Forged in Blood II

Chapter 4

Sleep continued to elude Amaranthe, and dawn saw her no better rested than the night before. It was just as well. Her nightmares were sure to take on a whole new vile bent now. For hours, the talk had continued in the office next door. She hadn’t tried to make out any of it. She’d been busy with her own thoughts, though they’d stopped spinning so rapidly through her brain at some point. They were fewer and farther between now. For the last hour, whether or not she should get up to use the latrine had been foremost among them. She didn’t want to go out there. Perhaps the trash bin in the corner of the room would suffice…

A feminine screech cut through the door, and Amaranthe bolted up. Who could that have been? Starcrest’s wife? And had that been a cry of surprise? Or pain? Maybe their hideout had been discovered, and the factory was being attacked.

Amaranthe scrambled to the door, then out onto the landing. Every inch of floor space below was taken up by packs, hastily spread bedrolls, and weapons, everything from rifles to cutlasses and short swords to crossbows and longbows. She didn’t see any sign that the factory was being attacked, though a few amused soldiers were gazing toward the door, where…

She stumbled forward and gripped the railing. Surprise and delight lifted her spirits, and she grinned like a fool. She couldn’t imagine how it could be possible, but Maldynado stood a couple of paces from the threshold, or at least he was trying to remain standing. Yara had flung herself at him, wrapping her legs and arms around him, and her face was buried in his shoulder. That screech… had been her?

Maldynado’s face was grimy and unshaven, his eyes weary with dark hollows beneath them, his clothing ripped and stained with dirt and blood, but he was undeniably standing and breathing. After a startled moment, he smiled and wrapped his arms around Yara in return.

Amaranthe thought to call out, to ask where he’d been and how he’d survived, but Yara was kissing him by then, showing more naked enthusiasm than Amaranthe had ever seen from the woman, and he probably wouldn’t hear her.

Sespian and Basilard walked through the door, appearing equally battered and tired. Amaranthe started for the steps, intending to run down and grab them both in an embrace, but Basilard noticed her, and their eyes met from across the building. Something in those frank blue eyes made her halt, an uneasy premonition sinking into her stomach.

When no one else walked in behind them, Amaranthe signed, Sicarius?

Basilard hesitated, then shook his head.

She stumbled back to her door. How? How could the others have made it out and not Sicarius? She loved Maldynado and couldn’t wish for anything but happiness between him and Yara, but cursed ancestors, why couldn’t Sicarius have walked in so she could fling herself into his arms?

Wait, she told herself, wait to mourn until you know for certain. Maybe he was just… missing. Maybe nobody knew for sure.

Thumps and grunts came from the bottom of the stairs. Maldynado, with Yara still latched to him, was fumbling his way up the steps at the same time as he accepted a barrage of kisses. How he reached the top when he couldn’t see where he was going, Amaranthe didn’t know. She said nothing, having a hard time finding joy in her heart for their reunion. Not when…

Well, she hadn’t spoken to anyone yet. Maybe she could find hope in Basilard or Sespian’s news.

“Hullo, boss,” Maldynado managed when his lips were free. “Good to see-oooph.”

Yara had grabbed his cheeks with her hands and kissed him. Maldynado turned a quick wave into a grab for the doorknob of the room he and Yara had been sharing.

Amaranthe lifted a hand, intending to warn them that it was occupied, but neither Maldynado nor Yara was paying attention to her. They barreled into the office, and voices inside halted.

Basilard and Sespian were halfway up the stairs, and Sespian smiled and lifted a hand toward her. He opened his mouth, but Maldynado and Yara stumbled out again before he could speak. Surely they’d find it easier to get from one place to the next if she put her legs down and walked of her own volition…

Maldynado peered about, wearing a bewildered expression, perhaps noticing all those soldiers for the first time. “Who are all these people?” he blurted.

“Admiral Starcrest and his advisers,” Amaranthe said.

“Admiral Star…” Maldynado stared into the office.

From her position, Amaranthe couldn’t tell if Starcrest or any of the others were staring back, but she imagined that’d be the case after having entwined lovers barge into their meeting.

“Erp?” Maldynado said.

“Downstairs,” Yara said. She dropped her legs so she could stand, though she didn’t let go of Maldynado’s arms. She dragged him down the stairs, past Basilard and Sespian who parted for their speedy retreat. Amaranthe didn’t know if the haste of that retreat was entirely due to sexual urgency.

“Admiral Starcrest is here?” Sespian asked when he reached the top of the landing.

Amaranthe extended a hand toward the open office door. “We ran into him west of the city and brought him back here.”

“That’s amazing.” Sespian rushed forward and gripped her shoulders, glancing at the doorway on the way by. “How did you find him? What did you-”

“It was Sicarius’s doing,” Amaranthe rushed to say. She didn’t want credit for any of this. It surely hadn’t been any brilliance on her part that had resulted in Starcrest’s arrival.

