Forged in Blood II

Chapter 2

Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr sat against the back of the locomotive cab, their wrists tied behind them and rifles aimed at their chests. This wasn’t quite how Amaranthe had imagined the hijacking going. Judging by the scowls Books and Akstyr were shooting her, they thought the team should have remained in the coal car for the rest of the ride.

The fireman and engineer had returned to their duties, while a captain and colonel stood in a cluster with Starcrest, discussing the situation. In the confined space, one couldn’t have squeezed in any more men, so the captain had been elected to hold the rifle on the prisoners. A redundant security measure, since Amaranthe’s ankles were tied as well as her wrists, with her legs folded beneath her. She couldn’t have started a brawl if she’d tried with all her might. In addition to Starcrest and the army men, the two siblings remained in the cramped cabin; they were standing in the doorway, probably hoping their presence wouldn’t be noticed and they wouldn’t be ordered to go back to the passenger cars. The captain glanced at them a few times, as if he wished to give precisely that order, but he refocused on Starcrest and said nothing.

Amaranthe considered the legendary man, not surprised that he could command the respect of officers twenty years after his exile, but impressed. One might have expected a softness in someone who’d spent so long on the Kyatt Islands, but he appeared lean and powerful, even in his civilian clothing, a mix of browns and forest greens beneath a fur-trimmed parka. Beneath his beaver cap, his silver hair was short and thick, a regulation military cut. His height and broad shoulders surely lent him authority-he had to duck his head to keep it from bumping the ceiling of the cab-but Maldynado possessed the same physical dimensions, and people didn’t stare raptly at him, awaiting an opportunity to please-unless they were women of course. Starcrest probably had a few admirers of that sex too. His face, not so angular as Sicarius’s but of a similar vein, was weathered and creased from the sun, with an old scar bisecting one eyebrow, but he’d still fit any woman’s definition of handsome. Amaranthe could easily imagine him as a rock-solid admiral, commanding his troops in the heat of battle, though his brown eyes lacked the cold intensity she associated with so many of the senior military officers she’d met; rather, there was a hint of warmth in them, or even mischievousness, as he chatted with the men, as if now that the threat to his children had been nullified, he appreciated this break from the monotony of cross-country train travel.

So, Amaranthe mused, how do I get a legend to join our team?

Unfortunately, she feared he was heading in to join one of the other candidates, Ravido most likely, given Forge’s connection to the ancient technology and Starcrest’s history with it. Though his wife was the expert at deciphering it, wasn’t she? If the children were along, did that mean she’d come on the trip too?

After all Amaranthe had done to ensure Forge didn’t have anyone left who could control the Behemoth-she winced, remembering Retta’s horrible death-here came someone who had a better mastery of the technology than anybody else in the world.

“Lord Admiral Starcrest,” Amaranthe said during a lull in the men’s conversation, “I…” She grew uncharacteristically shy as every set of eyes in the cab swiveled toward her-even those of the engineer. Shouldn’t he be studying the snow-covered trees and bends in the tracks ahead? Amaranthe cleared her throat and pushed on. “I must apologize for any harm you perceived we meant to do to your children. We didn’t know they were up here and that they were… gifted enough to impact our, uhm, results.” Right, reminding them that she’d meant to take over the train probably wasn’t wise. She shifted to, “What the captain says about my comrades and me is true. We’re outlaws, but we’re wrongfully accused outlaws and seek to clear our names. We also seek to put the rightful emperor back on the throne, Sespian Savarsin.”

“You thought to do this by hijacking our train?” Starcrest asked, his voice mild. Deceptively so? There might have been an edge beneath it. Amaranthe had heard foreigners call the Turgonian language guttural and harsh, but his accent had been polished smooth by so many years away from the empire.

Books nudged her and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Sespian wasn’t born yet when he was last in the empire. He might not care about him.”

“It’s not a good idea to remind your captors of their advanced age when they’re holding firearms on you,” Starcrest told him.

Amaranthe thought it had been a joke, but Books’s eyes widened with concern. “Urp?” he announced.

