“I see them. And, yes, I think that’s Akstyr. Even if someone else had adopted his hairstyle, nobody here would have the poor fashion sense to wear clothes three sizes too large. I wonder if there’s some way we can get to him before they do.”
“Go under the tables?”
“I don’t think either of us is small enough for that.” Maldynado shifted out of his nook. “We’ll have to use the elbow method.”
“You seem to have a knack for it.” Evrial touched her knife for reassurance as she followed him, though she feared the universe might have an ill fate in mind for her if she brawled with the same enforcers—and hurled them over the side of a steamboat again. If her captain found out, she’d never get her job back.
“I have big elbows,” Maldynado said over his shoulder as he jostled more people aside. Now that the show was starting, this drew even more grunts of anger, and Evrial almost received a punch meant for him. “Other things as well,” Maldynado added.
“Such as your head, I know.” Evrial shoved him to encourage more movement and less talking.
They turned the corner and headed down the side of the dining hall. By now, men and women in sleek, tight-fitting clothing were performing handsprings, somersaults, and flips back and forth across the stage, their movements synchronized to the drumbeats. Evrial wondered how they’d manage the athletic feats on ice. If the city wasn’t immersed in bloodshed when they arrived, maybe she could attend a show.
Maldynado halted.
With drumbeats reverberating from the walls, Evrial had to stand on her tiptoes to speak into his ear. “What is it?”
She didn’t hear all of the words in his response. “...lost him... those enforcers...”
Evrial leaned around him for a better view. They’d reached the end of the standing area, and only tables remained before the stage. If she and Maldynado drew closer, they’d risk being highlighted by the colored lamps. But there was no reason to. Akstyr and the two enforcers had disappeared. Evrial checked on the enforcers at the table, then looked away. One of the men’s faces pointed toward the stage, but the other fellow was gazing straight at her and Maldynado.
“We may not want to linger,” Evrial said.
“Oh, I agree, but where do we go? I don’t see a door, or where they went.”
“Backstage?” Evrial pointed to black curtains hanging between the wall and the side of the stage. She assumed a doorway or stairs lay behind them.
“I have a feeling backstage will be busy.”
Evrial glanced at the enforcer table again. Both men were gone. “Blast it, go, Maldynado. Better to deal with performers than enforcers.” When she heard the words come out of her mouth, she frowned. She told herself she wasn’t thinking like an outlaw; it was just these particular enforcers she needed to avoid, not uniformed people in general.
“Whatever you say, my lady.” Maldynado stuck his hands in his pockets and casually strolled toward the curtains.
He looked about as inconspicuous as a purple-winged swallowtail on an apple tart. Figuring they’d already been spotted, Evrial hustled past him and reached the curtains first. She parted them and paused only long enough to make sure the other two enforcers weren’t standing there with crossbows. Costumed dancers milled about, waiting for their turn on stage, but she didn’t see anyone armed. A muscled, bare-chested man standing nearby did turn around and frown at them.
“What—”
Maldynado giggled and grabbed Evrial’s arm. The giggle surprised her into silence. She’d heard all sorts of laughs from him, but nothing that effeminate.
“I told you, sweetling,” he slurred, “that’s not the right door.” He blinked a few times at the performer with the bulk of a bouncer. “ ’Scuse me, Bare and Brawny. We’re looking for—oh, what’s his name? The first officer said—There he is.” Maldynado thrust an arm toward a corridor entrance a few paces away.
From Evrial’s viewpoint, she could tell it was empty, but the brawny fellow shouldn’t be able to see down it. “Yes, yes,” she said, “I see him too. We better get out of the way before we disturb the act.”
She gripped Maldynado’s hand and led him into the corridor, not daring to glance back to see if anyone followed. He stumbled and staggered so effectively that she was surprised he didn’t trample her heels. They reached the corridor without anyone intercepting them, but Evrial hustled past several hatches and around a corner before stopping.