At the name, Sespian lowered his hands, the animation draining from his face. Amaranthe feared she wasn’t going to get any good news. “I’m glad you’re well,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe what happened to us.”

Amaranthe had no trouble believing. She would have said as much, but Sespian’s gaze had been drawn to the doorway again. He seemed torn between wanting to check in with her and wanting to check in with Starcrest.

“I’m sure they’ve been waiting for you,” Amaranthe said, making the decision for him.

Sespian squeezed her arm. “I’ll talk to you later. I want to know everything that’s happened.”

Amaranthe wanted to know, too, but she merely nodded and waved for him to go inside. Someone shut the door as soon as he did.

“Basilard.” Amaranthe gripped his arm even though he stood in front of her, and appeared ready to answer all of her questions. “How did you survive that… catastrophe? And Sicarius? Is he…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say dead.

Basilard lifted his shoulders. He was out hunting the soul construct. Nobody’s seen him since he left.

A wave of relief almost bore Amaranthe to her knees. She caught herself on the railing. He could still be dead, especially if he hadn’t made it back yet, but for now, he was simply missing. He’d been missing before. He was the sort to stick to a mission until he completed it. She wouldn’t give up on him.

“How did you, Sespian, and Maldynado escape?” Amaranthe asked.

We were in the tunnels. General Ridgecrest, too, though his family was inside when the Behemoth crashed. Basilard grimaced. He’s in shock. Only two hundred of his men made it out with us. Did you see the… site?

Did she see? She’d caused it. She couldn’t bring herself to voice the admission. “I saw.” Amaranthe clawed her stray hair back into a fresh bun and tried to straighten her thoughts as well. She ought to see what Starcrest and all these soldiers were planning to do. After all this… anything except a solution that was truly good for the empire would be unacceptable. She still wanted to curl up into a ball, luxuriating in self-pity, but she drew strength from Basilard’s presence. At least her men had made it out. It would have been beyond horror if they’d given her their hard work and cooperation-and trust-this last year, only to die because of her negligence. “What tunnels are under Fort Urgot?”

Heroncrest’s army brought tunnel-boring machines. While the surface troops distracted us, they were digging routes through the earth to come up in the housing section of the fort. About a half hour before the… crash, they broke through and soldiers ran out. It wasn’t far from Ridgecrest’s section of the wall, and he leaped down, personally leading the charge to kill them or drive them back. Maldynado, Sespian, and I followed him. We collapsed one of the tunnels, but were down in the other one, fighting our way to the borers. Sespian had an idea to destroy the machines so more passages couldn’t be made. We were in the middle somewhere, between the fort and the camp, when… it felt like the world ended. Basilard rubbed his hand over the three days of growth on his head. With all the scars, it had come in patchy. So much dirt and rubble poured down. We were buried and had to dig our way out. Down there, we couldn’t tell what had happened, except that all of the sudden there was utter silence. The opposition disappeared. The tunnel exit wasn’t guarded. We came out and saw… we saw it all.

“Yes.” What else was there to say?

Are Books and Akstyr all right? I haven’t seen them.

“We’re battered from our adventure, but we all escaped,” Amaranthe said. “Akstyr has grown useful of late. We wouldn’t have made it without him.”

“Oh?” came Maldynado’s voice from the stairs. “Maybe I should take him to the Pirate’s Plunder as a reward. Do you think Yara would-” He glanced back down the stairs, but she wasn’t in sight. Amaranthe was surprised she’d released him so soon.

“Yes, she’d mind if you went to a brothel,” Amaranthe said. “Where’d she go?”

“To find soap and to heat water. After her initial pleasure at seeing me wore off-” he smiled at this memory, “-she insisted on bathing me before engaging in more amorous activities. Oh, and I wasn’t going to ask if she minded if I went to a brothel. I was going to ask if you thought she’d like to come along.”

“She’d mind that even more. I’m sure Akstyr would be fine with a celebratory pie.” Though now that she knew of Curi’s questionable allegiance, Amaranthe wouldn’t be shopping for sweets there.

“Pie. Just when I think you know men fairly well, you say something like that.” He met Basilard’s eyes, giving him a women-are-surely-odd look.

Amaranthe tried to smile, but her soul felt so weary, so pitted and ravaged by guilt, she didn’t manage it.

I should also seek a bath, Basilard signed.

“I wasn’t going to comment on the matter,” Maldynado said, crinkling his nose, “but, yes. Yes, you should.”

“Before you go… does either of you know where Sicarius went to look for that soul construct?” Practically speaking, finding him shouldn’t be her priority, especially when he preferred to hunt alone anyway, but Amaranthe would worry about him until she knew he was safe.

Both men shook their heads.

Maldynado waved vaguely in the direction of the lake. “Sespian was the last one to talk to him. You should ask him.”