Akstyr snorted. He was doing his best to look tough and surly, a hard image to convey when hunched in a ball on the floor. In addition, his sneer faded every time he glanced at the girl.

Amaranthe was on the verge of deciding Starcrest’s humor might be a sign that they weren’t in as much trouble as she’d thought, but his tone grew cooler for his next question, “Why did you seek to commandeer the train?”

“It wasn’t the original plan. We were…” Amaranthe tilted her chin skyward, then caught herself-explaining a flying lifeboat that traveled hundreds of miles in minutes seemed a daunting task-and shifted her chin tilt toward the back of the train, toward the mountains they were leaving. “We were stranded in the pass and needed to get back to the city as quickly as possible-Fort Urgot was under siege, and there may be full-on war in the streets by now.”

Starcrest’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at the children. As one, they blinked innocently, clasped their hands behind their backs, and pretended to study the ceiling. Amaranthe imagined some past argument about whether they should be allowed to come or not.

“Sespian needs us,” she continued. “We’ve been helping him with-I don’t know what you’ve heard, but there’s been a business coalition trying to control him from within the Imperial Barracks for the last year, and before that, Hollowcrest was drugging him, and… well, he hasn’t had a chance yet to prove what he can do for the empire. He hired us to help him.” Technically true, though he’d only wanted to be kidnapped, and they’d succeeded at that task several weeks earlier.

“Sespian is dead,” the colonel snapped. “My lord, you can’t accept any of this woman’s words as truth. She’s a criminal, and I sincerely doubt she’s ‘wrongfully accused.’ She runs with that assassin, Sicarius, after all.”

Starcrest’s face grew closed, masked. “Does she?” he said neutrally.

Cursed ancestors, of all the times for him to hide his thoughts… He and Sicarius had met in those tunnels, twenty years earlier, she knew that, but had they been working together? Or against each other? Sicarius would have been doing the emperor’s bidding-quite loyally at that age, she imagined-and Starcrest had gone his own way afterward. Had they parted as enemies? Allies? Agreed not to kill each other this time, but with no promises for the future? She knew Sicarius respected Starcrest-one might almost say idolized, though that was a strong word to attribute to someone so cool and aloof as he. What had Starcrest thought of him?

“Where is the assassin now?” Starcrest asked.

“I haven’t seen him in a couple of days,” Amaranthe said, “but I can take you to him once we return to the city if you want to talk to him. I understand you had an adventure together once.” She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to elaborate.

He didn’t. His face grew colder.

Amaranthe couldn’t tell if that was a warning or a threat in his eyes. “He should be with Sespian right now. I know Sespian would like to see you.” Belatedly, she added, “My lord.” She wasn’t sure what his status was, as Emperor Raumesys had been the one to send him into exile and Raumesys was years dead now. The military men were “my lord”ing him, though, so she better do it too.

“If Sespian has been alive all this time,” the colonel said, “why’d he let all of this come to pass? Why isn’t he on the throne now?”

“Forge ushered him out of the city on that months-long inspection of the border forts,” Amaranthe said. “They tried to arrange his death on the train ride back, only, with the help of some plucky outlaws, he refused to die in the fiery explosion that lit up the night.” She decided not to mention that the plucky outlaws had been responsible for the explosion. The Behemoth had been on its way with plans to annihilate the train anyway.

“My lord,” the colonel said in an exasperated you’re-not-believing-any-of-this-rubbish-are-you voice.

“Let’s secure them in one of the freight cars,” Starcrest said. “I’ve kept in touch with General Ridgecrest over the years, and my understanding is that he’s currently commanding Fort Urgot.” When the colonel nodded, Starcrest finished with, “I’ll get the latest intelligence from him.”

“He doesn’t know the latest intelligence, my lord,” Amaranthe said. “He might only have the version that’s been in the newspapers. Very few know what’s really going on, that Forge has been angling to run the empire, more than the empire, from the beginning. They own Ravido Marblecrest. They-erk.”

