She found bandages, suturing thread, and scissors, and returned to the bleachers. A new thought came to her, and she hesitated.
“Are you related?”
There was not an obvious resemblance, but they did have the same dark eyes. Sicarius could even draw, if dispassionately compared to the emperor.
“Brothers?” she went on. “One trained to rule the empire, one to defend it?”
Sicarius snorted.
“No,” Amaranthe said. “If that were true, you would have been the heir. You’re at least ten years older.” She studied his face. It was unlined and he had the speed and strength of youth, but he was too experienced at too many things to be mistaken for a young man. “Maybe fifteen or more,” she said slowly, her mind edging toward an idea that was nothing short of blasphemous. She tried to squash it and look for other—less seditious—possibilities, but once acknowledged, the thought grew like a plant steeped in sun and fertilizer.
Sicarius, watching her face even as she watched his, sighed and looked away. When did we get to know each other so well that he can see my thoughts?
“Sespian is your son,” Amaranthe said.
For the first time, his silence was readable. Yes.
Amaranthe stared at the floor, almost wishing she hadn’t asked. This meant Raumesys had left no true heir. Sespian’s claim to rule was only through his mother and therefore no better than a dozen others. If anyone found out, nothing short of civil war would follow. Bloody years of infighting in which the empire’s copious enemies could strike while the soldiers were distracted choosing sides and fighting each other. In the end, some jaded old general, some vague relation of Raumesys’s, would end up in power. Little chance of the next emperor having any of Sespian’s tolerance or progressive passion. She imagined some contemporary of Hollowcrest’s on the throne and felt sick. Though it might make her a traitor to the empire, she would take this secret to her funeral pyre.
She turned her attention to Sicarius, feeling a guilty twinge that her first thoughts had been political. “Hollowcrest obviously didn’t know. Sespian doesn’t either, does he?”
A minute shake of the head confirmed this.
“If you told him, he’d probably abdicate the throne,” Amaranthe said, sure the emperor’s conscience would trouble him into that route. “But perhaps you two would have a chance for...something, a relationship. From my brief meetings with him, I got the feeling Sespian has led a lonely life.”
“He has. Thrusting this knowledge into it would not improve matters. He has read my records. He knows everyone I tortured and killed for Raumesys and Hollowcrest. And since. He’s the one who put the bounty on my head. I am likely the only person in the world he truly wants dead.”
“You might...”
Might what, Amaranthe? What are you going to suggest he do? Change? Repent his cold-hearted assassin ways? Mourn for those he’s killed? Become someone Sespian might admire? Be a good person? Sicarius might not scoff out loud, but surely that would be his mental reaction. He was too pragmatic to give up his system, however callous, for something less effective. That he cared for his son did not mean he felt any concern for people in general. Asking him to change would accomplish nothing.
“You might find it easier to protect Sespian if you were at his side,” was all she said.
“That was my plan once. But I underestimated his...idealism. He would not employ a killer, even to his benefit. I should have foreseen that.”
Amaranthe smiled gently. “It is difficult to understand those who are least like ourselves.”
Sicarius twitched an eyebrow. “You understand me.”
“Hm.”
She laid out the medical supplies on the bench, filled a bucket with clean water, and sat behind him. The wounds must have stung, but Sicarius did not flinch when she washed them. She picked up the needle and considered the task before her. It would be better to find a surgeon to sew up the gashes, but she did not know where to look in this neighborhood at this time of night. Anyway, a part of her liked the idea of being the one to help him. He had saved her life a number of times over the last two weeks, and now she could do something for him.
She slid her hand across his back. Surprisingly, no other scars marred his flesh. Even relaxed, his muscles were like steel, each distinct and delineated beneath warm skin. Sicarius looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. She blushed and bent to thread the needle. Medics probably weren’t supposed to ogle their patients.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have some wicked scars,” Amaranthe said.
“I’ll survive,” he said.
“A little soon to say that. You haven’t felt the prod of my inexperienced needle yet.”
“Surely as an enforcer, you’ve had combat medic training.”
“Training, yes. Real-world experience, no. Unless you count the times I did this on dolls.”
“Dolls?”
“Memela, the woman who watched me while my father worked, gave me the dolls her children had played with growing up. They were a little battered from use, so I frequently had to put the stuffing back in and sew the rips.”
“It’s the same principle,” Sicarius said.
He looked over his shoulder again.
“What?” she asked.
“Dolls.” His eyes crinkled.
Amused, was he?
“What’s wrong with dolls? I am a girl, you know.”
Sicarius turned his head back forward. Amaranthe was about to start on the first wound when he spoke again.
“I’ll wager you lined them up and ordered them around like a general commanding his troops.”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
She had finished stitching Sicarius’s back when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Amaranthe expected one of her men, but it was a servant in the crimson house uniform. Sicarius stood. The servant approached them slowly, eyeing the bare-chested Sicarius. He looked even more intimating without a shirt on.
“I mean you no trouble. Please don’t hurt me.” The servant’s voice squeaked. He fingered a sealed envelope. “My mistress bade me deliver this message to you.” He crept toward Sicarius, the hand with the envelope trembling.
