Sicarius clasped his hands behind his back and attempted to appear indifferent as Mancrest stopped in front of Amaranthe.
She smiled at him. “How’s your shoulder? Are you recovering well?”
“Yes. The wound to my pride was greater than the wound to my flesh.”
“And the newspaper? You haven’t sold it yet?”
“No, I’ve decided to try running it for a few years before deciding whether to give it up or not.” Mancrest ignored Sicarius as he spoke. He wasn’t that focused on Amaranthe, either. He glanced at Maldynado, or perhaps at the gaggle of women he was ushering to seats. “Is one of those... uhm.”
“I believe so,” Amaranthe said, “though I’m not certain if two are here for you and two for Colonel Starcrest or if it’s one and three, or one for each of you and two for him...” She shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him. Better hurry. He’s seating people now.”
“So I see. Thank you.” Mancrest left without casting any longing backward gazes at Amaranthe. Good.
“You seek to find him a woman?” Sicarius asked.
“I?” Amaranthe touched her chest in wide-eyed innocence. “That’s Maldynado’s task tonight. I believe he’s trying to match just about everyone here with someone.”
Sicarius considered the number of people in the room. “Ambitious.”
“Yes, he even promised me he would get you to dance with me.”
“Very ambitious.” Sicarius might have said more, but Colonel Starcrest stopped in front of them.
“Good evening, sir,” Amaranthe greeted him.
He grunted. “You’ve spoken to Rias?” The question seemed to be for both of them.
“Not yet.” Amaranthe looked at Sicarius, a question of her own in her eyes. He could not offer a hint, for he did not know what the president wanted to discuss, either.
“Better do so. He’s talking of sending me off to Nuria, so he’ll need... well, I don’t know exactly what he’ll need. Depends on what his wife decides to do, I suppose.”
“Nuria?” Amaranthe asked. “What will you do in Nuria?”
The colonel’s smile had a lupine aspect. “Diplomacy.”
“Er, is it likely they’re ready to accept a diplomat from us? Given... how poorly their plans went last winter?”
The colonel’s smile widened. “No.”
Sicarius read this as he was being sent over there to spy and warn the president if Nuria had any more trouble in mind for Turgonia. Just because the mage hunter hadn’t been an officially sanctioned assassin didn’t mean there wouldn’t be others.
“When do you leave?” Amaranthe asked. “Will you have time to get to know...” She extended a hand toward the table. “I believe one of those ladies Maldynado is chattering with wants to meet you.”
“If it follows the usual pattern, she’ll be done wanting to meet me by the time dinner ends.” Dak grunted a farewell and, despite his pessimism, straightened his tunic and combed his short black hair with his fingers on the way over.
“You wished to speak with me about something?” Sicarius asked. If she did not, he would like to join Starcrest at the dinner table and learn what this news was everyone except him knew about.
“Yes.” Amaranthe took his hand again. “Tikaya gave me the name of a healer to visit on the Kyatt Islands. In case we should wish to... I mean, at some point. Investigate certain possibilities.”
“Children,” Sicarius said.
“Yes.”
The news pleased Sicarius. It was not imperative that they produce offspring immediately—Amaranthe was young, and he was... still fit and virile certainly—but he should like to do so at some point. Amaranthe would make a fine mother. And he could have another chance to make a... less poor father. Perhaps with her help, he might aspire to adequacy in that area.
Sicarius nodded. “Good.”
“I see you’re ecstatic.” Amaranthe smirked and leaned into his chest.
“I am pleased.”
“Perhaps I can work you up to ecstatic by the time one is ready to be born.”
“Hm.”
“Or perhaps if I told you that you didn’t have to dance tonight, you would be ecstatic.”
“That is a possibility.” Sicarius offered her his arm.
Amaranthe took it, though that smirk still played about her lips. “Too bad Maldynado is in charge of the dancing.”