The captain had grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. With her ankles bound, she had to concentrate on not tripping over Starcrest’s boots-that seemed a faux pas an exoneration-seeking outlaw should avoid-instead of speaking. Books and Akstyr were similarly hoisted. Akstyr did trip and would have planted his nose in the metal decking right in front of Starcrest’s daughter, except someone caught him by the collar, like a mother wolf picking up a pup by the scruff of its neck. This save didn’t keep Akstyr from blushing with indignation, perhaps embarrassment.

“Sergeant,” someone yelled out the doorway.

Were there reinforcements waiting in the coal car? There must be, for mere seconds passed before three burly men swung inside, crowding the already crowded cab further. Amaranthe got a face full of someone’s back, then a meaty arm wrapped around her waist, hoisting her into the air. She landed with an “oomph” on someone’s shoulder.

Her captor swung out of the cab and climbed along the narrow ledge back to the other cars. Icy wind clawed at them, and tree branches whipped past, all too close for comfort, but neither the threat of a fall nor his burden slowed him down. Amaranthe decided not to wriggle or attempt any sort of escape at that moment.

Not until she, Akstyr, and Books had been paraded through five cars of troops-more than one man hissed at her with recognition in his eyes, half-rising from a seat, a hand reaching for a dagger-and dumped in a freight car did she start considering escape plans again. Crates were piled all about them; surely she could find something to facilitate rope freeing. Although, given the overpowering smell of turnips and potatoes, that wasn’t a guarantee. The two armed soldiers stationed on either side of the door provided a further obstacle to freedom.

“Did I not say we should ride back to town and forgo the hijacking attempt?” Books asked.

Alas, the soldiers had not thought to gag anyone. Well, that could be to her advantage. Perhaps she could plant some suggestions in their captors’ minds.

“You did say that,” Amaranthe agreed. “But if we had, we wouldn’t know that Fleet Admiral Starcrest has returned to the empire, and we couldn’t have begun the process of wooing him to our side.”

One of the guards grunted with disbelief while the other rolled his eyes. Books and Akstyr’s expressions weren’t much more supportive.

“He didn’t look wooed,” Akstyr said, “and didn’t we agree to stop using that sissy word?”

“Maldynado mocked it, but we didn’t discuss removing it from our collective vocabulary.” Books dropped his head, looking much like a man who would be pinching his nose and rubbing his temples if his hands weren’t bound. “Are you suggesting that this is all going according to plan, Amaranthe?”

“No.” She made eye contact with Akstyr, silently urging him to do something to loosen their bonds. “I’m only suggesting that the plan could be modified to incorporate these new circumstances.”

“New circumstances such as us being trussed up like a leg of lamb about to go in the oven?” Books asked.

“Among other things.” Amaranthe shifted so she could gaze serenely at the door guards. “Who are you fellows working for, anyway?”

The younger of the two, a gangly private who had more growing to do, opened his mouth. The other, a corporal with a few years on him, stopped him with a glare and a, “Sh, don’t talk to them.”

“Why not? I’m sure it’s been a long, boring train ride.” Amaranthe assumed they’d come from the west coast, if they’d been toting Admiral Starcrest all the way. “We’re probably the most interesting thing to happen in weeks.”

“She’s got a point,” the private muttered. The nametag sewn onto his parka read Gettle.

“We’ll be in Stumps soon,” his comrade said. His name, Moglivakarani, must have challenged the seamstress who’d sewn the tag, shrinking the letters to fit. “Ignore them.”

“You’re not wearing any armbands,” Amaranthe observed. “Does that mean you haven’t sworn allegiance to anyone yet? You’re not working for Admiral Starcrest, are you? He’s not an officer any more, or even an imperial citizen right now, is he?”

“Not as I understand the situation,” Books said.

“We’re Colonel Fencrest’s men. That’s all that you need to know.” Moglivakarani squinted at her. “What armbands?”

