* * *
The sun had dropped below the horizon, casting shadows along the beach as Sicarius strung trip wire for the last of his alarms. Palm leaves rustled in the evening breeze, and torches burned farther up the shore, near the docks. The air remained warm and pleasant even as dusk gathered. Sicarius doubted there would be a need for blankets in the bed tonight, a bed that looked out over the ocean and up at the sky through a glass window in the thatched roof.
The bungalow Amaranthe had rented hung out over the lagoon in a private cove. The lights of town might be visible, but the people cooking and enjoying campfires on the beach were too distant to hear, especially over the waves lapping at the shore and the distant roar of the ocean beyond the breakwater. Their bungalow rested on the opposite side of the lagoon from the soldiers’ fort, a placement Sicarius approved of—almost as much as he would have approved of simply leaving the island and spending the night in the submarine.
Finished setting his alarms, Sicarius hopped onto the dock leading to the bungalow. The door stood open, waiting for him, and the smell of shrimp roasting on a fireplace grill filled the air. Amaranthe had purchased local vegetables for the grill as well, along with a pineapple. The sweet fruit did not appeal to Sicarius’s palate, but he had listened to numerous longing-filled comments about the destruction of Curi’s Bakery over the last few weeks, so he would not begrudge Amaranthe this dessert.
Amaranthe had been swinging in a hammock on the balcony, reading a book by the fading light, but she hopped up when she saw him. Aboard the submarine, she usually donned practical work wear, a long-sleeve shirt and trousers. Tonight, she wore a white satiny garment that stretched only to her knees and left her arms bare. The hem rose and fell in the breeze, accenting curves and revealing tanned flesh. His gaze arrested, Sicarius barely heard her question.
“Are we suitably secured against all intruders, friendly and unfriendly?”
He cocked his head. “My alarms will alert us if someone attempts to encroach during the night. We will be required to provide our own defenses.”
“Ah, I see.” She clasped his hands, kissed him, and pulled him to the large comfortable bed that dominated the single-room bungalow. “I imagine we can handle that.”
He settled beside her, their thighs touching, hers alluringly bare with the hem of that dress having been pushed up as she sat. He linked his fingers with hers. He had expected that they would eat dinner first, but he need not fuel himself to engage in amorous acts. Maybe if he distracted her suitably, she might forget about whatever gift she had purchased from that loathsome clothing store.
“Thank you for humoring me today,” Amaranthe said. “I believe Bashka was pleased with the prank we played on her father. We can check tomorrow and see if there are new bounty posters out there. Even if the man realizes his Sicarius engraving doesn’t look quite like it used to, you have the original, don’t you? He won’t be able to put up a new poster until he gets a new version, and I don’t think President Starcrest is likely to supply that.”
“Agreed.”
As Starcrest had promised, he had figured out how to have Sicarius’s bounty removed. It had involved little more than a stern look at the new head of the judicial branch along with a reminder that he had once rescued said judicial head from the clutches of a female Nurian spy who had wheedled intelligence data out of him under the guise of being an earnest lover.
“I see you’re going to be talkative tonight,” Amaranthe said.
Sicarius twitched an eyebrow.
“Yes, like that.”
“I am trying to ascertain whether you wish to engage in sexual congress at this time.”
“That was the reason I wanted to get out of the sub for the night.” She grinned at him. “We’ve managed to, ah, congress nicely in limited confines, but here we can enjoy a large private bed.” Her gaze shifted toward one of the open-air windows. “Not to mention the warm surf... and a private beach.”
“Are you no longer concerned about sand in orifices?” Sicarius shifted to face her, resting a hand on a warm bare thigh.
“Well, we can experiment.” She leaned forward for a kiss, and he returned it, letting his fingers trail across her smooth skin. “Although,” Amaranthe said, pulling her mouth back a few inches, “we do have all evening for congressing. We should perhaps enjoy dinner first, along with Starcrest’s brandy. Oh, and why don’t you let me give you your gift?”
There was a Nurian phrase about training all of one’s life only to become a stunned assassin caught in the lamplight outside the enemy bastion. Sicarius imagined that was the expression on his face at that moment. The gift. There was no escaping it.