• • • • •
Amaranthe sat at the table with Sicarius at her right side. Maldynado had shown a bit of wisdom in placing Sespian on Sicarius’s other side, so no one else would be intimidated by having his silent presence as a neighbor, especially since he likely wouldn’t eat the catered food. He would simply stare about stonily, wondering why a seat had been reserved for him when he would have preferred to stand in a corner. The president sat at the head of the table and to Amaranthe’s left. She didn’t know why she had been given such a priority spot, but was pleased it would allow Sicarius to converse easily with Starcrest, insofar as he ever “conversed.” Tikaya sat across from Amaranthe, and Basilard and his translator, Elwa, sat to her left. An empty seat waited beside Sespian with Mahliki’s name card on it. He looked miserable, either because he had to attempt to woo his lady with his father sitting next to him, or because his lady had yet to show up for dinner.
Maldynado hadn’t taken his seat—he was walking around encouraging the servers to keep the wine flowing. Deret and Dak, each with a lady on either side, were stationed farther down the table, along with a few officers and women Amaranthe hadn’t been introduced to yet. Maldynado had a shoulder pat or a smile for each though, when he happened past, and she wondered how many people he had promised to set up tonight. It was unfortunate that Yara had chosen not to come, or had he actually invited her? Amaranthe hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks and wondered if she had officially transferred to the job in the country. She would have to check and send congratulations if the promotion had gone through, though it stung that Yara had disappeared without a farewell.
“Pardon me, my lady,” Maldynado said, bending low next to Elwa. “There’s a squeaky floorboard there, and I’m a messy eater. Let me push your seat over a couple of inches, will you?”
The woman gave him a perplexed look, but lifted her rear so Maldynado could scoot the chair closer to Basilard.
“There are no squeaky floorboards,” Sespian said with indignation. “They were just laid a couple of weeks ago.”
“Hush, now. Or I won’t adjust your lady’s chair when she arrives.” Maldynado pointed. “I believe the same floorboard runs over to that side of the table.”
Sespian narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else.
“Subtle, Maldynado,” Amaranthe said.
Maldynado waved without embarrassment and took his own seat.
“Ms. Lokdon,” Starcrest said from the head of the table, “Sicarius. I’ve been meaning to talk to the two of you. Albeit, I had planned a more private setting, but I suppose we can trust all of those within earshot.” He gave a nod to Basilard.
Amaranthe wondered what they had spoken about during their first official diplomatic meeting. In the beginning, Basilard’s mission had been to make sure there was an end to underground slavery in Stumps, but she had heard Starcrest had sent his intelligence men out to handle that of his own accord, or perhaps because of a word from Sespian. There must be other matters their Mangdorian neighbors wished pursued, however.
“Yes, sir?” Sicarius asked.
Amaranthe turned an attentive eye toward the president.
“You both have been very helpful since you returned,” Starcrest said.
“Does this mean he forgives us for wrecking his submarine?” Amaranthe whispered.
Sicarius gave her a baleful do-not-interrupt-the-words-of-my-childhood-idol stare before pointedly turning his attention back to Starcrest. She smiled and noticed that Tikaya smiled too.
“I understand neither of you is employed at the moment,” Starcrest said.
/> Amaranthe decided Sicarius wouldn’t appreciate a joke about how someone had finally noticed... and that she hoped he hadn’t noticed how much presidential food she had been mooching. There was a pastry chef in the kitchen who made apple tarts to rival Curi’s. Amaranthe hoped the desserts would make an appearance at this dinner.
“We are available for employment.” Sicarius spoke in his usual monotone, but somehow managed to get a hopeful note in there, at least to Amaranthe’s honed ear.
Before Starcrest could speak again, several servers descended on the table with small bowls of distinctively green soup. Basilard took a sniff, then raised his eyebrows at Maldynado, who folded his hands in his lap and smiled benignly.
“Bas,” Amaranthe whispered. “This soup isn’t based on something you foraged in a... dubious location, is it?”
I had nothing to do with it, Basilard signed. I simply recognize it as a Mangdorian dish.
“What dish?” Starcrest asked after Elwa had translated the signs for the rest of the table.
