Evrial blushed, thinking of just how warm they’d gotten, but she forced herself to concentrate on the journal. “‘Some of those enforcers may have been the same people we fought on our trip downriver, but they weren’t put on this boat to look for us, not originally anyway.” She pointed at a paragraph on the page. “They were spying on the circus troupe because the outfit is suspected of smuggling. Listen to this: ‘We located the magical contraband in a secret compartment area under the dining hall. They appear to be rockets, and they glow with a yellow luminescence. We believe this forbidden cargo is even more dangerous than the chief thought. It seems likely these weapons are being ushered to the capital to be used in someone’s play for the throne. Unfortunately, Corporal Lutkuv triggered a trap when our search was interrupted. We lost him and will have to return to see if he made it out. We—’ That’s it. It looks like the last few lines were scribbled in a hurry, and he stopped mid-thought.”
Maldynado rubbed the night’s growth of stubble darkening his jaw. “We weren’t far from that area when we ran into those fellows. Akstyr must have sensed the magic near the dining hall. Emperor’s balls, magical rockets?” He kicked a rock into the snow-blanketed ferns lining the trail. “Blast Ravido, doesn’t he have advantages enough already?”
“Any idea what yellow luminescence would indicate?” Evrial asked.
“If you want to know about magic, you took the wrong fellow overboard with you.”
“But would Akstyr have rescued me? He’s rougher than some of the thugs I used to arrest back home.”
“Oh, he would have gone after you. So long as he thought you had some magical gewgaw in your pocket or knew the secret location to a foreign tome on the subject.” Maldynado waved to the trail, indicating she could go first and set the pace.
Yes, they’d better get going if they hoped to have any chance of catching up with the steamboat. “He’s a true hero.” Evrial set off down the trail at a jog, her boots squishing in the mud, sending brown splatters into the melting snow with each step.
Maldynado trotted after her. “Not everybody has my finely honed sense of chivalry.”
“Yes... By the way, did you see me go overboard, realize I was in danger, and dive in to save me? Or did one of the enforcers knock you overboard and you figured you might as well pull me off the bottom since you were already wet?”
Indignant huffs and grunts came from the trail behind her, though it was a moment before Maldynado articulated anything word-like. “Will my answer affect whether or not we reprise last night’s performance later tonight?”
Evrial was glad she was running in front, so he couldn’t see her blush. He was worried she wouldn’t want to engage in another... performance with him? She’d feared he might have thought her too pedestrian after all his experiences with women.
“No,” she said. That sounded safe.
“Good. In that case, I did see you go over and meant to finish pummeling those enforcers into the deck so I could throw you a rope—at the time I didn’t realize you’d been shot and wouldn’t have been able to grab it. But before I got a chance, two security fellows came out with crossbows the size of cannons, so I decided to take a swim. It was fortunate because I came up right as you were going under. I saw the spot and swam over, but, on account of the darkness, had to go down several times before I found you. I must confess I was alarmed enough at the idea of not finding you that I didn’t pay attention to the men back on the boat. We’re lucky we didn’t get riddled with crossbow bolts when we came up.”
Maldynado’s confession surprised Evrial. He hadn’t made a secret about his interest in rolling around under the sheets with her—or, as had been the case last night, on top of the pine boughs—but she couldn’t figure out why he would have deeper feelings. She’d been nothing but defensive—all right, cold—to him since they’d met. She’d had her reasons, as she’d explained to him the night before, but why would he ever warm up to someone who treated him so? Surely it couldn’t all be about preferring the challenge of taming someone untamable. Though Amaranthe seemed to be trying to do that very same thing with Sicarius.
“People are strange,” Evrial muttered.
“What?” Maldynado asked.
“I said... you’re a good man, Maldynado. Thank you.”
This time a thump and a grunt came from behind her—Maldynado tripping and righting himself? Had her compliment surprised him that much?
“Right, you’re welcome,” he said. “Ah, just to be clear, it’s for hauling you out of the river, right? Not entertaining you and keeping you warm until the wee hours of the morning?”
“Are you going to bring up sex in every conversation we have from now on?” Evrial asked.