Basilard eyed the closed meeting door, then gave a parting wave and descended to the factory floor. Maybe he wasn’t certain whether having this legendary Turgonian admiral show up was a good idea or not. Maldynado was giving the door a wary look, too, though perhaps for other reasons.

A one-eyed, gray-haired man with a fierce glower stomped up the stairs. He pushed past Maldynado and entered the meeting room without a word. Numerous raised voices flowed out before the door shut again.

“That’s General Ridgecrest,” Maldynado said. “I reckon the meeting will really be getting started now.”

“I should join them,” Amaranthe said, “if they’ll let me.”

She reached for the doorknob, but peeked in the window first and paused, intimidated by all the uniformed men sitting around a conference table comprised of several desks and bookcases that had been pushed together. Lanterns blazed, lighting up the room, and general’s and colonel’s ranks glinted on all the uniforms. Sespian sat amongst them, his clothes as grimy, ripped, and stained as Maldynado’s, but he didn’t appear daunted by the company, most of it gray-haired and stern of face. By his choice or theirs, he’d taken the head of the table. Starcrest, also in civilian clothes, albeit much cleaner ones, leaned against the wall to the side, his arms folded across his chest, his eyelids half drooped, listening rather than talking. Or trying to talk. Judging by the gesticulating and the raised voices, three people were speaking at once. Maybe Starcrest had decided to absorb information for now. After all, he couldn’t be that current on events, if he’d been traveling for weeks. She could only guess at how much he’d kept up with Turgonian news in the years prior.

Amaranthe wondered where the professor was. She would have felt more comfortable walking in if there’d been another woman in the room-or if she didn’t have that pesky bounty on her head. Or if Sicarius were at her side, glaring over her shoulder at anyone who belittled her.

She sighed. She wouldn’t have relied on him so heavily in the past-when had she grown so gun shy?

“When everything started going wrong,” she muttered.

“What’s that?” Maldynado asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re not afraid to go in, are you? I’m sure Sespian won’t let anyone shoot you.”

“Comforting, thank you.”

Maldynado scratched an armpit, glanced back down the stairs, then met her eyes. “Want me to go in with you?”

“Do you want to go in with me?”

“Dear ancestors, no, those generals are intimidating.”

Amaranthe snorted. “Who’s afraid now?”

“Oh, that’d be me. I’m still disowned, you know. Those people are all… owned. They won’t appreciate my irreverent charm. Besides Yara might have my water ready by now. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure… you’re all right.” He raised his eyebrows.

All right? Not even close.

“I’m fine,” Amaranthe said. “You better not delay your bath. I can smell those armpits from here.”

Maldynado was kind enough not to point out that she hadn’t bathed recently either. He simply sniffed one of the offending pits, nodded in agreement, and wandered back down the stairs.

Amaranthe took a breath and slipped into the room. Hardly anyone noticed, as the officers were busy leaning on the tables, pointing sharply, and arguing with each other.

“The problem is his legitimacy,” a general she didn’t recognize was saying. “If we throw our men behind him and we’re not successful, if Marblecrest or Flintcrest or someone else comes out on top, we’ll be condemning every single one of our soldiers to the firing line.”

“He who controls the capital can force the issue,” said an earnest bald colonel with stubby sausage-like fingers that he waved about as he spoke. “It’s no longer about legitimacy, it’s about power.”

“I’m not disagreeing with that,” the general said. “I’m pointing out how meager our forces are in comparison with those that the other contenders command.”

“Especially now,” Ridgecrest growled. His single eye was bloodshot. He ought to be in a bunk somewhere, not staying up for this meeting. But then, with the nightmares he’d have, he’d probably rather work than sleep. Amaranthe understood that all too well. “But we do have an advantage that they don’t.” Ridgecrest lifted a hand toward Starcrest. “Even if he’s forgotten all he knew of military strategy in the last twenty years, his name alone will cast doubt into our enemies’ minds.”

“Thank you, Dray,” Starcrest said. “I see you’re as much the flatterer as you always were.”

“It’s just that I don’t know how useful a naval commander can be in a city siege. All those pesky buildings are wont to get in the way.”

This conversation caused the rest of the room to drop to silence, most of the men gaping at Ridgecrest for his audacity. Amaranthe recognized the teasing for what it was and guessed the general and the admiral had gone to school together or otherwise known each other for a long time. Starcrest appeared a little younger, but a missing eye could certainly age a man prematurely.

“All of those pesky buildings seem to be confusing Marblecrest,” the other general said-his tag simply read Wranz, making him one of the rare men to rise to such a rank without a warrior-caste surname. “Why is he bothering with the Imperial Barracks? The railways, river, and aqueducts will be the key to controlling the city, especially at this time of year with limited food stores within its boundaries.”

