedate. I suggest something more vigorous.”

“I see. Your Yara appreciates that?”

“She’s not an inhibited woman.”

Their conversation faded from hearing as Amaranthe reached the landing. Sicarius slowed so they could walk side-by-side to the well-lit center office.

“Still think I’m crazy?” she asked.

“Did I say you were? Recently?”

“I sensed the thought in the look you gave me.”

Sicarius gripped the knob to open the door for her, but he paused. “I have occasionally dwelled upon your unique interest in attributing feelings, emotions, and thoughts to my impassive stares, stares that other people find unreadable.”

“They only find them so because of the menacing under-layer; it discourages analysis.”

Sicarius did not respond, though he did give her a long scrutinizing look. It failed to achieve menace status, though she did wonder what he was thinking.

“Are you saying I’m incorrect in my assumptions?” Amaranthe asked. “That you weren’t thinking I was crazy?”

“No.”

“I thought not.” She pointed to the doorknob. “Are you going to open that or stand there caressing it until dawn? I only ask because such effort seems wasted on a door.”

He stared at her, neither removing his hand nor responding to the comment… until he said, “I am vastly pleased that you are not dead.”

Amaranthe bit down on her lip to restrain the toothy grin that wanted to dance across her face. Vastly. Not even Sespian had earned such a riotously enthusiastic adverb from him. Still, she couldn’t help but tease… “I appreciate the sentiment very much, but when you say things like that, you should bounce on your toes or wiggle your hips or let out some physical manifestation of your emotional exuberance. It helps relay the message.”

Sicarius looked down at himself. “My… hips?”

“Never mind.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek before dropping her hand to his. They opened the door together.

She’d figured everyone inside would have their heads bent over the table, intent on their plots and machinations. But Starcrest spread a hand toward them as soon as they entered.

“Precisely who I wished to see.”

He, Ridgecrest, a pair of colonels, Books, Sespian, Tikaya, and Mahliki all sat around the table, with the two women sharing a corner opposite the window. Mahliki was smirking, and Amaranthe would have calculated the angle required for her to have witnessed that conversation and quick kiss-surely the door had blocked her and Sicarius’s private moment together? — but Starcrest was pinning her with his serious, legendary-admiral gaze.

“Sir?” she asked. “Or did you mean…” She nodded toward Sicarius. Given how much Starcrest meant to Sicarius, he’d probably appreciate being the one the retired admiral wished “to see.”

“Both of you,” Starcrest said. “Especially Sicarius.”

Though he stood behind Amaranthe, she sensed him straighten to rigid attention. “Sir?” he asked.

She smiled, warmed by the earnestness in the single syllable. Would Starcrest recognize the feeling in it? Few people she’d met read the faint nuances in Sicarius’s seeming monotone.

Yes, the “sir” caused genuine warmth to spawn in Starcrest’s eyes, she was certain of it. He understood. Even if his wife never would. Tikaya was shifting uncertainly at this first face-to-face meeting with Sicarius since their adventure-misadventure? — twenty years earlier.

“Flintcrest is dealing with our diversions,” Starcrest said. “The loss of his wizard hasn’t derailed him.”

No, Amaranthe thought, if the expression she’d seen on Flintcrest’s face when he’d been arguing with the Nurian had been typical, he’d appreciate the loss of the wizard.

“Heroncrest has troops in the streets,” Starcrest continued, “but we also believe he’s scheming up something, an attack with the tunnel-boring machines perhaps. Marblecrest is holed up in the Barracks with his most trusted forces. It seems this brave soul is worried about food and water shortages and, rather than venturing out to do anything to this perceived threat to the city, has decided to hide and wait out the chaos.”

“There are several months’ worth of food and water in the Barracks,” Sespian said. “Enough to supply the entire staff and guard regiment.”

“Marblecrest will have more people in there than that,” Books said, his fingers laced on the table, “but the stores will still keep them supplied through a short siege.”

“What a heroic individual,” Tikaya said. “Is he truly related to your comrade who helped us in the ship?”

Amaranthe nodded. “Maldynado’s older brother.”

“Remarkable.”

“Does the older brother wear silly hats too?” Mahliki asked.

