Tikaya touched his arm. “In most circumstances, I wouldn’t interrupt your enthused rambles, love, but these folks are waiting for an explanation as to why you, a presumably loyal imperial man despite your years in exile, are blowing up important parts of the city’s infrastructure. I, too, am curious.”
Rias cleared his throat, the faintest tinge of red brightening his cheeks. “Yes, forgive me.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “We do not have the forces to combat anyone in a straightforward confrontation, so we must use guerrilla methods. Every one of our opponents must protect the city, otherwise they’ll win a poor prize should they come out on top. Each knowing that the other wants an intact capital to take over, I’m guessing they will suspect some outside invasion force is responsible for the destruction.”
Amaranthe nodded. Hadn’t she herself thought along those lines?
“Unless they’re self-absorbed idiots, they’ll recognize the need to stop these attacks. They’ll either band together, to deal with this unknown enemy, or they’ll attempt to solve the problems on their own. They cannot, however, afford to ignore the threat. The citizens… Thus far, most of the citizens have been hiding indoors, letting the various armies fight amongst themselves, but they’ll no longer be willing to be bystanders once the food and water threat is revealed. Thus our enemies will have problems to deal with on two fronts. Our guerrilla attacks, at which we are not lingering around to address opposition, will force them to place troops at strategic points. Also, the citizens will demand a resolution sooner rather than later, giving our opponents people at their backs with whom to deal.”
Sespian and Books were nodding, so they must have already heard all of this and come to accept the plan. Tikaya’s frown was more dubious, but she didn’t protest aloud. She might be the kind to wait until she was in private with her husband to accuse him of megalomaniacal lunacy.
No, not megalomaniacal, Amaranthe admitted. Just… shifty. If she was honest with herself, it sounded like a plan she would come up with. All right, it was a bit grander in scale than most of her plans, but still.
“What will we be doing while all this is going on?” she asked. “Or are all of our—your—troops busy with the guerrilla attacks?”
“Our troops,” Starcrest said, extending a hand toward Sespian and Ridgecrest. “Many of them are busy planning further mayhem, albeit doing as little genuine damage as possible, to keep our opponents running around with blankets, trying to swat out the fires. But assassins have been striking at the Company of Lords as well as Forge operatives. I’ve dispatched a team to check on—”
A knocked sounded at the door.
“Come,” Starcrest called.
Four natty soldiers in pressed uniforms marched into the room, their rifles gripped in front of them in perfect parade configuration. A bald man with heavy jowls, walked between them, a rumpled dressing gown sweeping about his ankles. His fur-lined boots were the only piece of clothing appropriate to the cold night. Alarming, since he couldn’t have been less than eighty years old.
Amaranthe didn’t recognize him, but from the way Sespian stirred in his chair, she thought she should.
“Books?” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.
“Lord Delvar Markcrest,” Books replied, “one of the senior members in the Company of Lords.”
“Lord Markcrest,” Starcrest said. “I’m glad you could make it to—”
“Make it? As if I had a choice. I’ll not vote for you, I don’t care which one you are.”
“I’m not… any of them, my lord,” Starcrest said. “I learned that you and your brethren were being targeted—”
“Targeted? Seven of my colleagues are already dead,” Markcrest growled. “That I know about.”
“That is why we’re offering refuge for those who remain. I wish you to take the first train north. I’ve sent word to my brother in the countryside, and he’ll board you at Ravenwood Estate until the smoke clears down here.” Starcrest nodded toward the soldiers. “Continue your mission, please.”
“Yes, my lord.” They thumped their fists to their chests and marched out.
“Ravenwood Estate?” Markcrest’s forehead wrinkled, as if he were trying to dredge something from his memory. He peered more closely at Starcrest. “You aren’t… are you… General Kreg Starcrest’s boy?”
Starcrest blinked. It must have been a long time since someone referred to him as his father’s son. “Yes, sir.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, and nobody spoke. It was doubtlessly only in Amaranthe’s mind that Starcrest stood taller, trying to look worthy in the older man’s eyes.