Amaranthe seemed to enjoy whatever emotion made it onto his face, for her grin widened. She kissed him again, then wriggled out of his grip—perhaps he should have tried harder to keep her on the bed—and sashayed across the room to the shopping bags sitting in a corner.
“Wait,” he said, though he knew he could only delay her, not stop her. “I have a gift for you.”
“Oh?” She paused. “Did you want to share yours first?”
“Yes.”
Sicarius had set his overnight gear by the wall beside the bed, so he only needed to bend over to withdraw the scroll of paper he had worked on that afternoon.
“Is that one of the new bounty posters?” Amaranthe asked. “Signed by the artist?”
“No.” He held it out, inviting her to come see.
Amaranthe stopped in front of him, and he was tempted to let his hands stray as she untied the twine, but he would wait to see if his drawing pleased her first. He hadn’t realized how poor he was at anticipating the needs and desires of another person until he came to, for the first time in his life, care enough to wish to do so.
Amaranthe stretched out the rolled-up paper, revealing a group portrait of the original team she had put together a year ago, Maldynado, Books, Akstyr, Basilard, her, and himself. Sicarius watched her face, wondering whether seeing Books would sadden her or if she would appreciate having this keepsake. He had drawn them all from memory, not embellishing or adding artistic flair—he had no sense of such things, regardless—but he believed he had created an accurate representation of everyone.
Moisture formed in her eyes, and he knew he had made a mistake. He lifted a hand, not certain whether to apologize or offer to take the picture away.
She touched Books’s face on the page, then brushed at her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Thank you, Sicarius. This is... perfect.”
He watched her face for cues, trying to decide if she was sincere or merely being polite. She laid the paper down and sat in his lap, wrapping her arms around him, then kissing him firmly, and burying her face in his neck. Sicarius returned the embrace, appreciating her closeness, though it disturbed him that he had stolen her earlier mirth. He should have let her dig into her bag and accepted whatever gift she withdrew.
“Perhaps you should sell your knives and go to art school with Sespian,” Amaranthe murmured.
“Sespian is studying architecture, a more practical field than art.”
“You couldn’t imagine yourself going to school for something impractical?”
Sicarius could not imagine himself going to school at all. Perhaps as a child, he might have found it interesting, but sitting in a room surrounded by dozens of strangers held no appeal. He preferred library research for learning. Alternatively, an apprenticeship might be tolerable, though he did not know what he would wish to study. Certainly nothing so frivolous as art.
“No,” he said.
Amaranthe wiped her eyes and leaned back, smiling a little sadly. “Well, we’ll keep looking for a new career for you. We’ve ruled out artist, and at another time, I believe we ruled out professionally pleasuring women, but that leaves many other options.”
Sicarius remembered the conversation in a coal car where that second item had come up as an attempt at humor he had tried. He had startled Amaranthe rather than
eliciting a laugh. It was easier when he left the jokes for those with more aptitude for them. “Perhaps President Starcrest will have use for my current skills when we return.”
He thought about admitting that he hoped that would be the case. To serve Starcrest would be an honor. Though Starcrest might not have a need for an assassin, surely there would be jobs that required stealth and combat skills that Sicarius could perform suitably.
“Just so long as he makes sure to get all these wayward bounty posters cleaned up first.” Amaranthe waved a hand toward the island. “Now, shall I give you my gifts?”
Since she was still in his lap, Sicarius thought about tightening his grip and enticing her to remain there instead of squirming free. “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to engage in more vigorous activities now?”
“Hm, I believe my gifts might actually provide inspiration for such activities.”
Intrigued, Sicarius let her squirm free, though he wasn’t positive whether to believe her, since that mischievous glint had returned to her eyes.
Amaranthe returned to the bag and, humming to herself, poked through it. “That? No, not that. That? Hm, ah, this.”
She gazed thoughtfully at Sicarius for a moment, then nodded to herself. With great panache, she pulled out a shirt, a shirt more ghastly than any he had noticed on the rack. Even on a dark night, the banana yellow, lime green, and fuchsia pink could have blinded a man. Not to mention the... were those parrots? Yes, those were definitely parrots integrated into the floral print. Very colorful parrots.
“What do you think?” Amaranthe held it up so he could see it even better, as if that were necessary.