“Because his soft backside prefers imperial suites to camp cots,” Ridgecrest said. “Last I heard his priority was shopping for new uniforms for his troops, so they’ll look good while they’re parading around the city.”

“That’s a Marblecrest for you.”

“Flintcrest has the two major railways,” Colonel Fencrest said, “and Marblecrest does have the river mouth blockaded. I don’t think anyone has considered the aqueducts yet. It’s possible we could start with that. With the lake freezing over, the underground water supply will be all the more important. My lord?” the colonel asked, tilting his face toward Starcrest. “What are your thoughts on the situation? You haven’t voiced them yet.”

A dozen sets of eyes turned toward Starcrest. Amaranthe would have quailed beneath all those gazes, but Starcrest merely gazed back, hard to read. Something about his silence, and his position in the room, made her think he might consider the succession issue the secondary problem, at least for the moment. He’d had firsthand experience with that ancient technology and must have a good idea exactly what the Behemoth could do. Amaranthe may have denied Forge its two foremost experts on it, but as long as it was sitting out there in the open, anyone could come and poke around.

“I’ll want to see reports from your intelligence analysts before suggesting targets and troop placement strategies,” Starcrest said, “but laying siege on the city… nobody wins there. Not when it’s our own city. I’d guess the people are already restless and irritated at the martial law. Civilians will be starting to see uniformed men as enemies rather than allies. It wouldn’t take much to uncork the bubble cider bottle and let the contents overflow.”

Amaranthe nodded to herself. She, too, had thought the answer lay with the populace. The tens of thousands of soldiers out there seemed like a lot, but there were hundreds of thousands of civilians living in the city. If one could win their minds…

General Wranz shifted. “It’s true. There have already been incidents.”

“We don’t want to try to turn the population against the army though,” Ridgecrest said. “That would set a horrible precedent. Whoever takes the throne next would inherit a mess.” He glanced at Sespian. “Though we haven’t decided on an heir yet, I suppose.”

“You make the job sound so appealing, General,” Sespian murmured, then raised his voice, facing Starcrest. “It sounds like you think we need someone with the ability to charm people to his or her side.”

He didn’t look at Amaranthe, but her belly did a queasy flip, for she had an inkling of what was coming. The last thing she was qualified to do was to try and sweet talk an entire city, especially now.

“You think you’re that person?” Ridgecrest asked Sespian.

“No, but I have a skilled diplomat on my team.” He spread a hand toward Amaranthe.

Every head in the room swiveled toward her. She felt more like a deer caught on the railway with a locomotive barreling at her than some sort of smooth-talking diplomat.

“Diplomat?” Colonel Fencrest asked. “We tied her up on the train. She’s an outlaw, Si-Sespian.”

Amaranthe caught the slip. Out of habit, these men were still apt to think of Sespian as their leader. She hoped he could take advantage of that.

“Did she stay tied up?” Sespian asked.

“Yes,” Fencrest said at the same time as Starcrest said, “No.”

The colonel frowned at him.

“By the time I went back to question her, she’d freed herself.”

Question her? That wasn’t exactly what he’d been doing. Why did she have a feeling Ridgecrest, Fencrest, and the others weren’t on the list of people who knew about Starcrest’s mission to those tunnels? Or the tunnels’ existence at all, for that matter.

“What are you- She’d only been back there five minutes, my lord,” Fencrest said. “And they were all tied.”

“Indeed. When I entered, the guards were smashed face-first into the floor, and her team… was not.”

Sespian smiled at Amaranthe. “Had a chat with those guards, did you?”

Not sure what to say-after all, it’d been Akstyr’s gift that had allowed them to get the best of those men-she only offered a weak return smile. Or a bleak return smile, perhaps. She didn’t want this mission. She wanted… she didn’t even know what. To find Sicarius and fade into the background. Let the experts finish this. “Given my outlaw status, Sire, I don’t think I’d be the best person to give speeches.” Oh, and the fact that she’d killed thousands of people the night before. Emperor’s teeth, she wanted to throw up again.

“We have some work to do before we’re ready for that regardless.” Starcrest headed for the door. No, he was heading for her. “May I speak with you for a moment, Corporal Lokdon?”

Had she given him her rank? Her history as an enforcer? No, someone had filled him in.

“Yes, sir. I mean, my lord. Admiral.” Erg, why was she fumbling her words in front of him? She was no military history fanatic with a zealous love for naval strategists. Maybe it was the fact that he was the one man Sicarius openly respected.

Before her tongue could trip her up again, she ducked her head, and led the way onto the catwalk. She’d planned to take him to her office, but he walked the other way, to the one other private room up there. The last time she’d been in it, Akstyr and Books had been using it as a study.