“I don’t know,” Amaranthe said, “but the only time I’ve seen him, it was in a clothing store.”

Starcrest lifted a hand and the room fell silent. “Strictly speaking, controlling the Imperial Barracks doesn’t offer a military advantage, but it is symbolic, and now that the civilians are in the streets, many taking up arms, it could be important to make a visible move that resonates in the minds of the populace. Also, capturing one of our enemies and convincing him that no, he does not want the position of emperor, would simplify things.” He’d been speaking to everyone, but now he focused on Amaranthe and Sicarius. “I understand you’ve both been in the Barracks and are aware of alternative entrances.”

“I’m only aware of escaping the Barracks,” Amaranthe said.

“We can get in,” Sicarius said.

“Won’t those wards have been reset?” Books asked.

“We can take Akstyr,” Sicarius said. “He can further refine his system for altering the plane on which the wards operate.”

“You’ll want to take your whole team for this,” Starcrest said.

“You want us to do more than sneak in and kidnap him?” Amaranthe asked.

“That’s a possibility, but I’d prefer having the Barracks taken over and the doors thrown open for us.” He nodded, in particular, at Sespian.

“Didn’t you say there are thousands of people in there?” Amaranthe asked.

“Yes, I imagine it’d take some unique scheme to get the best of them. I understand that’s your specialty.”

Books smirked at Amaranthe. “How’s it feel having your own spiel played on you?”

“Odd,” she admitted. “I suppose once one had control of Marblecrest, one could control his legions. They might desert on the spot after realizing they’d chosen to side with the wrong candidate. Though it’d be nice to have some kind of distraction to keep people busy while we swoop in and locate the general.”

Starcrest nodded, encouraging her, she thought.

“When I escaped from the dungeon, I distracted my guards with jars containing… I’m not certain I ever got the real name, but they called them Fangs. They transmit Hysintunga, a fatal disease. I was already infected, so the bugs didn’t matter to me, but they terrified the guards. Of course, I only had to scare four people then, not four thousand.”

“Fangs?” Mahliki perked up. “You mean Mexisahil creatat order eractus?”

“Ugly black bugs, halfway between a lizard and a wasp?” Amaranthe asked.

“That’s them.”

“Know where we could find any around here?” For a second, Amaranthe had a vision of thousands of soldiers fleeing the Imperial Barracks, their arms flailing about their heads as they strove to ward off attacks. Then she remembered the men she’d shared a cell with, men she’d watched die from the disease. “No, never mind. I wouldn’t wish that punishment on anyone, certainly not fellow Turgonians.”

“They’re native to the equatorial regions anyway,” Mihlaki said, “though there are other insects with properties that could be exploited in… interesting manners.” She tapped her chin.

“I like interesting,” Amaranthe said encouragingly.

“As do I.” Starcrest gave his daughter a fond smile.

Mahliki opened her jacket, causing dozens of tiny clinks. Amaranthe couldn’t guess when she’d found time to dig under the ice or whatever she’d been doing, but she’d filled a number of those vials. “Not these… We’d need… Hm, I need to think. I’m not as familiar with this area as my own climate, but I have a bunch of books in the submarine. And Lonaeo has been studying entomology longer than I have. He might have some ideas. I’ll go talk to him.”

“If you’re able to come up with a useful solution,” Tikaya said, “make sure their team can employ it without needing an entomologist along on the incursion.”

“Mother.” Mahliki touched her fingers to her chest. “Whatever are you implying? That I’d deliberately come up with a plan that forced me to go off on some interesting new adventure?”

“I’m implying you’re too young to go on an infiltration of a building full of belligerent marines. Turgonians aren’t-” Tikaya glanced around the room, the Turgonian-filled room. “Not all Turgonians are like your father.”

Starcrest was leaning back in his chair and watching this exchange, a bland expression on his face.

“It’d be a strange nation if they were,” Mahliki said. “Not that I was planning to get myself invited on their mission, but I’m sure Father was infiltrating buildings-or probably ships-full of belligerent marines when he was seventeen.”

Amaranthe observed with amusement as Professor Komitopis, a woman who reputedly knew dozens of languages, in addition to having all that cryptographic expertise, floundered for an inoffensive way to say, “It’s different for girls.”