“I’ve only recently returned from… exile,” Starcrest said. “We’re attempting to find a resolution to this mess that’s been created. We want to work with the Company of Lords, not against it.”
“I should hope so,” Markcrest snapped, though much of his anger had faded.
“Joth,” Starcrest asked Ridgecrest, “can you take him down to the cafeteria? See to his needs? Lord Markcrest, I’ll come down and talk to you shortly.”
Ridgecrest bowed his head and ushered their guest out.
As soon as the door shut, Amaranthe blurted, “You’re kidnapping people.” Everyone stared at her. “My lord,” she added.
“You don’t approve?” Starcrest tilted his head, his lips twitching in… was that bemusement? “This morning, at her bequest, I met the prisoner you instructed to be kidnapped.”
“Er, yes,” Amaranthe said. “I mean, no. I don’t disapprove, given the desperate nature of these times, and, ah…” Erg, why was everyone still staring at her? “It’s just that you’re Fleet Admiral Starcrest. I wasn’t expecting you to be—” she cut off before uttering “just like me” or, worse, “as crazy as I am.” After all, she hadn’t achieved quite what he had with her unorthodox problem-solving style, and he wasn’t some scummy outlaw in the eyes of most of the population. Some unfairness in that, she decided. He was exiled—wasn’t that every bit as bad as being an outlaw?—yet nobody cared.
Tikaya leaned against her husband’s arm. “She expected you to play fair, love.”
“Oh,” Starcrest said, drawing out the syllable. “Well, I wouldn’t have lived past thirty if I made a habit of doing that. How would one win a battle against superior man- and firepower if one stuck to common and acceptable wartime practices?”
“Uh.” Amaranthe winced at her lack of eloquence. “I understand. But I’d thought, you being a Turgonian hero…” She stopped herself before she devolved into whining. She would not, for the sake of herself and her ancestors, stand there and sulk about how everyone considered him a hero for apparently using the same tactics that made her an outlaw. “Your tactics aren’t what I expected, my lord, but I’m sure they’ll get results. In fact, you seem to have your thumb on the pulse of… everything.” Had they truly only been gone for twenty-four hours? He’d been busy. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a few of my men and go…” She met Books’s and Sespian’s eyes. “Flintcrest has Sicarius. No, Flintcrest’s Nurian wizard has Sicarius. With some kind of magical control device.” She tapped her temple. “He’s being forced to work for him. There are… a bunch of pikes in Flintcrest’s camp with severed heads mounted on them.”
Books swore under his breath. Sespian looked out the window. Starcrest… had grown hard to read again.
“Guess that explains who’s assassinating the Company of Lords,” Sespian murmured.
“I wouldn’t be sure,” Amaranthe said. “Those heads suggest Flintcrest is dismantling Forge right now. Either way, we—I—have to get Sicarius back. There must be a way to kill that wizard or find some other way to free him.” With so many people in the room, Amaranthe didn’t go into how much she owed Sicarius or how she wouldn’t be able to sleep as long as she knew he was out there, being forced to carry out some sadistic bastard’s whims again. Curse everything, she’d tried so hard to get him away from that, to create a less vi
olent world for him to live in, one in which… She swallowed and made the simple argument that would ensure their help. “I’m sure none of us wants to see him in our enemies’ hands. We all know what he can do.”
Starcrest and Tikaya exchanged looks.
Yes, they were a part of that “all.”
“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, turning, but he had slipped out at some point. To find Yara? “Never mind, I’ll get Akstyr. I’ll need his advice. And I welcome any other advice.”
“Do you intend to walk into Flintcrest’s camp?” Starcrest observed her through hooded eyes, no doubt thinking this a bad plan.
“Of course not. Although…” If she allowed herself to be captured, or even pretended to be switching sides, might she not find herself in a meeting with Flintcrest and his Nurian advisers? If she could see Sicarius, talk to him for a few minutes… What, girl? If this was anything like their time together on Darkcrest Isle—she shuddered at the memory—she’d be powerless to get through to him. “No.”