Only one small desk remained, the others having been purloined for the conference table. Starcrest’s wife sat at it, the contents of an upturned valise sprawled across the top: journals, pens, pencils, crinkled pages of hastily scrawled notes, and a fist-sized black sphere. Chin in hand, she was frowning down at a small notebook held open in the other hand. She obviously hadn’t come to the empire with the intent to take up winter sports and get massages from the spas on Mokath Ridge.

Amaranthe’s fingers twitched at the unorganized mess, wanting to bring order to the desk. She did allow herself to pick up a few slips of papers that had fallen to the floor. Indecipherable runes had been copied onto the pages. She recognized the style from the Behemoth.

Starcrest shut the door and touched Amaranthe’s shoulder. “If we stand here and talk, she’ll notice us in a few minutes.”

Amaranthe glanced at him, certain he was joking. One corner of his mouth twitched upward in a wry half smile, but Professor Komitopis hadn’t looked up yet. Maybe he wasn’t joking.

“What shall we talk about?” she asked.

“I understand you’ve been in that ship.”

Ship, was that how he thought of it? None of the words in her vocabulary seemed sufficient, though she supposed she couldn’t think of it as simply an aircraft now, since it could go beneath lakes too. Or maybe it wasn’t going anywhere else. Ever. It’d end up being a tourist attraction, like the pyramid in the middle of the city.

Starcrest was waiting for an answer, she reminded herself.

“Yes. Twice now, though the first time was as a prisoner rather than as a…” She thought about saying guest, but that wasn’t apt. Besides, she didn’t want anyone thinking she was aligned with Forge. “Spy.”

“Hm. And you had something to do with it being placed in its current locale?”

In other words, had she crashed it? What a tactful way to put it. Maybe he should be the diplomat giving speeches. “It was on the bottom of the lake. In hindsight, that was a better spot for it. I had thought to have it flown to the South Pole where we could bury it in a glacier or at the bottom of some distant ocean trench. I wanted to get it out of Forge’s hands. I’ve seen some of what that technology can do. No organization should control it. Forge is already close enough to owning the world as it is. If nobody stops them… Well, I’ve been trying to stop them. My team and I have, that is. For the last year.” She was, she noted, doing a good job of not answering the question he’d asked. “As for its current locale, Retta, one of the Forge scholars of that technology, was trying to fly it for us. I talked her into helping us.”

Starcrest’s eyebrows rose. She needed to be careful how she phrased things or they would think she had a magic tongue. She’d end up in front of a podium, making a fool of herself as she stammered through an inept speech. That hadn’t been one of her best classes in school.

“But there was opposition,” Amaranthe said, “and the other woman on board who knew how to operate the Behemoth-that’s my name for the thing, not theirs-tinkered with those black cubes and-er, are you familiar with them?”

“Yes,” Starcrest said.

“She tinkered with them so they started attacking us, attacking everything.”

“Isn’t that their normal function?”

“I thought so, but Retta had apparently changed the ones on the craft to recognize humans as… something not to be incinerated.”

“Did they?” Starcrest glanced at Komitopis, who was still puzzling over her notes. He walked around the table and nudged her.

The book twitched, and she blinked in surprise when she saw him and Amaranthe. “Hello. Meeting over?”

“No, but we’re discussing that ship.”

“Oh, yes. Good.” Komitopis closed her journal and gazed attentively at them.

Amaranthe couldn’t believe she truly hadn’t noticed them walk in and start talking.

Starcrest nodded to her. “Go on, please.”

“So the cubes had been modified to be less deadly, but they’ve been unmodified now. I don’t know if it’s possible that some of them have left the craft and escaped into the city, but… I’ve seen them outside of the Behemoth before.”

“I’ll instruct the soldiers on how to make a concoction that destroys them.”

“There is such a thing?” Amaranthe asked.

“Through trial and error, I found something that works. A variation on royal water.”

Huh. Amaranthe hadn’t thought anything in the known world could put a dent in any of those relics. This new revelation comforted her an iota. “Anyway, the cubes started shooting holes into their own ship and did some damage to the engines or whatever’s behind the walls in the control room. As I said, Retta was trying to raise us up from the lake and take us to the South Pole, but smoke started coming out of the walls, and Ms. Worgavic’s shaman didn’t help either. She… burned Retta alive. There was no chance of controlling the Behemoth at that point, and we went down. Books, Akstyr, and I escaped on a lifeboat-that’s what Retta called them, though they fly instead of floating-and I didn’t realize where the craft had crashed until we were coming back on the train, and…” She swallowed. No need to explain. They’d seen too.

Starcrest nodded to his wife. “Do you know a Retta?”

“Retta Curlev?” Komitopis asked.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said.

“She was one of the imperial students in the archaeology program at the Polytechnic a few years ago. I wasn’t on the island teaching at the time, but I think they put her into the secret program to study the technology.” Komitopis touched the sphere on the table.

“Random people can simply sign up to study it?” Amaranthe asked.