“Actually, I was still at the military academy when I was seventeen.” Starcrest smiled at his daughter, but made a shooing motion with his fingers. “Get to work, and let’s see what you can come up with.”

“From the stories you’ve told me,” Tikaya said, after Mahliki left, “I doubt your academy years were devoid of belligerent marines.”

“Belligerent instructors, perhaps. The infiltrations were all sanctioned, a part of my training, with little possibility of loss of life. Unless one did something stupendously stupid. That did happen on occasion.”

“How often did it involve you?” Tikaya asked.

“Me? Never. I was a tranquil and studious cadet, much loved by my instructors.”

Tikaya folded her arms on the table and raised frank eyebrows.

“I was, admittedly less well loved by my older, larger, stronger schoolmates,” Starcrest said. “Still, I maintain that Cadet Badgercrest, that brutish fellow who kept trying to stuff my head in Colonel Pondcrest’s humidor-as if a simple volume equation wouldn’t have told him that was impossible-burned down the upperclassmen’s barracks all by himself. I merely failed to point out the flammable nature of lacquer when he came up with his super-quick-automatic-floor-buffing scheme.”

Amaranthe found this aside amusing, though it tickled her more that Sicarius listened with the attentive mien of a bird dog focused on a rustling bush.

“Tell them who modified the automatic floor buffer,” Tikaya said.

Starcrest cleared his throat. “I might have tinkered with it. That old model was in need of a performance boost.”

Hm, if his daughter took after him at all, Amaranthe supposed she should plan on having something interesting-and possibly volatile-to use on their infiltration. She had better assemble and brief-warn-her team.

“How soon do you need the Barracks secured, my lord?” she asked.

“I’d say by dawn, but that’s only a couple of hours away. Plan to go tomorrow night. And plan to be careful. Going by the reports I’ve received, it’s getting dicey out there in the city. The gangs are rearing their heads, and the black market is thriving. As soon as we can remove Marblecrest and Flintcrest from the equation, someone on our side will very publicly and very heroically find a way to repair the supposedly broken aqueduct, put engineering teams to work on the bridge-teams that won’t be harassed the way Heroncrest’s men are sadly being-and find emergency rations from little known imperial reserves.” Starcrest was gazing at Sespian as he spoke this last sentence.

“Me?” Sespian blurted. “You want to set me up to be the hero in charge of all of that?”

Amaranthe was almost as surprised. When last she’d spoken to Starcrest, he hadn’t been certain he wanted to back Sespian as a candidate for the throne. Tikaya nodded firmly at this exchange though. Had she been whispering in her husband’s ear? Something along the lines of, “Straighten this mess out and put an acceptable candidate on the throne so we can go home, dear?”

Books was frowning, but he didn’t speak.

“The will to solve struggles with claims of superior blood is a familiar one, for it simplifies the issue and ensures certain agencies remain in power,” Starcrest said, “but we’ve entered an age where more and more Turgonians are literate, and though the education system is designed to create good soldiers and factory workers, not future rebels and anarchists, I think you’ll find that the civilians are ready for a change.” Starcrest nodded toward Books, causing his frown to fade into a thoughtful nod. “If not in this generation, then in the next. Regardless, the common man has always been ready to accept a hero as a leader.”

“But I wouldn’t be a hero,” Sespian said, “I’d be a fraud. We made this problem. For me to come in and supposedly fix it, it wouldn’t be honest.”

“Honesty and politics rarely ride in the same wagon,” Books said.

“You don’t approve of this scheme, do you?” Sespian asked him.

“I… don’t know. It’s not ideal, but I would not fault you for taking advantage of an opportunity.”

Sespian looked to Sicarius, as if to ask his father for advice, but he must have decided against it, for he stared at his hands instead. Amaranthe checked Sicarius’s face, wondering what advice he might give to his son. Take the chance, or walk away from it all for a safer life? He’d mentioned something along those lines to her once, that he wished he’d taken Sespian away from Raumesys and from the Imperial Barracks, figuring out a way to have him raised as his own man, one who’d have a choice in the careers he picked. She couldn’t read past Sicarius’s mask though, not at this moment.