“Your mistress is Larocka?” Amaranthe asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is she in the house?”
“I really can’t say, ma’am.”
As soon as Sicarius took the envelope, the servant darted away. Amaranthe worried Sicarius would follow, perhaps torture the man for information, but the message arrested his attention. He broke the seal on the envelope, slid out a folded sheet of stationery, and read.
Only one line marked the paper. Nonetheless, Sicarius stared at the words for a long moment.
“What does it say?” she finally asked.
Stiffly, Sicarius handed the note to her.
You killed my love. Before dawn, I shall burn your son alive.
“Son,” Amaranthe croaked. “How could she know? How many people have you told?”
“Just you.”
“That means...she was listening.”
Sicarius’s head jerked up, and his eyes scanned the ceiling, walls, and shadows. But there was no one else in the basement. With Arbitan dead, Larocka could not have access to the mental sciences, could she?
Sicarius grabbed a fallen brick and ran to the wall nearest the bleachers where they had been talking. He tapped the stone as he moved along it. Clanks echoed through the basement.
A more mundane possibility, Amaranthe realized. She grabbed a brick too. Soon the clanks turned to hollow thuds.
“There,” she said.
She and Sicarius dropped the bricks and slid their hands along the cool stone. Rough and porous, it would conceal secret entrances well. Amaranthe almost missed the hairline crack running vertically up the wall.
“Over here,” she said.
Sicarius shifted to her side, and he was the one to find the button. With a click, a portion of the wall swung backward. Inside w
as a chair, shelves, a tall cabinet, and a writing desk. On the back wall, a ladder rose into the upper levels of the house.
Amaranthe walked into the room. “How many secret passages does this place have?”
Standing mute at the entrance, Sicarius seemed stunned—or horrified.
Amaranthe touched the wooden seat in front of the desk. “She must have heard everything.”
Sicarius slammed his fist into the cabinet. Amaranthe jumped. Wood splintered and gave, and his hand went straight through. Jaw clenched, he yanked his arm free. Blood ran down his fingers and dripped onto the stone floor.
Amaranthe stared, open-mouthed. His back was to her, and both hands curled into white-knuckled fists. She had never seen him lose his composure.
She licked her lips. “It’s not too late, Sicarius. We can save him. We just have to figure out where she’d go to—”
Sicarius stalked out the door.
“Wait, please.” Amaranthe followed him. “I’m sorry, but if you’d just listen to me—”
Sicarius spun on her, eyes raging. She skittered back and bumped into the wall.
“Listen to you?” he snarled. “This is your fault. All your questions. Why couldn’t you leave me alone? Hollowcrest and Arbitan are dead. Everything would be fine now. But you had to pry. And, fool I am, I let you.” Anguish warped his face. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?”
Without waiting for an answer, he whirled and raced out of the basement. Shocked by his outburst, Amaranthe could not answer right away. Tears stung her eyes. Long after he disappeared up the stairs, she whispered, “Because I care.”
* * *
Sespian wasn’t sleeping when the knock came. Hollowcrest’s threats kept repeating in his mind. Was there truly some assassination plot afoot, or had Hollowcrest simply been spinning hyperbole to make himself seem necessary? And what of that confrontation? Had Sespian bested Hollowcrest too easily? Even now, Sespian could scarcely believe he had won.
He slid out of bed and headed for the door, but paused in the antechamber. “Who is it?”
“Lieutenant Dunn.”
Uh oh. Hollowcrest was back. Or something else was up.
“Yes?” Sespian asked when he opened the door.
“Sire, I’ve been in contact with that renegade enforcer, Amaranthe Lokdon. I assumed you’d want to hear about it right away.”
“Oh?” Sespian leaned forward. Since he had been drugged the few times he’d met her, he could hardly trust his judgment, but he so badly wanted to hear that Hollowcrest’s words were lies.
“Yes, Sire. May I come in?”
“Of course.”
A servant glided in on Dunn’s heels to turn up the lamps and add coal to the stove. Sespian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching the process with ill-concealed impatience.
“What is it?” Sespian blurted as soon as the servant left.
Dunn wrung his hands and paced. “Before I tell you what she said, let me say that I think it’s a very bad idea, and you shouldn’t go off to meet her.”
“She wants to meet? Me?” Idiot, you sound like a love struck youth, not an emperor over millions. Sespian cleared his throat and struggled for nonchalance. “I mean, what did she say?”
“What Hollowcrest said was true. Sicarius intends to assassinate you during your birthday celebration. Lokdon claims to have pretended to join forces with him to unearth his plans and feed the information back to Hollowcrest, but something went badly between them, and now she wants to share all her information with you.”
Sespian paced. Spying on Sicarius? Could that be secret assignment Hollowcrest had given Amaranthe? The reason she had been in the Barracks to start with?
Disapproval pinched the lieutenant’s face.
“You don’t think I should go,” Sespian said.
“It could be a trap. If she just wanted to relay information, she could come here to do it.”
Sespian shook his head, recalling the last time he had seen Amaranthe—flying out a window to escape the guards. “For all she knows, we’d throw her in the dungeon. I can see why she’d prefer a neutral location.”