“No. It’s not spoken of with students and certainly not listed in the course catalogue, though information about the technology isn’t as tightly ratcheted down in Kyatt as it was here. The program is entered by invitation only.”

“So people with enough money could arrange an invitation?” Amaranthe didn’t mean for her tone to sound accusing, but it came out that way. Why had the Kyattese allowed anyone to study that technology? It should have been buried somewhere for another fifty thousand years. Except, she thought with an inward sigh, secrets had a way of becoming unburied whenever more than one person held them. There must have been dozens of people on that mission, and Forge might have found the Behemoth one way or another regardless.

“That shouldn’t be a criteria,” Komitopis said, “but I couldn’t promise that it never has been. As soon as Rias and I returned to my homeland, our gear was searched and the artifacts I’d discovered taken. Though the Polytechnic has kept me as an adviser, and I’ve argued for a tight-lipped policy, I am not now, nor have I ever been, in charge of the study of that race and its relics.”

“I had the tunnel entrances blown up before I left the Northern Frontier,” Starcrest said, “and we never saw anything like that ship, but we’ve since learned there are other deposits of the technology in the world.” He shared a look with his wife. Amaranthe remembered Retta mentioning an underwater laboratory they’d discovered. “Unfortunately, we’ve heard of a handful of the artifacts appearing on the black market. The only boon is that few of the people who acquire them know how to work them.”

“Except Forge,” Amaranthe said, “though now that…” She took a breath. Confession time again. “Retta and Mia are both dead. I believe they were the only Forge votaries who knew how to control the Behemoth fully. Fully enough to operate it anyway.”

“They must have been quite bright,” Komitopis said, “to learn even that much in a few short years. One could spend a dozen lifetimes studying that ancient race, its languages and technology, and not truly understand it.” She waved to the sphere on the desk. “After twenty years, I haven’t grasped everything in this little dictionary.”

“More of an encyclopedia than a dictionary,” Starcrest said at her self-deprecation. “And even that is a poor term to describe the depths of knowledge inside of it.”

Komitopis wiggled her fingers in acknowledgment.

Starcrest faced Amaranthe again. “What you’re saying is that your Behemoth is stuck exactly where it is until someone figures out how to fly it elsewhere?”

Her Behemoth. Amaranthe cringed at the notion of taking possession of it. “I believe so, yes.”

“Anyone could enter it as long as it’s right there,” Komitopis said, “and they could be inside, gathering artifacts to sell or hold as keepsakes. Knowing what I know of that race, many of those devices will have the potential to be deadly. Few people know how to work them today, but someday, someone will publish books on the language, and…” She spread her hands helplessly.

“It must be moved,” Starcrest said. “The South Pole might work. Or better, put it at the bottom of the Drellac Trench. It’ll be a few generations, at least, before we develop our own technology to the point of making a subaquatic descent of over six miles in depth. By then, we can hope humans have forgotten about the ship.” A twist to his lips suggested he didn’t have much faith in that hope.

“Perhaps it’ll be destroyed by dropping it in there,” Komitopis said.

“Can anything destroy it?” Amaranthe asked. “We know it can survive on the bottom of the lake, and… if it can fly into outer space…”

“The lake is a few hundred feet deep, true,” Starcrest said, “but six miles deep is a far greater order of pressure. At the bottom of the Drellac Trench, the water column above an object would exert a pressure of 15,750 pounds per square inch, over a thousand times the standard atmospheric pressure imposed at sea level.” He didn’t pause as he spoke, and Amaranthe wondered if he was capable of making such calculations between one breath and the next or if he had the facts memorized. “As for outer space,” Starcrest went on, waving skyward, “it’s a vacuum, we believe, with pressure close to nonexistent. Quite a different environment than the depths of the ocean. It would pose its own challenges, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we breach outer space before we roam about in the deepest seas. Of course, entering, or in our case reentering, the atmosphere would be problematic with the friction heat caused by the extreme speeds a craft would…” Starcraft glanced around at his audience, catching a knowing smile on his wife’s lips. “Ah, I wandered off on a tangent, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but an interesting one,” Komitopis said. “I dare say you’d like to put that craft somewhere that you can study it.”

“That is tempting, but I’d wish to publish anything I learned, and everyone’s concerns are deathly real. The world isn’t ready for this kind of power. It may never be, so long as humans walk upon its continents. Though I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like to be proved wrong about that.” He waved away his musings. “Yes, the trench, that may be the best bet. Corporal Lokdon, you have some men available here, don’t you? Men who are capable fighters and loyal to you?”

“Ah?” Though they’d been including her in the conversation, Amaranthe had felt like an outsider and hadn’t been imagining herself as being a part of the Behemoth-trench mission. “I mean, yes, I do.”

“I’d appreciate it if you and a couple of your better fighters would go along to the ship and see what can be done. I imagine Tikaya will be able to find some map inside to show her around, but a guide could prove helpful.”