A tickling sensation, like a kiss of air, brushed the hairs on Amaranthe’s wrists. Something plucked at the knot on her ropes. She struggled to keep any hint of discomfort off her face, though it was an eerie sensation, knowing her bindings were being untied without anyone being near her. “Flintcrest, Ridgecrest, and Marblecrest’s men are all wearing different color armbands on their fatigue sleeves. Someone asked Sespian if we should adopt a color for the troops he’s gathering to his side, but he objected, saying let the less legitimate parties change their uniforms. We are in the right here.” Actually, Amaranthe had said that when Yara asked, but Sespian, after hesitating over the “in the right” comment, had nodded.

“Sespian?” Moglivakarani asked.

“Emperor Sespian?” Gettle asked. “But he’s dead. That’s why all this… this.” His wave encompassed the train.

“The newspapers reported him dead, but I assure you, he’s quite alive.” Or was when she’d last seen him two days before. Or was it three now? Amaranthe needed a full night’s sleep. All the crazy events were blurring together, the days seeming unending. “My team is serving him. By detaining us, you place obstacles in front of him. He seeks to reclaim the throne even as we speak.”

The ropes fell away from her hands, and the ones on her ankles loosened as well. With her wrists behind her back, she doubted the guards could see, but she did her best to scoop the slack ropes in close anyway. Akstyr had his chin to his chest, hiding his eyes and the concentration on his face from the guards. Books gave her a slight nod. He was either free or would be shortly.

Several feet separated her from the men and the door. Since she was on her knees, with ropes tangled about her ankles, it was conceivable, no, probable, that the guards would be able to pull out their weapons before she could cross the distance and attack them. A distraction would be good.

“You could be telling us any sorts of lies,” Moglivakarani said, “thinking it’d improve your position.”

Akstyr sat up straighter, met Amaranthe’s eyes, and gave the barest hint of a nod.

“That’s true, Corporal.” She tilted her head. “I do have a letter in my pocket with his signature on it if you want to take a look. It’s dated so you’ll know it’s from this past week.”

Books gave her a curious look. She gazed blandly back at him.

“Which pocket?” Moglivakarani took a wary step toward her.

Belatedly, Amaranthe remembered she wasn’t dressed in her usual pocket-filled fatigues. Though the prosthetic nose had fallen off, she still wore her Suan costume, complete with blonde hair and a pocket-free dress. Oh, well. Improvise. The letter wasn’t real either, after all.

“It’s an inside pocket.” Amaranthe lowered her chin, eyes toward her bosom.

“I’ll get it,” Gettle blurted and hustled forward.

Moglivakarani lunged after him, grabbing his arm. “Private, you’re not going to grope the-”

Books and Akstyr leaped to their feet, each barreling into a separate man, as if they’d somehow coordinated their attack ahead of time. It didn’t take Amaranthe much longer to rise, but she needn’t have hurried. Akstyr and Books were both kneeling on the backs of their men, pinning arms behind backs and mashing faces into the worn floorboards. She gave them nods, admiring how efficient they’d grown in the last year, then collected the soldiers’ weapons.

“Perhaps I should wear dresses more often,” Amaranthe said. “That ruse doesn’t work as effectively when I’m in those figure-shrouding army fatigues.”

“Ruse?” Gettle muttered. “Does that mean there was no letter?”

“No pockets either,” Amaranthe said.

“Idiot,” Moglivakarani said.

“How was I supposed to know their hands were free? How were their hands free?”

“Tie them up, please,” Amaranthe told Books and Akstyr. She didn’t want to encourage the private’s line of thought.

The clacks of the wheels on the rails seemed to be slowing. Wondering if they were reaching the lake and the capital, Amaranthe clambered onto a crate and peered through a slat in the wall. They’d come out of the mountains, but were passing through white rolling hills rather than the farmlands west of the lake. “Willow Pond,” she guessed, naming the last stop before Stumps.

“Perhaps we should get out here and catch the next train,” Books said.

“And let a legendary war hero go without making a solid attempt to win him to our side?” Amaranthe asked.