Heat radiated from the white, metal walls. The dim lighting couldn’t have accounted for it; they must be near engineering and the boiler room. There was no sign of Akstyr or the enforcers. They hadn’t been back with the performers; where else could they have gone? Numerous metal hatches lined the utilitarian walls, but why would Akstyr have started going into random cabins? These windowless inside rooms probably belonged to the crew. Though if the circus performers were paying their way with their performance, perhaps they’d been given small cabins in this area.
“What now?” Maldynado asked, his drunken slur gone.
“I don’t know,” Evrial said. “If we go back the way we came, we’ll raise suspicions. More suspicions.”
“You don’t think my brilliant act fooled anyone, eh?”
Maldynado was proving a quicker thinker than she would have guessed from the feckless façade he usually portrayed, but—
Footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Boots, Evrial guessed, resounding on the metal floor and echoing over the banging of the drums.
Maldynado jogged down the corridor to a hatch that stood ajar. He jerked his head for Evrial to follow. Though she had doubts about being trapped in a cabin, there wasn’t time to debate other options. She darted into the dark space behind Maldynado just as someone asked, “Did he go this way?”
Maldynado eased the hatch most of the way shut, leaving a crack. The darkness behind it was absolute and revealed nothing. They might have been in a closet or a cave. Though, from the whiff of sweaty laundry that floated to Evrial’s nose, she guessed a crew member’s cabin was more likely.
“I thought he went this way,” a second man responded.
The footsteps thudded into their corridor, and Maldynado pushed the hatch all the way shut. The voices shifted from distinct to muffled, though they didn’t fade away. It sounded like the men had stopped outside to discuss their search, or tomorrow’s breakfast menu, for all Evrial knew.
“The good news,” Maldynado whispered, “is that they’re looking for Akstyr instead of us. The bad news is that they’re looking for Akstyr. That means they know our team is aboard.”
“At least they haven’t found him yet. Of course, we haven’t found him either. I’m supposed to be in charge here, and I lost one of my men not ten minutes into the assignment.”
“Now, now, it’s not that bad,” Maldynado said. “It’s been closer to fifteen minutes.”
“Very helpful, thank you.”
CHAPTER 4
Amaranthe dangled from the bar in the corner of the cabin, alternately wondering if her quivering forearms thought these chin-ups a worse torture than Pike’s knife and if she’d have to pay a fine for Sicarius’s unauthorized installation of training equipment.
“One more,” he said from behind her.
“I know. I’m just... marshaling my muscles and giving them a rousing speech, much like a general readying his troops for the battlefield.”
“The longer you hang, the harder the task will become.”
“I know that too.”
“Do you wish assistance?”
Yes, Amaranthe thought. “No,” she said.
Far less effectively than a general marshaling troops, Amaranthe flexed her weary muscles, willing biceps and back to pull up her weight one more time. Her chin inched toward the bar, but the trembling increased in her forearms, and she feared she’d have to let go before she reached her goal. That would be intolerable, though. She couldn’t give up with Sicarius looking on. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and gave one last heave. Her
body surged the last couple of inches, and her chin brushed the bar. Good enough. She let go, dropping back to the floor. She planted a hand on the wall for support.
Sicarius offered one of his that-was-acceptable grunts. Every now and then, he’d go overboard and say something as magnanimous as, “Good,” but it would take more than a few chin-ups to elicit that response from him.
Sicarius took a step toward her, a hand lifting slightly. Amaranthe thought about accepting it and falling into his arms for support—or perhaps because he’d been training as well and wasn’t wearing his shirt—but she stood up straight and twitched her fingers to indicate she was fine. She needed him to know that, despite her meager eight chin-ups, she was recovering and didn’t need constant attention. She needed to know that as well.
Someone knocked at the door. Sicarius glided over to answer it, but Amaranthe said, “Wait,” and jogged past him. She opened it first.
Sespian stood outside, the houses of a hamlet dotting the riverbank behind him. He wore a hood pulled down to hide his face. His familiar imperial features were further camouflaged by a smear of facial hair that aspired to become a beard. A bulging cloth sack was tucked beneath his arm. Seeing it prompted a guilty twinge within Amaranthe. She’d suggested a shared meal to entice him to come. She hadn’t mentioned that it’d be a meal for three.