A guide? Her? Amaranthe had accidentally wandered into her own torture chamber the last time she’d been looking for something in there.

“It may be dangerous over there-if they haven’t already, people will soon stop gawking and will see that monstrosity as a prize to be claimed,” Starcrest said, giving his wife a solemn nod.

She crossed her arms over her chest and arched her eyebrows. “Usually when you send me off into danger, you come along.”

“Yes, but there’s a room full of officers next door who have convinced themselves I’m the answer to all their woes. I’m not sure yet if they actually want my help, or simply want to toss my name at their enemies, but they might wet themselves if I were to wander off right now.” Starcrest gave her a warm smile. “Regardless, I’m positive that you’re more capable of independent competence.”

Komitopis shook her head, her long blonde braid swaying, and told Amaranthe, “I should have known I was in trouble back on Kyatt, when he asked if I’d packed my bow.”

To Amaranthe’s eye, the professor appeared more motherly and academic than athletic, so the admission that she had a bow was surprising. How well did she use it?

“Yes,” Amaranthe said, for Komitopis seemed to be expecting an answer. “That must have been a warning. I’m told men tell you to pack scented soaps and skimpy undergarments if they have romantic interludes in mind.” Though, she admitted, Sicarius would doubtlessly prove an exception there. No doubt, he’d suggest that romantic interludes should be punctuated with obstacle courses and knife-throwing practices. Though perhaps she should launder the “skimpy undergarment” Maldynado had foisted on her for the Suan costume. If nothing else, it would amuse Sicarius, and that was something that happened rarely.

You have to find him before you can amuse him, she thought. This mission would delay that. True, she didn’t know for certain that he was in trouble, or where to start looking for him, but if he was in trouble… she hated to abandon him.

“I fear the romantic interludes will have to wait a little longer,” Starcrest said.

“Yes, we finally get the children old enough to send off on their own-or to visit their Turgonian grandmother-and now you have five hundred soldiers toddling along after you.”

“We’re up to seven hundred now,” Starcrest said brightly.

“My bow,” Komitopis said. “Very well.”

“If you can thwart man-eating plants from the Lariat Islands and convince cannibalistic aborigines to run off down the beach, their tails tucked between their legs, I’m certain a few Turgonians won’t be any trouble.”

The statement-and the amused smiles of remembrance the pair shared-made Amaranthe quite certain that any fireside stories they might share would be riveting.

“I’ll ask Colonel Fencrest to send a couple of men with instructions that they follow your orders,” Starcrest went on, “and you’ll have Corporal Lokdon and whomever she’s willing to bring as well.”

Amaranthe was thinking about pointing out that she hadn’t agreed to go anywhere near the Behemoth again, but when Starcrest added, “Her team strikes me as eclectic and capable,” all thoughts of defying him evaporated.

“My team? You mean Books and Akstyr? Or have you met others?” And who that had impressed him so? Surely not Maldynado.

“A couple,” Starcrest said. “But mostly I talked to Sespian before he sat down at the table.” He waved at the wall-raised voices were audible through it. “As your comrade pointed out, he’s too young for me to have met before I left the empire, so I was curious to speak with him. He recounted his experiences over the last year, and you figured prominently in them.”

“Oh.” Amaranthe would have been curious to listen in on that conversation.

“I understand, among other things, that Sicarius works for you and not the other way around.”

Komitopis’s mouth dropped a centimeter or two at that statement.

Amaranthe cleared her throat. “Well, I come up with schemes, and he mostly goes along with them, because… it’s complicated, but he had his reasons.”

“Hm.” Another look passed between Starcrest and his wife.

Erg, Amaranthe had a feeling he was assigning her too much credit based on her command, if one could call it that-she wouldn’t-of Sicarius. They couldn’t know about all the tightrope walking she’d done in the last year to keep him going along with her schemes and how much of it had to do with Sespian.

“I don’t know where he is right now,” she felt compelled to add. “It’s been days since I’ve seen him. I can’t promise him as a guard for the professor.”

“I’m sure you and whatever men you can spare will be sufficient,” Starcrest said. “Tikaya can handle herself in a fight if need be, though I’d prefer she be allowed to study that ship without worrying about watching her back. She doesn’t, ah…”

“Doesn’t do both at once effectively,” Komitopis supplied dryly. “At all.”

Starcrest looked relieved that she’d said it so he wouldn’t have to. Remembering the way the professor had not noticed her husband’s entrance and subsequent conversation, Amaranthe could have guessed it on her own.

“With your team helping and protecting her, I’m certain you can take care of the ship,” Starcrest said, giving Amaranthe a single firm nod, then met his wife’s eyes. “And you should stop by the docks, too, and see if our other anticipated arrival has come in.”