“We did attempt that,” Akstyr said, “and we got thrown in here. We-”

The metal rollers of the sliding door squeaked, and light flooded the car. Amaranthe spun, raising her new army pistol. She halted, however, when she spotted a similar weapon already pointed at her chest. The hand holding it belonged to Starcrest. Books and Akstyr had finished tying the soldiers, and they, too, spun toward the door, crouching, fists curled into loose fists, ready for a fight.

“Interesting,” Starcrest said, taking them in, as well as the prone soldiers.

They groaned when they heard his voice, more in embarrassment than pain, Amaranthe guessed.

She lowered her pistol. Starcrest was the only one standing in the doorway as the train slowed, icicle-bedecked buildings passing behind him, but she couldn’t be certain there weren’t ten more soldiers lined up to either side of him. She didn’t want to fight with him anyway.

“We like to think so.” Amaranthe propped an elbow on a crate. “Won’t you come in? We’d love to discuss things with you.”

“That is what I had in mind.” Starcrest eyed her pistol.

Since he had the advantage anyway, his weapon still trained on her chest, Amaranthe set her firearm on the floor. If there was a chance she could earn his trust, she’d happily make the first concession. Besides, she always had Akstyr’s secret skills to draw upon if needed, so long as Starcrest didn’t bring his children in. They obviously had some mental sciences training and might sniff out Akstyr’s gift. For all she knew, they’d sensed him untying the ropes and that had been what drew Starcrest back here to start with. But, no, it must be more than that, or he’d simply have sent soldiers. If he’d come alone, he must want to talk to them about something. Maybe he’d believed what she said in the cab.

Books kicked aside the other firearm they’d taken from the fallen men. The train rolled to a stop, and Starcrest nodded and waved to someone out of Amaranthe’s sight.

That made her nervous until he holstered the pistol and stepped inside. “Mind if we let these two go?” He spread a hand toward the soldiers.

“Won’t they go off and tell that colonel that you’re in here alone, being suborned by outlaws?” Amaranthe asked.

“Suborned?” Starcrest’s eyebrows rose.

“I was going to say wooed, but I’ve been told that word is ‘sissy.’” She glanced at Akstyr.

“Well, it is,” he muttered.

“I simply wish to have a private discussion with you,” Starcrest said. “I’ve already expressed this desire to Colonel Fencrest, and he’s already expressed his vehement disapproval over the notion. What these two report back will matter little in regard to our ability to converse privately until we reach Stumps, which is, if I recall correctly, less than a half an hour away.” He stepped inside and sat on a crate. “We’ll be departing shortly, as nobody’s boarding here in Willow Pond and only two passengers have departed.”

Two fifteen-year-old siblings too young for the dangers of the capital? There was a north-south train that ran through Willow Pond, heading to numerous quiet rural towns along the way. Maybe Starcrest had relatives in the area, or his own lands might be nearby too, if he still had lands.

Amaranthe used one of the soldiers’ purloined knives to sever their bonds. Shoulders slumped, heads bowed, they shuffled for the door.

“My lord,” the corporal said, avoiding Starcrest’s eyes, “we… we were tricked. They-”

“I’m not in command of anything here, Corporal.” Starcrest said Corporal in the same tone a father might say son. “I suggest you report to your superior for orders.”

“Yes, my lord.” The corporal shambled the last two steps to the door, but paused again. “My lord, are you going to tell Sergeant Nastor… uhm.”

“I doubt I’ll have time to tell your sergeant anything before we arrive in the capital.”

“Oh.” The corporal exchanged glances with his private, who shrugged back at him. “Thank you, my lord,” he said with more spirit upon realizing that he wasn’t going to be outed for his inability to keep the prisoners secured.

They hopped from the car and jogged out of sight. A whistle blew outside.

Before the train chugged into motion again, a woman climbed up to the doorway and hesitated on the threshold until she spotted Starcrest sitting on the crate. Her thick blonde-gray hair fell in a braid down her back, spectacles framed her blue eyes, and freckles splashed cheeks that Amaranthe would consider pale, despite the tanned skin. She wore a soft gray felt dress with wool leggings and heavy boots to thwart the cold.

“Have a seat, love.” Starcrest gestured to a crate next to his. “These are the outlaws I told you about, people who have unlikely knowledge about our first adventure together.”