Loveweed soup. It’s considered an aphrodisiac.
Maldynado blinked innocently. “Is it? I merely told the caterers to include dishes that would please our international guests.”
“He’s trying hard on other people’s behalf,” Amaranthe murmured. “I’ll grant him that.” If he had tried this hard with Yara, that might explain why she had fled. No, that wasn’t fair. She was clearly one to put her career ahead of her personal life. Amaranthe had done the same once. If she hadn’t been given an order to assassinate a certain criminal, she wouldn’t now be sitting next to him, wondering if anyone would come over to push her chair closer to his.
Sicarius was ignoring this exchange and was probably unaware of the fond smile Amaranthe had given him. Instead, he was gazing intently at Starcrest. Fortunately, the president wasn’t a man to grow unnerved by that stare. He might even sense the hope lying beneath the blank facade. Although at the moment he was poking at the green soup—it was truly a thick, rich green—and exchanging glances with his wife.
“You were saying, My Lord President?” Amaranthe prompted, sensing Sicarius never would do more than stare.
Starcrest lowered his spoon—with relief, perhaps. “Yes, I was saying that it would be foolish of me to let such talented people wander away to be snatched up by some opportunist.”
Amaranthe decided not to mention how few opportunists there had been. Although two more young enforcers had stopped her in the streets and asked for her autograph. Aside from her newfound fame, she didn’t quite know what else she was qualified to do. And Sicarius... she hoped he no longer wished to do what he was qualified for.
“Given your unique skills and your proven ability to accomplish missions with little or no direction,” Starcrest said, “I would like to offer you jobs working with the chief of intelligence. You would essentially be civilian field agents, working in and out of the nation, often with little input and guidance from above. We’ve been busy managing internal affairs this past winter, to our detriment, I fear, and it’s time to put some good men—and women—out there to keep an eye on the world for us. Is this something you would be interested in?”
“Yes,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe lifted a finger. “One moment please.” She tapped on Sicarius’s arm. “Shouldn’t we take our little trip to Kyatt first?”
“Kyatt?” Starcrest asked, looking to his wife.
“They didn’t get an opportunity to visit our islands on their previous travels,” Tikaya said.
“Ah,” Starcrest said, though the drawn down eyebrows suggested he wasn’t entirely enlightened. “Perhaps an early mission could take them through there.”
“So long as said mission is truly through the islands and not to them for field agent work,” Tikaya said dryly.
“This would be acceptable?” Sicarius asked Amaranthe, the words in his eyes more earnest than the ones that came out of his mouth.
Amaranthe leaned back in her chair. She knew he wanted nothing more than to work for Starcrest, but this past winter had started her thinking of children. Odd since she had so rarely thought of them before, but then she had never been with someone whose children she could imagine having. If they were to receive good news on Kyatt... she couldn’t imagine a female government field agent birthing babies in between missions. Of course, she was still young; she could do this for a while and then move on to motherhood. So long as she and Sicarius both survived the work. She couldn’t imagine it would be anything but challenging. A challenge he longed for. Did she still long for such challenges? The previous year had brought her so many, and laid so much death in her hands, that she didn’t know if she craved such adventure any more. On the other hand, could she see herself waiting back at home for months on end? She would worry for his life and also about what kinds of choices he might make without her there. Of course, if he wanted to go off on his own, she would let him. She might inflict her morality on him from time to time, but he was certainly his own man, and he had pointed out more than once that he was faster and more efficient by himself.
“Do you... want to do this with me?” Amaranthe whispered.
“Yes.”
His prompt response warmed her heart, though she felt compelled to say, “Don’t you think you should take some time to contemplate these life-changing decisions before blurting out these responses?”
“I have contemplated this possibility all winter,” Sicarius said. “Do you... not want to do this with me?”
“You’re not the part I’m hesitating over. But... I think it could be interesting.”
“I see you are ecstatic.”
Amaranthe snorted. “I’ll be ecstatic when you dance with me.”