“She could be working with Sicarius to lure you to your death,” Dunn said.
“Did she stipulate I had to meet her alone?”
“No.”
“Then you could come. And a couple carriage-loads of men. When does she want to meet?”
“Now. She fears Sicarius will find out about her double cross, so she insists on meeting tonight. She’s waiting for you at Yestfer Smelter.”
Sespian glanced at the black sky outside the window. This could be a mistake, a big mistake. But if he didn’t go, and Amaranthe’s body turned up in the lake later...
“Very well. Fire up the steam carriages and arrange the men.”
21
Amaranthe climbed down the ladder and returned to the hidden basement room. Several stories above, the passage ended at a trapdoor in the master suite, but there had been no sign of Larocka. Nor had Amaranthe spotted any clues that suggested where the woman had gone or where the assassination would take place.
She leaned her head against a metal rung. She had to figure this out. It wasn’t just about helping the emperor and clearing her name any more. She owed Sicarius. He was right. This was her fault. Because of her incessant curiosity, she had been pestering him with questions since she met him, and now he was the one stuck with the consequences. Right now, he probably regretted not killing her that day on the trail. And why hadn’t he? Because he thought he was helping his son’s girlfriend. She groaned. All this time, she had been wondering if—hoping—Sicarius might possibly care for her. No, he had simply been tolerating her ludicrous scheme because Sespian gave her a bracelet.
“Amaranthe?” Books called from the spectator area.
She wiped her eyes. “In here.”
A moment later, Books, Akstyr, Basilard, and Maldynado packed the tiny room.
“The servants have fled the house, and this mausoleum is gargantuan,” Books said.
Akstyr wore a toothy smile and clutched a book the size of a small tabletop. “Look what I found.” He danced forward, almost losing his balance due to the heavy tome. “It’s Nurian. I’ll have to find someone to help me translate—” he glanced at Books, “—but I could make scads of progress studying their ways.” He dumped the book on the desk, opened the first page, and didn’t seem to notice his foot bumping something under the drawers.
A round, glowing purple object rolled across the concrete and clinked to a stop against the base of the ladder. The orb was smooth, flawless, and small enough to conceal in a pocket.
“Uhm,” Amaranthe said.
“That doesn’t appear natural,” Books said.
“No, but it’s a snazzy find,” Maldynado said. “Cut it in half, and it’d make a fetching pocket watch fob.”
“Somehow, I doubt it’s for fashion,” Amaranthe said. “Akstyr, do you—”
“Oh!” Akstyr had spotted it. He shut the book, hustled forward, and picked up the orb. “I’ve never seen a real one, but it looks like a communication jewel.” He slid a finger along the top, and his eyes grew distant for a moment. “It’s for talking to whoever else has the other one.”
“Can it tell you who that might be?” Amaranthe asked.
“No.” Akstyr handed the orb to her. “Only the ones it was tuned for can access it.”
“It must have slipped out of Larocka’s pocket,” Amaranthe said. “She doubtlessly left in a hurry after...”
“After what?” Maldynado asked. “We looked all over the house for her, but the shifty broad just disappeared.”
“I know.” Amaranthe slid the orb into her pocket, not sure what she could do with it, but keeping it just in case. She led them out of the hidden room. “Larocka contacted us. She’s...planning to kill the emperor as revenge for what happened to Arbitan. By dawn.”
“That’s not more than a couple hours off,” Books said.
&
nbsp; “She’s just one woman,” Maldynado said. “Are we worried about what one woman can do?”
Basilard looked pointedly from Amaranthe to the filled pit and back to Amaranthe.
“Oh, right,” Maldynado said.
“Do you know where she’ll strike?” Books asked. “She can’t sneak into the Imperial Barracks, can she? Even if she could, we can’t. How do we thwart her?”
Hands in her pockets, Amaranthe gazed at the pit for a long moment. Then she looked at each of them. “We don’t. You’ve done enough. More than enough. I finagled you all into this, and yet you performed like empire-renowned champions in the rings. I can’t ask for any more from you. The next step I take alone.”
“What?” Maldynado propped his fists on his hips. “We’ve come this far with you, and we’re not leaving now. I need a statue, remember?”
“We mean to see this through to the end,” Books said. “Sespian is our emperor too.”
Basilard nodded firmly.
“If they’re going, I’m going too,” Akstyr said. “Where are we going?”
“I’m going to the Barracks to turn myself in.” Amaranthe jogged for the stairs.
“Upon reconsideration,” Maldynado said, “I do wonder if this is something you should do alone.”
“I have to try to talk to the emperor before Larocka strikes.”
* * *
Sespian slipped a sheathed dagger into his boot and strode out of the Imperial Barracks. His guards trailed him to the outside stairs. Lieutenant Dunn, standing in the courtyard next to two armored steam carriages, waved them toward the second vehicle.
“Sire.” Dunn held the door to the lead vehicle open, and a pool of light spilled out.
Sespian crossed to the driveway. A few soldiers clanked and clattered along the outer wall, but night was still deep. Few lights burned behind the dark windows of the Barracks. Hardly anyone to see me leave.