This must be Tikaya Komitopis, the Kyattese linguist and cryptographer. Amaranthe immediately wanted to pump her for information on the Behemoth and what she knew about Forge, specifically Suan and Retta. The sisters had both been to the Kyatt Islands on Forge’s behalf, Retta to study the ancient language, and Suan to purchase submarines for her wealthy colleagues.

“Outlaws.” Tikaya sat next to Starcrest on the crate. “And here I thought an excursion into the empire in your wake would mean a chance to meet aristocrats and military leaders from the highest echelons of society.”

“That might have happened if you’d married me when I was an upright young officer. These days… well, I don’t think anyone has scribbled out the exile mark next to my name. These-” Starcrest spread a hand toward Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr, “-should be precisely the sorts of people you expected.”

“Should we be offended?” Akstyr muttered to Books.

“I believe so, yes,” Books said. “Word of my sublime work mustn’t have reached the Kyatt Islands yet.” He sighed.

Amaranthe swatted him on the arm.

“I haven’t been informed of their names yet,” Starcrest said, “but they know Sicarius.”

Tikaya grimaced. “Is that association as precipitous for them as it is for most people?”

Starcrest’s eyes sharpened as he regarded Amaranthe. “I don’t think so.”

“It is for us.” Akstyr pointed to his chest, then Books.

“Do you actually know what precipitous means?” Books asked him.

“Dangerous, right? You’ve used it before. You’ve even used it when talking about Sicarius.”

“I didn’t realize you’d listened.” Books sounded pleased.

“Sometimes. If I’m not doing something more important.”

Books’s eyes narrowed, some of the pleasure fading.

Amaranthe shushed them and said, “My name is Amaranthe Lokdon, and this is Akstyr and Books, formerly Professor Marl Mugdildor.”

Books’s back straightened, and he glanced at Tikaya, as if hoping she’d heard of him. She merely gazed back at the three of them with an expression of polite wariness. Outside, the train had started up, and Starcrest slid the rolling door shut before resuming a seat next to his wife. Enough light slanted through the slats in the walls that the two parties could see each other.

“You already know who I am,” Starcrest said, “but you can call me Rias. This is my wife, Professor Tikaya Komitopis.”

“Just Tikaya,” she said.

Sure, like Amaranthe was going to be on a first-name basis with people out of the history books.

Starcrest slipped a hand into his jacket and withdrew an envelope. “Do you recognize this?”

Books and Akstyr shook their heads.

Amaranthe didn’t. “Was it, by chance, postmarked from Markworth a few weeks ago?”

“It was indeed.”

“Sicarius didn’t tell me what was in it or who it was going to. I got the impression that he hoped for an answer, but didn’t expect one.”

Starcrest and Komitopis exchanged wry looks, and Amaranthe had the sense that there’d been quite a discussion as to whether to respond to that letter or not. “Can I see it?” she asked. “It doesn’t mention me, does it?”

Starcrest’s brows rose.

“I ask because there was a hasty postscript penned after I… ah, I was there when he wrote it. It’s possible my plans had some influence on the information contained within.”

“As in,” Akstyr whispered to Books, “please help, Admiral, before my crazy girlfriend blows up the empire.”

Long accustomed to their teasing, Amaranthe might not have flushed, but the topic-and the agreement implicit in Books’s smirk-made her self-conscious. “It doesn’t say that.” She eyed Starcrest. “It doesn’t, right?”

“Show her the letter, love,” Komitopis said.

The pair exchanged looks again, and this time Amaranthe couldn’t decipher the hidden meaning. For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder what it’d be like to be married to someone-not someone, Sicarius-long enough to understand each other so well that words weren’t needed. She knew Sicarius better than most, but that wasn’t saying much. It was rare for her to have a clue what was going on behind his facade.

Starcrest held out the crinkled envelope, distracting her from wistful thinking.

It was addressed in Sicarius’s precise hand to Federias Starcrest at 17 View Ridge Loop, Eastern Plantation County, Kyatt.