“Uhm.” Sespian eyed Sicarius—or perhaps Sicarius’s bare torso—and took a step back. “You’re busy. I can come later.”
“No.” Amaranthe grabbed his arm before he could escape. “You can’t go. I’m starving, and you have lunch.”
Sespian took in her sweat-dampened hair and bare feet. She’d only taken her boots off so she’d have less weight to pull up, but imagined that her state, coupled with Sicarius’s bare chest, might imply something she hadn’t intended.
“We were training,” Amaranthe said.
Sespian’s gaze dropped to her hand on his arm, and he sighed. Maybe he didn’t believe her. “If you wish to finish first, I can—”
“No, I’m more than ready for a break. We both are.” She smiled over her shoulder at Sicarius. “Right?”
She might have imagined the suspicion in Sicarius’s eyes, but she doubted it.
“I invited Sespian for lunch. I thought we could chat. All of us.”
Judging by the slump to Sespian’s shoulders, he found that notion about as appealing as licking a frozen lamppost, but he let Amaranthe pull him inside. A hard wariness edged Sicarius’s eyes too. Ah, this would be fun.
Amaranthe shut the door firmly, wishing she could lock the men inside until they thawed a little around each other. It would have to be a gradual process, she reminded herself. “Please, have a seat, Si—Sespian, may I call you that now?” Amaranthe waved toward the stools at the table.
Sicarius remained standing. He’d chosen his usual spot near the door with his back to the wall. That wouldn’t do.
“Yes,” Sespian said. “I’m surprised you didn’t earlier. I’ve been wondering...” He was veering toward the bottom bunk instead of the table, and Amaranthe gently caught him and steered him toward one of the two stools. He let her, though the wariness in his eyes deepened. Like father, like son? Perhaps not. Maldynado and the other men often regarded her with wariness, too, especially when she was hatching a plan.
With a shield of reluctance hanging in the air around him, Sespian sat down. “I’ve been wondering what you, or you and Professor Mugdildor, are planning in that regard. If I’m... to play a role in this new government or if I’m... Well, should I plan to look for a job when this is all over?” He lowered his voice to mumble, “Not that I know what I’m qualified to do.”
“You were educated in a great number of areas,” Sicarius said. “There is much for which you could qualify.” Thanks to his insistence on maintaining that emotionless monotone of his, the words sounded sterner than he probably meant them. Amaranthe gave him a frown. Considering he had once confessed to her that he didn’t know what he’d do if he weren’t an assassin, it hardly seemed appropriate for him to act as career counselor.
“Then I am fired,” Sespian murmured.
“Not necessarily,” Amaranthe said. “Books is still working on a draft of his opus—apparently traveling and enduring enforcer attacks aren’t the best for keeping one’s notes organized and, er, undamaged by fire or explosives. He said he’d consult all of us before starting on a second draft, so for those who care, there’ll be an opportunity for input. But would you actually wish to remain emperor? The position hasn’t treated you well, thus far.”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Sespian smiled bleakly. “At times, I dreamed of being some humble shepherd up in the mountains, minding nothing more than a flock of sheep or donkeys. Except I don’t even know if it is a flock when it’s donkeys.”
“I think it’s a harem,” Amaranthe said.
Sespian’s eyebrows flew up. “What?”
“Donkeys. In a group. The females bond together and—it’s not important.”
“See? I lack even common knowledge of the world.”
“I’m not sure that knowledge is common. I have Books to thank for the more esoteric trivia in my head.” And in this case, the fact that Maldynado had made a lot of snickering jokes about donkey harems had cemented the tidbit in her mind. Sespian didn’t appear inclined to make jokes; he looked chagrinned at this further proof that he lacked job qualifications.
“At other times,” he went on, “I’ve wished for the freedom and the power to enact changes I know the empire needs if it’s to go forward into the modern era. I’m not sure I’m wise enough yet to stand behind those changes, but I never even got a chance. People have been plotting against me since...” Sespian leaned back, letting his head clunk against the wall. “Sorry, this was an invitation for lunch, not whining, wasn’t it? I seem to have forgotten.”