“Good,” Starcrest said. “In case you might change your mind, I’ll point out that my presence in the city isn’t widely known yet—with luck, none of those vying for the throne have learned about it—and we have an advantage as long as that remains so. Though I don’t know Flintcrest, Marblecrest, or Heroncrest well, it’s possible they’ve read my work.”
Possible? Amaranthe snorted. Try likely.
“They may know enough of me to suspect that I’m behind the explosions. It’ll be better for our plans if they believe they have to defend against an outside threat to the empire.”
“Yes, I understand,” Amaranthe said. “I have to figure out a way to get to Sicarius, to his keeper though. I’ll ask Akstyr if there’s any way we can sever the link, but I’m guessing the wizard is the only one who can free Sicarius. Either voluntarily or not.” She let the statement hang in the air, figuring they’d know what she meant.
“A likely assessment,” Tikaya said. “Only those with a great deal of training can resist mental intrusions from strong telepaths or devices crafted by telepath Makers.”
Amaranthe winced, remembering how easily Retta had gotten through her own defenses with that tool. Tikaya was grimacing as well. Sharing a memory of a similar experience?
“Does anyone have ideas on how I can reach the wizard without having to go through Sicarius?” Amaranthe asked. “I’m assuming he’s being used as bodyguard as well as assassin. Not unlike a soul construct.” Maybe that was what had happened. Sicarius had gotten rid of the wizard’s soul construct, then been turned into the replacement.
“Let me think about it and look over the data you brought.” Starcrest lifted the journal; he hadn’t had time to more than glance at the first page yet. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go on a mission to save him without letting me know first.”
“I won’t, my lord.” She would gather her people to discuss this. She thought about asking Starcrest if he truly meant to think about it or if he was too busy juggling all those others balls. It would seem rude though, or demanding. She ought to be able to come up with something anyway. Sicarius was her prob— no, just hers. “Sespian, Books, do you want to help, or…?”
Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. They were helping Starcrest, and they’d probably find that nobler work than worrying about Sicarius.
“I’ll help,” Sespian said, surprising her. He pushed away from the chair to join her at the door.
Books’s lips flattened, but he pushed away from the table too.
“You can stay,” Amaranthe told him. “I’ll let you know if we need your help.”
He continued to stand. “You may need my input during the planning stages, to keep from coming up with something… imprudent.”
Amaranthe managed a smile. “When have you ever kept me from imprudence before?”
“I keep hoping there’ll be a first time.”
Hand on the door, Amaranthe meant to walk out, but a knock on the other side surprised her. She stepped away to let in a nervous private with an arrow clenched in his hands. A piece of paper was tied around the shaft.
“Sir, ma’am,” the private murmured, not looking up as he ducked his head toward people. “Uhm, my lord, Starcrest? I’m sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t find my LT, and I thought this might be important.”
“What is it, Private?” Starcrest held out his hand.
“I don’t know, my lord, but it has your name on it.”
“An arrow with your name on it?” Tikaya asked. “That’s distressing.”
Starcrest grunted and accepted the shaft. The private hadn’t dared unravel the note, but STARCREST was indeed written across the visible side, the name in block letters. Starcrest held it up to his wife, his brows lifting slightly. Tikaya considered it through slitted eyes, then shook her head.
“Nothing Made about it, no taint.”
Amaranthe hadn’t realized Tikaya had personal experience with the Science, but supposed it wasn’t uncommon on the Kyatt Islands, hence why Akstyr wanted to move there.
“Where’d you get this, Private?” Starcrest asked as he unfastened the note.
“The side of the building, my lord. Someone fired it toward us from several rooftops away. We, my corporal, I mean, sent men off to try and catch the archer, but I don’t think they did. I figured I’d rush this inside right away in case it’s important.”
“You did well. Thank you, Private.”
The soldier took this as a dismissal and scurried out the door.