Amaranthe barely heard the added comment. She was dwelling on his request and the fact that she’d accepted it so easily. Yes, she knew in her mind that getting rid of the Behemoth had to be the priority, but her heart… she wanted to go after Sicarius. He wouldn’t approve of her choosing him over Starcrest’s mission, though, and she knew it. And, independent of Sicarius’s theoretical wishes, she found herself wanting to prove that Starcrest was right, that she could take care of the professor and the ship. She wanted to earn the respect he’d thus far granted her, based wholly on what he remembered of Sicarius. And on whatever Sespian had said as well. How odd that Starcrest’s opinion should matter to her. She hadn’t read his books as a child. He had no true power here and certainly couldn’t offer her the exoneration she desired-earning his respect might be nice, but she shouldn’t fling herself at his feet in an effort to win favor. She ought to bargain for something; this was an opportunity.

Amaranthe lifted her chin. “I will help your wife, my lord, because what you want in this matter is what I’ve also been fighting to achieve, but… I would ask a favor in return.”

“Oh?” Starcrest did that unreadable expression well. Not so well as Sicarius, perhaps, but she wagered quite a few of his men had struggled to guess his thoughts in his command days. Or maybe they’d attributed great thoughts to him when he’d merely been contemplating lunch.

Professor Komitopis, on the other hand, had an open expressive face, and her lips quirked up at Amaranthe’s proclamation.

“I want you to help Sespian,” Amaranthe said.

Starcrest’s face remained guarded. “To reclaim the throne? I have not had time to fully assess the situation here. Putting aside his now questionable right to rule, I…” His brown eyes flickered toward his wife. “We aren’t certain a nineteen-year-old ruler would be best for Turgonia. When it was not my decision to make, and I was twenty years removed from the politics of the empire, I was content to let events unfold as they would, but if I am to have a hand in shaping the future, I should want to thoroughly consider where I place my support.”

The honesty was both appealing and alarming. Amaranthe appreciated that he didn’t have any interest in lying to her, but the notion that he might decide one of the lords general vying for the throne was a better candidate made her want to shout with frustration. Or maybe cry. Extemporizing, she said, “As it happens, I wasn’t asking you for that promise, my lord. That would be… if nothing else, a little out of scale in proportion to what you’re asking from me. But Sespian…” She glanced toward the door to make sure it was still closed, and nobody was standing at the window, staring in-Sespian might not appreciate her speaking so openly about him to a man who was, books and legends aside, a stranger. “It’s my impression-and he’s as much as confirmed it-that Raumesys was an indifferent and sometimes cruel father to Sespian. And Sicarius… who and what he is makes Sespian keep him at arm’s distance. Besides, it’s only been a couple of weeks since Sespian learned about that truth. What I’m saying is he has had people conspiring against him since he was born and very few friends or allies. I believe he’s of two minds as to what he should be doing, going forward, and I think he’d very much appreciate some friendly advice from someone who is respected in the empire and experienced in the ways of the world. You also seem sage and serene in the face of all that’s happening. Sespian could use some serenity in his life.”

Amaranthe chomped down on her lip to keep from going on. She hadn’t meant to act the flatterer. The man didn’t fluster her quite as much as Sicarius, but she did feel off balance in his presence.

“Sage,” Starcrest said. “Hm. Sespian told me he had you in mind for a diplomatic position, should he find his way back to the throne. I thought it was some sort of idealistic infatuation, but perhaps not.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Komitopis said, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners, “she just called you old in the most lovely manner.”

Amaranthe almost blurted a protest-she hadn’t been thinking of his age at all, only of his reputation, and the fact that Sicarius, of all people, thought so highly of his achievements-but she caught herself in time, recognizing the teasing for what it was.

“Indeed,” Starcrest said, his own eyes crinkling a touch. “Sage. I prefer that to the term Fencrest used. What was it? Ah, yes, venerable. Ancestors, help me.”

Sensing that she’d won what she wished-or at least what she’d amended her wish to be-Amaranthe remained silent.

“Very well.” Starcrest offered a small bow. “I shall speak with the young man at greater length, though I confess I would have been pleased to do so in any event. You needn’t have wheedled for it.” The now-familiar half smile formed again, taking the sting out of the word wheedled.

“Now, now,” the professor said, “I thought that was quite wise, no, sage of her. You would have talked to the boy, yes, but most likely of engineering. Or submarines. Or… I saw that gleam in your eye earlier. You’re even now contemplating the chain of technological advances that would be required to send a rocket into outer space, aren’t you?”

“Not… right now,” Starcrest said.

“But your mind wandered at some point while she was talking, didn’t it?”

“Really, dear, I don’t think you should betray me thusly to people we’ve just met.”

Watching their easy banter, Amaranthe again felt a wistful pang. I want this with Sicarius, she sighed to herself. The ease at least. Asking him to trade jibes back and forth might be a bit much, though perhaps in twenty years…

You’d better find him first, she thought grimly.