“It is... I do not believe it is my size.” There, that was tactful. And true as well. It appeared too large for him. Perhaps she would have to take it back and there wouldn’t be a similar style in his size. Maybe there wouldn’t be shirts in his size at all. Yes, this would please him.
“You are perceptive. And correct.” Amaranthe folded it neatly and set it on the table. Her smile had grown quite wide at this point. “That’s because that’s Maldynado’s gift.”
Though he had been taught from childhood to hide his emotions, Sicarius suspected some of his relief showed on his face nonetheless.
“I got gifts for all the men back home, and even something to ship to Akstyr on Kyatt.” Amaranthe pointed at him. “Maybe you can help me with that now that you’ve worked as a postal employee and have all that experience.”
Sicarius decided not to comment and delay the reveal of further items. Now that he knew the shirt was not for him, he admitted a mild curiosity as to what she had purchased. He could not recall ever receiving a gift, and though he had always considered such exchanges a part of human cultural and social activities for which he had no need, he found himself wondering nonetheless.
“I have two gifts for you,” Amaranthe announced, reminding him of the woman from the post office in the time she took poking through the bag. He began to suspect her of trying to create dramatic tension. He refused to walk across the room and peer over her shoulder into the bag. “One is serious and one is for... play.”
Play? “You still seek to make me merry?”
“Oh, I always seek that. Let me know when I succeed.” Amaranthe pulled out a small wooden box with whales and fish carved along the sides. “Here we go. You’re a hard man to shop for, because you have nothing and seem to prefer it that way, but I believe I’ve found something you’re certain to use and will perhaps even appreciate.” She cocked an eyebrow, and Sicarius summoned his patience to wait in attentive silence until she handed it to him. “I got this at our first stop up north, those little islands with the frigid water around them. A wizened fisherman who told me he was over a hundred years old sold it to me.” Amaranthe walked over and handed the box to Sicarius. “Maybe I should let you open it before explaining further. Anyone else would think I was a nut for making a gift of such a thing.” Her expression suggested she might believe herself a nut for it too.
More curious than ever, Sicarius opened the box. It contained a brownish fat with a fishy smell. “Oolichan grease?” he guessed.
“Yes, have you had it before? The fisherman said it’s nature’s perfect fuel.” She wriggled her eyebrows at him. “It’s supposed to be the closest dietary equivalent to human fat out there. He said that in his youth, he won an endurance canoeing race across the ocean with nothing except the grease and some dried fish to keep him going. I would rather have Curi’s pastries along on a canoe, but I’m not a hundred-year-old fisherman, so you’ll have to forgive my wayward thinking.”
“I’ve had it, but it’s rare to find inland, and you are correct in that it is a superior energy source. I will be pleased to use this in our meal preparations.”
“Our? Uhm.” Amaranthe pointed at the box. “Since it’s so precious and since there’s not that much there, I wouldn’t be upset if you kept it for yourself.”
“It makes a fine condiment.”
“Finer than fish eyeballs?”
“I believe so.”
Amaranthe didn’t look convinced, but she dipped a hand into her bag again. “Moving on to your second gift. Technically, this one is for both of us.” She tossed him a small, lightweight package wrapped in brown paper.
Sicarius unwrapped it and lifted up two black eye patches to examine. “Are these from the Pirates’ Plunder?” he asked, naming the dubious brothel where Maldynado had arranged to have Amaranthe’s birthday party the year before. Eye patches were common costumes there. Just eye patches. And not always worn over the eye. Though Maldynado had given Amaranthe one for a gift—something that had made Sicarius consider tossing him from a rooftop and onto some nice spikes—she had opted not to wear it. A wise choice given the lecherous clientele and the need to appear professional in front of one’s team, though he wouldn’t have minded seeing the costume. In private.
You have privacy now, came a whisper from the back of his mind. Yes.
“Sicarius, that almost looks like a smile on your face,” Amaranthe said. “Are you, by chance, feeling merry?”
“I... can show you what I am feeling.” Sicarius rose and stalked toward her.
“You don’t want dinner first?”
“No.”
“Oh, good. I was hoping Gift Number Two would distract you from basting our meal with Gift Number One.”
He pulled Amaranthe into his arms. “You shouldn’t buy a man a gift if you don’t want him to use it.”
THE END
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