“Sespian,” Starcrest said, “I’ll not pressure you into a decision, but might I point out that you merely requested the assistance of a military adviser, trusting in him to find a solution to what couldn’t be, given their numbers versus our numbers, anything except guileful?”

“I requested?” Sespian touched his chest.

“Your father did, then.” Starcrest nodded toward Sicarius. “Fathers have been attempting to do what they believe is right for their children since time immemorial. I posit that there’s no blood on your hands here. If there are critics of my methods, I’ll take the blame.”

“Mmm.” Amaranthe touched a finger to her lips and shook her head at Sespian. She thought about signing the rest of her message, but Tikaya didn’t have much trouble reading Basilard’s code. Might as well make her comment public. “If you want the throne, take the credit for this, or at least for hiring the admiral. I suspect… The food isn’t truly gone, nor is the water, and it sounds like the railroad damage is minor. I think this will be seen as a guileful plot, yes, but smartly so. If not next week, when people are feeling duped and affronted, then in the months and years ahead. There’s a reason the Nurians call him foxy, eh?”

One of Starcrest’s gray eyebrows twitched. “Enemy Chief Fox is the phrase they use.” And not, his tone seemed to say, anything so effeminate as “foxy.” At his side, Tikaya lifted her gaze ceiling-ward.

“I concur with Amaranthe,” Books said. “I don’t think the military or the populace will see this as dishonest, not in the long run. Sespian… if you want the throne back-” his lips twisted downward, “-this is your opportunity to have it.”

“And what if…” Sespian traced a crack between the desks jammed together to form a table. “What if I want to throw my weight behind Books’s manifesto and suggest a restructuring of the empire-of Turgonia-into something fairer for the people and more suitable for a modern world?”

“Constitution,” Books said.

“Pardon?”

“Manifestos are what you have before elections, being largely temporary and fleeting. My work is called a constitution. Not temporary.”

“Would you run for office?” Amaranthe asked Sespian. “For president, or whatever Books has decided the head chief should be called?”

“President, yes.” Books frowned. “A fact you’d know if you’d read my work.”

“Sorry, I’ve been getting shot at and blowing things up. It’s kept me busy.”

“I fail to see how you couldn’t find the time to read a short document in between drawing fire and crashing alien aircrafts,” Books said.

“Short?”

“I think,” Sespian said firmly, drawing their attention back to him, “my age would make me a less than ideal candidate to lead a republic.”

Books beamed at him, less, Amaranthe suspected, because of his wise acknowledgment and more because he’d used the correct name for the government entity Books had defined.

“Perhaps I could run for an ancillary role,” Sespian said. “Second to someone more experienced, someone whose reputation for fairness around the world could do more to establish peace between Turgonia and its enemies than armadas of warships.” He looked to Starcrest, and everyone in the room followed his gaze.

Tikaya didn’t flinch exactly, but she dropped a hand-a warning hand? — onto her husband’s shoulder. It might have been because she didn’t want anything to do with Turgonia, or perhaps she didn’t want to see Starcrest burdened with all the responsibility, or maybe she feared for his life, as any state leader was wont to be a target for assassins and zealots. All legitimate reasons for concern.

“I didn’t come here to run for office,” Starcrest said.

“There is a saying in the desert city-states,” Books observed, “that a man who seeks power should be feared. Only he who seeks to avoid power should be granted it.”

Starcrest and Tikaya opened their mouths at the same time, said a few words over each other, then acquiesced to the other, but neither started again.

“You’ll have to discuss it in private, I’m certain,” Sespian said.

“All of this is premature,” Sicarius said. “Our enemies remain on their feet with armies at their backs.”

“A true point,” Starcrest said. “Your team must make plans to secure the Barracks. Meanwhile, Ridgecrest and I will see what we can come up with to capture, or at least further constrain Flintcrest.”

“Yes, sir.” Sicarius bowed his head and held the door open for Amaranthe.

They walked onto the catwalk together, Amaranthe already thinking about who she wanted to take. Akstyr, for certain, as they’d doubtlessly run into the shaman setting wards in the Barracks. Basilard was always an asset. Maldynado? Could she pry him away from Yara? Amaranthe hadn’t seen much of Yara since the other woman had railed at her, flinging accusations. She’d be an asset, too, but would she join the mission?