“We weren’t anywhere we had access to records.” Amaranthe opened the envelope and pulled out the single page inside. “I wouldn’t have guessed he knew your address.”

“Nor I,” Komitopis said. “I was alarmed to learn that.”

Starcrest spread a hand. “It’s not surprising. The emperor has surely kept track of me over the years, and he was the emperor’s man.”

“Henchman.”

Amaranthe’s lips flattened. She was glad Starcrest didn’t share his wife’s unveiled rancor toward Sicarius.

When she lowered her gaze to the page, she stared blankly at it for a moment. The words were gibberish. No, a code. Sicarius must have assumed other eyes would read any mail addressed to Starcrest from the empire. She imagined some Kyattese intelligence analyst pawing over letters to the kids from their Turgonian grandparents.

“The translation is on the back,” Komitopis said. “He used an old key, one employed during, as your people call it, the Western Sea Conflict.”

“Nothing wrong with the man’s memory then,” Amaranthe said, remembering that they’d been out in the woods when Sicarius penned the note. There were a few lines on the back, a signature, and a postscript.

“He was a bright boy,” Starcrest said. “I thought it was a shame what the emperor molded him into.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Amaranthe lowered the letter, distracted by a new thought. “You knew his father. Did you know about… more? His upbringing?” She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about the man if it turned out he had known about it and had ignored the cruelties being perpetrated in the name of creating a perfect assassin.

But Starcrest’s mouth had dropped open. “I knew his father? I wasn’t aware of Sicarius’s existence until…” His gaze skimmed over Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr, as if he was wondering how much of those classified times he should be sharing, even at this late date. “He was fifteen when our paths first crossed.”

“According to Hollowcrest’s records, his father was… Books, what was the name?”

“Sergeant Paloic.”

Starcrest sank back on the crate, bracing himself with his palms. “I remember him. He died-”

“He committed suicide,” Amaranthe said. “After being ordered-coerced-into impregnating the woman they’d chosen to bear Sicarius. A Kyattese woman.” She glanced at Tikaya. The professor’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. “According to Hollowcrest’s files,” Amaranthe continued, “Paloic’s name first came to his attention after you recommended the sergeant for a promotion.”

“I see,” Starcrest whispered. “I’d… never known.”

It was a harsh thing to bring up-it wasn’t as if Starcrest had been to blame-but she didn’t regret laying the tiles on the table. If he felt guilty, he might be more inclined to work with them. He’d already come at the behest of the letter, but that didn’t mean he meant to join forces with them. She didn’t think so anyway. Maybe she should read the translation before forming conclusions.

Lord Admiral Starcrest,

Emperor Sespian has been ousted from the throne, and numerous men with blood ties to the Savarsin line are marching armies into the city. A business coalition named Forge seeks control of the empire through a Marblecrest figurehead. Forge possesses the technology we saw on our mission twenty years ago. Among other things, they have a great flying craft from that ancient race and can use it to force their candidate onto the throne. A student of Professor Komitopis’s has mastered its flight and at least some of its many weapons. I’ve seen them. They are devastating, and the whole world is in danger. You and your wife may be the only ones who can bring about a peaceful solution. If you still care anything for the empire, you must come.

Sicarius

Postscript: Sespian is alive and in hiding, but it is unlikely anyone will be able to bring about a solution that doesn’t involve much bloodshed. The people and the military will listen to you.

Amaranthe lowered the letter and handed it to Books. Akstyr peered over his shoulder to read it as well.

“Our foremost reason for coming is to deal with the alien technology,” Starcrest said. “As for the rest… at this late date, I’m less certain than Sicarius that my influence over people or troops would be great.”

Truly? Someone had given him command of a train full of men…

“What we didn’t understand,” Starcrest said, “is why Sespian was ousted in the first place. And why he isn’t marching on the city to reclaim the throne. You say this Forge outfit has been imposing their will upon him?”

“As it turns out, Sespian isn’t Raumesys’s son,” Amaranthe said. “Forge has learned this. It’s possible the whole city will learn it soon, if it hasn’t already. We haven’t seen a paper in a couple of days.”