Tikaya was watching this exchange silently, her fingers to her lips. Maybe she was just looking for an excuse to avoid the green soup. Basilard and his translator had slurped theirs down. Sespian kept watching the door with a morose expression and seemed unaware of his father’s new job opportunity. Just as well. Sicarius never cared for an audience to his personal conversations—or personal anything.
He was still watching for her, waiting for more of an affirmation. Amaranthe nodded and wiggled her fingers toward the president.
Sicarius faced Starcrest again. “We accept the position.”
• • • • •
Even dead, the cells were fascinating. They reminded Mahliki more of interlocking crystals than—
“Mahliki?”
At her mother’s voice, Mahliki straightened and turned toward the laboratory door. A twinge of pain came from her upper arm, a lingering reminder of the bullet that had spent a couple of hours lodged there. The wound had healed well, especially given the lack of a true healer—stitches, how primitive—but it still made itself known first thing in the morning and any other time when she didn’t move the arm for a while.
“Yes?” Mahliki asked, frowning at her mother. Why was she already dressed in pearls and her favorite goat leather sandals? “Are you on your way to dinner? It’s still early, isn’t it?”
“Early? It’s two hours to midnight. All seven courses, all of them starring aphrodisiacs from around the world, have been served, and Maldynado has hustled everyone onto the dance floor.”
Mahliki stared, certain her mother was joking. The basement lab lacked a window and a clock. “I... I’m sorry. I only meant to stop in for a half hour. An hour at the most. I was intrigued by Agarik’s letter. Did I show it to you? He wanted to know if the incredibly regenerative plant tissues might teach us some new medical applications, such as for healing burns or even creating new human flesh.”
“I’m sure it’s fascinating, love. You know I’ve missed any number of meals, social and otherwise, because of being caught up in my work, so I imagine you get that from me, but... well, poor Sespian had to sit next to an empty chair all night at dinner, and I... just wanted to make sure you weren’t snubbing him for some reason. He’s a fine young man, and if he made a mistake, I’m
certain he regrets it.”
“Snubbing? No, that wasn’t it at all.” Mahliki pushed away from the table and grabbed her shoes. The heated floors Sespian had designed for the basement were wonderful and kept the laboratory perfectly warm. She kept meaning to compliment him on it. “I just lost the time. Is he still there?” Mahliki pitched over while stuffing her foot into one of the shoes. “Do I have time to change?”
“He was there when I left, but he was mumbling about going to check on Mu Lin and his cat. I gather the cat might be in some peril, even with an attentive babysitter on hand. It’s possible that child needs a larger pet to tussle with.”
Mahliki would have cursed if her mother hadn’t been standing five feet away. “I can’t go to a fancy dinner like this.” She pointed at her baggy coveralls—how had the front gotten smeared with plant guts again?—and waved at her hair, which was falling out of the loose braid she had hastily made to keep it from tumbling onto the microscope lenses. There had been a small explosion earlier as well—a lab mate’s fault this time, not hers—that left her cheek smeared with soot.
“Perhaps you could simply pop your head in and see if he’s still there,” Mother said. “Then invite him for a walk in the gardens if he is. It’ll be... dark out there.”
“Meaning the soot on my cheek won’t be that visible?” Mahliki finally managed to tug both shoes on and stand upright.
“Yes. Oh, and Mahliki...? It’s not just the cheek that’s covered in soot.”
“What?” Mahliki looked herself up and down. The laboratory lacked a mirror more than two inches long.
Mother stepped into the room, turned Mahliki around, and swatted black dust off her bum.
“Dear Akahe,” Mahliki groaned. “I can’t show up like this.”
“Just go. He’ll be disappointed if you don’t come. At this point, you could show up wearing a grimbal suit, and he’d be tickled.”
Mahliki snorted and headed for the door. “Sometime I’d like to see one of these grimbals the Turgonians are always talking about.”
“I believe there’s one in the zoo,” Mother called after her. “Perhaps you can ask Sespian to take you one day.”
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