Starcrest unrolled the note and handed it to his wife. “It’s encrypted.”
Amaranthe sucked in a breath. “Like the letter from Sicarius?”
“Maybe,” Starcrest said. “There’s a line of Nurian at the bottom though.”
“What’s it say?” Though they hadn’t invited her to, Amaranthe inched around to their side of the table. She remembered the block letters used to address the first letter to Starcrest, and these looked the same. But why would Sicarius have added Nurian? Unless the wizard had. What if he’d caught Sicarius trying to pen a note? Or—a queasy surge flooded her stomach—what if they’d been working together to write it? It could be a trap. “Would your awareness of the Science allow you to sense if it’d been poisoned?” she found herself asking.
Tikaya gave her a sharp look. “No.”
Starcrest grew grimmer, but all he said was, “We’ve already touched it. What’s it say?”
“It’s the same code as was used on the letter he wrote to you,” Tikaya said.
No longer inching, Amaranthe came to stand at her shoulder. The message was gibberish to her eye. She bounced on her toes, waiting for a translation. Why was Sicarius sending letters to Starcrest instead of her?
“He explains that a Nurian practitioner named Kor Nas has captured him,” Tikaya said.
Starcrest’s gaze shifted upward thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the name. He’s one of their more powerful battle mages and Makers.”
“A telepath?” Tikaya waved the letter.
“Meaning does he know that was written?” Starcrest asked. “Probably. We’d better hurry.”
“He says he was injured when trapping the soul construct and searching for Corporal Lokdon after the Behemoth crashed. He saw where the ship landed and knows who and how many died.”
Amaranthe cringed. He’d think Sespian was dead. And Maldynado and Basilard as well. She had.
“And he saw Lokdon’s body,” Tikaya said.
“Pardon?” Amaranthe asked.
Tikaya’s finger ran across the line of gibberish, rechecking the translation. “That’s what it says. Kor Nas embedded some device in his head to control him, and he’s been working as the man’s assassin. He can’t disobey. Kor Nas has learned—” Tikaya swallowed and gripped her husband’s arm. “He’s learned you’re in the city. He doesn’t know where yet, but he intends to send Sicarius to kill you, a tactical move for Flintcrest’s army, but more importantly it’d be an honor for this Kor Nas to dump
your head at his Great Chief’s feet.”
Starcrest ran a hand over his hair. “It seems the years and the gray haven’t diminished my head’s value.”
“Sicarius writes to expect him soon.” Tikaya jerked her hand downward, the paper crinkling in her fingers. “I knew you couldn’t trust—Akahe spit on that blond monster.”
“It’s not his fault,” Amaranthe said. “He’s warning you, so you can do something. Sir, my lord,” she said, fumbling the honorifics but not caring, “you have to know he idolized you growing up. His life was hard and he had no freedoms, but I know he read your work and wished…”
Starcrest lifted a hand. “I understand. And he’s done me a service in warning me, though he may have given away my position as well. If Kor Nas has been in his thoughts, or in the thoughts of the one who arranged to have this delivered, he’ll know about this factory. He could come tonight. I wonder who it was that helped him deliver this, and why. Maybe it’s a trap. Or even a trap within a trap.”
“What’s the line in Nurian say?” Amaranthe asked.
“I have noticed that Kor Nas grows intensely inwardly focused when his pet makes his kills. He enjoys the show.”
His pet? “Sicarius knows Nurian, but that’s nothing he would have written,” Amaranthe said.
“No, it must have been an addition from the messenger. It’d be helpful to be able to trust it, but—”
“Wait.” Tikaya’s grip tightened on his arm. “We saw Prince Zirabo. He’s there in Flintcrest’s camp.”
“Ah? That explains much.”
“Not to me,” Amaranthe said.
“That’s one of the Nurian Great Chief’s younger children, isn’t it?” Books asked from the doorway.
“Yes, it is.” Sespian scratched his head.
Good, Amaranthe wasn’t the only one perplexed by receiving assistance from the son of the enemy ruler.