The door clanked open behind them, and Sespian jogged out. He hesitated, a hand on the railing, when Amaranthe and Sicarius faced him.

“I… I’d like to go with you.” He glanced at Sicarius. “Both of you. I think I can… uhm.”

Amaranthe nudged Sicarius. “I think he missed working with you. That infiltration I heard about must have made an impression.”

“I’m simply looking for my cat,” Sespian said. “I don’t know if anyone’s been taking care of him.”

“Ah, yes, I understand,” Amaranthe said. “Of course.”

Sespian’s cheeks colored.

A clank sounded, and Yara strode through the back door and onto the factory floor. She veered for Maldynado and Deret at the base of the stairs. Deret must have finished trading insults with Maldynado, for he headed off at her approach. Well, Amaranthe had wanted to talk to Yara…

“I’ll meet you back in one of the other offices for planning,” Amaranthe told Sicarius and Sespian, then walked down the stairs to intercept the other woman.

It wasn’t hard. As soon as Yara saw her, she said something to Maldynado, waved for him to give them some space, and walked up to Amaranthe.

Amaranthe had only a couple of seconds to decide whether to mention their last conversation, or to pretend it hadn’t happened. “How are you doing, Yara?” She was having a hard time exuding bright perkiness lately, but she gave it her best. “I’ve been assigned the task of putting together a team to infiltrate and capture the Imperial Barracks. Are you interested in joining?”

A finger raised, Yara had been about to say something herself, but she stopped, her finger still hanging in the air. “You never give up, do you?”

“Rarely. But to what specifically are you referring?”

“Recruiting people to your insane schemes. No matter how horribly the previous ones failed.”

“Ah.” Amaranthe feared pretending their previous conversation hadn’t occurred wouldn’t work. “I’ll admit that it may be some sort of disease that’s difficult to fully eradicate from the system, but I have, in fact, been assigned this mission, and it’d be unwise of me to believe I can handle it by myself. Therefore… recruiting.”

“Assigned. You’re letting someone give you orders? I didn’t think you knew how.”

“I was an enforcer for seven years,” Amaranthe said, deciding the conversation was promising. Yara seemed her usual gruff self, not that irate tear-ravaged person who’d hollered at her in the office. “I was very good at biting my tongue and not arguing with my superiors, no matter how shortsighted their orders might have been. Of course that didn’t get me far in my career.”

“Hm.”

That didn’t exactly invite further details, but Amaranthe wasn’t ready to give up. “I’ll be asking Maldynado to come too. It might be fun.”

“Or it might be crazy.”

“There’s no ancient super advanced technology in the Barracks.” A true statement, Amaranthe hoped. “I’m certain things can’t get that crazy.”

“Really,” Yara said, her tone flatter than a stone paver.

“Starcrest’s daughter is thinking up something involving insects, but other than that…”

Yara snorted. “Look, Lokdon…” She glanced around. With Starcrest’s troops running all over the city to enact his plans, not many people lingered inside the factory. Yara lowered her voice anyway. “I don’t think I was wrong about some of the things I said the other day, but I know you already felt awful, and I shouldn’t have…”

“Stomped on me like a makarovi?”

Yara grimaced. “I should have waited before reacting and saying things…”

Things that she regretted? Would she regret them if Maldynado hadn’t returned? Even if he had, most of the rest of the fort hadn’t.

“They were valid,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t think anything we accomplish here can justify… no, nothing can ever justify that. It was surely accidental, but that doesn’t help those people, their families.”

“I know.” Yara stared down at a crack in the cement. “But we have to go on anyway, right?”

“Wallowing on a blanket in a corner of an office only satisfies you for so long. Eventually you get bored.”

“So… insects you say?”

“Insects or something derived from them, I’d guess. That area of study is the girl’s specialty.”

“Studying bugs. Huh. The Kyatt Islands must be an interesting place.”

“So I hear. It’d be nice to visit them someday.” Someday when they didn’t have so much work to do. Counting Yara in, Amaranthe headed off to gather the rest of her team.