“Sespian is a bastard?” Professor Komitopis asked.

“Not exactly.” Given that Sicarius had personally written Starcrest and pleaded-or as close to pleading as he’d ever get-for assistance, Amaranthe didn’t think he’d mind sharing secrets. “He’s Sicarius’s son. Princess Marathi, after going through all the typical bedroom adventures one is expected to have with one’s husband, failed to produce an heir. She assumed the problem was Raumesys, and it turns out she was correct. Not wanting to suffer the fate of a previous wife who failed to produce, Marathi found someone suitable to lend his, ah, essence.”

“Essence?” Akstyr choked.

Books tried to elbow him, but they weren’t standing closely enough together.

“I didn’t think any of you Turgonian men fired blunt arrows,” Komitopis said. “You being such a hale and hearty people, prolific enough to populate a massive continent in a couple hundred years.”

Her words stirred Starcrest from whatever dark thoughts had devoured him, and he managed a half smile. “Given how many relatives you have, I don’t think you can accuse us of being overly prolific.”

“Yes, but we have a bountiful supply of sun, surf, and those fertility-boosting oysters I’ve mentioned. Your people manage it in a much harsher land, with nothing except those dreadful tooth dullers to fuel your gonads.”

Amaranthe blinked at the blunt term, but she’d heard that the Kyattese had a habit of saying things by their proper scientific names. Either that or “love apples” weren’t a common crop on the islands.

“The field rations are dreadful,” Starcrest agreed. “Or they were twenty years ago.”

“You should try one of Sicarius’s dried organ bars,” Akstyr grumbled.

Amaranthe leaned against one of the crates, eyeing the white fields passing beyond the slits in the walls. She didn’t know what to make of the professor’s derailment of the conversation. She supposed this talk of covert organizations, militant politics, and deflowered secrets was all academic to Komitopis. What did she truly care about the empire?

A banging at the door surprised Amaranthe. The train was still in motion, though the white flatlands outside had grown familiar. They had to be close to the lake, if it wasn’t already passing by on the other side of the car.

“Enter,” Starcrest called over the noise of the train.

The door slid aside, and Colonel Fencrest stood on the ledge, his face ashen. He gulped. “My lord.” He didn’t seem to notice that Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr were no longer tied. He didn’t notice them at all.

Starcrest rose. “What is it?”

The colonel’s mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t find words. He pointed past Amaranthe, toward the slats allowing glimpses of the countryside.

She climbed onto a crate for a better view as everyone else came to that side of the car. She leaned her temple against the cold wood, trying to see what lay ahead of the train, though she had a guess. They ought to be closing on Fort Urgot. If that army was still camped around it, that would certainly alarm someone coming into the situation new.

But it wasn’t an army that came into sight. It was…

“No,” Amaranthe whispered. Overwhelming horror swallowed her, weakening her limbs and invading her stomach like a poison. If she’d been standing, her knees would have given out, dumping her on the floor. She would have deserved it.

“Dear Akahe,” Komitopis whispered at her side.

The unmistakable black dome shape of the Behemoth towered over the landscape-what was left of it. Felled trees and flattened tents littered the white fields, along with one corner of collapsed rubble, of…

Amaranthe shook her head slowly, not believing, not wanting to believe. Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined the massive craft would crash into-onto-Fort Urgot. It had annihilated the walls, the building, everything. The people, she admitted though her mind shied away from the awfulness of that thought.

“How could we have…” Books whispered. “How could it have possibly landed in that one spot? The odds…”

Amaranthe thumped her forehead against the slats. The odds didn’t matter. What mattered were the thousands of people that had been in that fort. They couldn’t have seen it coming, not in time. They couldn’t have escaped. And if Sicarius, Sespian, Maldynado, and Basilard had still been within those walls…

Where else would they have been? She’d sent them there.

Amaranthe climbed-fell-off the crate and shambled to-she didn’t know where. A corner, she had in mind, but didn’t make it. She dropped to her knees and vomited.