At least he was opening up. Amaranthe hadn’t been sure he would with Sicarius in the room. “Lunch with chatting, I believe I said. Anyway, Sespian, I don’t know how the tiles will ultimately be laid—just because Books wants to reform the government doesn’t mean we have the sway to make it happen...” Honestly, she’d only been thinking of how to thwart Forge thus far; even her ambitious imagination couldn’t picture a scenario in which a handful of outlaws successfully laid down a new political system. “But I’m sure you would make a fine emperor or president or high chief or whatever we end up needing, especially if you have an older, more experienced confidant you could trust to advise you wisely.”
Sespian gazed at her thoughtfully, as if assuming she meant herself. Right. As if she’d done anything wise in the last year. She strolled over to Sicarius and started to reach for his hand, but, remembering that Sespian looked on, she switched to gripping the back of his arm and guiding him toward the second stool at the table. Sicarius let himself be guided, though when he sat, it was with the rigidity of one of his daggers.
“Relax,” Amaranthe mouthed at him.
Meanwhile, Sespian’s mouth hung open in a stunned, “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Just to be clear, are you suggesting that an assassin would be an appropriate adviser to the emperor of the most powerful nation in the world?”
“He’s educated, ecumenical, and intelligent. Also, when he’s standing at your back, people tend to go along with your ideas, no matter how... eccentric they may be. He’s been my adviser for the last year.” Hm, given how much destroyed property Amaranthe had left in her wake, maybe that wasn’t much of a selling point. “And if I’d listened to him on occasion, we probably wouldn’t have gotten in trouble so often.”
Sespian snorted.
Sicarius’s eyelids drooped to slits. It wasn’t exactly a look of disapproval, but it was possible he was questioning his decision to employ her as his advocate in regard to Sespian. Amaranthe gave him a cheery smile. Too late now.
“Regardless,” Amaranthe said, sliding open the table’s lone drawer and causing paper to rustle inside, “I didn’t invite you
two here to discuss this. There’s too much work to be done before Sespian can climb back onto the throne, if that should be what fate holds. I thought we could simply sit here, talk, and build a sense of camaraderie since teamwork will be of the utmost importance going forward.” And since Sicarius hadn’t shown any initiative in talking with Sespian on his own.
“You want us to bond,” Sespian said, his tone as deadpan—and unimpressed—as Sicarius’s usually was.
“I believe that’s what I said, yes.” Amaranthe smiled again—her lips would probably be sore from all the exercise they were getting. She pulled out a frosting-stained bag. “We’ll have lunch and a pastry, and appreciate—er, grow accustomed to—each other’s company.”
That earned her utter silence. Lovely.
Amaranthe laid out the food Sespian had brought, wishing their cabin had such fancy accoutrements as plates and silverware. The room lacked a third stool, so she planned to retreat to a bunk, leaving the two men to face each other and perhaps—dared she hope?—chat amongst themselves. She pulled out the pastries and laid them beside the potpies Sespian had brought.
“What are those?” Sicarius pointed to the sweets.
It surprised Amaranthe that he cared enough to ask. “Honeycrests and cinni-stumps.”
“You acquired new ones?” Sicarius asked, a hint of censure in his tone. Ah, that was it. He didn’t care about the names. He was appalled that a person might not only want sweets but want them again and again.
“Akstyr ate the other ones,” she said, deciding to blame someone who wasn’t around rather than admitting that she’d wolfed down two herself. “Besides, I could hardly suggest that Sespian eat emperor’s buns.”
As before, Sicarius didn’t seem to find the name amusing.
At least Sespian smiled. “I’ve had them before. It’d be more appealing to see you eat them though.” He gave her a shy smile, then seemed to notice Sicarius staring at him, and the smile faltered. “Sorry, that was crude.”
“No, it’s all right.” Amaranthe needed to set things straight with him. “It’s just that...” She tried to get Sicarius to meet her eyes, wanting his approval before speaking words aloud that she’d yet to voice to anyone else.
Beneath the Surface Page 6