“Until the novelty fades, probably so.”
“And after the novelty fades?” Evrial asked it lightly, but she wondered what he planned for the future. He’d admitted he cared, sort of, and that was promising, but would it last?
“After that, I’ll bring it up less often. In no more than half our conversations, I should think.”
Not exactly what she’d been fishing for, but she smiled anyway. Maybe that was enough.
CHAPTER 8
Amaranthe lay on her belly at the edge of the roof, watching the town in case her men offered a signal. One of the earlier river settlements, Port Medar maintained a rustic, early-empire feel with narrow streets lined with one- and two-story buildings. Most of the steamboat’s passengers had disembarked to explore the town, so those streets were busy. Somewhere out there, Akstyr and Basilard were searching for Maldynado and Yara while Books and Sespian hunted for bags of cement mix. Only Sicarius remained on board with Amaranthe. He stood near the smokestack, his black clothing blending in with the black paint, as he kept an eye on the pilothouse and the roof access points.
Getting her men off the steamboat hadn’t been a problem. It’d been early as they approached town, and under dawn’s dimness, they’d stolen a lifeboat and gone ashore. Once they’d reached a safe distance, they’d made a clamor so the enforcers couldn’t miss that “those scurrilous outlaws” were escaping. Getting her team back on the steamboat without anyone noticing would doubtlessly prove more difficult. Especially if they were going to be toting a few hundred pounds of cement mix. “Trust me,” Books had said, eliciting memories of Maldynado riding a tottering printing press down a hill at breakneck speed to their first team hideout. Not for the first time, Amaranthe wondered if she should have gone with them. But Sespian had suggested—no, it’d been more of an order, and she smiled at the memory—that someone had to remain with the weapons, in case the others weren’t able to sneak past security and get back on board. Those rockets couldn’t be allowed to reach the capital.
A squad of enforcers in crisp gray uniforms marched toward the docks. Uh oh. Were they coming aboard because of the team? Or had they found out about the weapons?
Amaranthe scooted away from the edge, lest the enforcers check the roofline as they approached. She joined Sicarius, wiping moisture from the front of her parka. The sun had come out, melting the snow and leaving the roof damp. She leaned against him for warmth.
Sicarius collapsed a spyglass. “The cement will make it onboard.”
“Oh?”
“It’s been added to those supplies.” Sicarius pointed to pallets of foodstuffs and bins of coal sitting on the dock, waiting for the attention of a steam crane. “I did not see Books or Sespian. They did well.”
The compliment—and the hint of pride in his voice—pleased Amaranthe. She caught Sicarius’s arm as he lowered it and molded it around her waist. “If we are to be a we, one of your jobs will be to anticipate when I’m wet and cold, then seek to warm me.”
“Really.” Amazing how the man could sound dry without changing his tone whatsoever. At least he didn’t remove his arm. “What will your jobs be?”
“I’m sure they’ll be many and varied,” Amaranthe said.
“Such as?”
She wondered wh
at he might have in mind. “Bringing warmth and cheer to your soul?”
Amaranthe kept hoping for a day when she said something like that and it surprised a laugh out of him. It had to be possible. She’d seen him amused before, and he’d even given her the faintest touch of a smile from time to time. But maybe he had something else in mind when it came to “jobs.” Something less amusing and more... physical. When he didn’t answer, she tilted her head back to check his face, then rolled her eyes. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was peering around the smokestack toward the pilothouse. The last time she’d checked, the man on duty in there had his heels up on the console, his head back as he snoozed in the chair. Apparently being on watch when docked wasn’t a demanding task for a helmsman.
“All right, we’ll come up with some better jobs,” Amaranthe said. “We can work on a list together.”
Sicarius dropped his arm. “We’re about to have company.”
Amaranthe heard the voices then, two men coming up the stairs. Maybe they were heading to the pilothouse.
“...check up here.”
“...know some are still on board.”
Erg, no such luck.
“Where to?” Amaranthe whispered. If they slipped over the edge of the roof, they could drop onto the upper deck, but they might run into someone down there.
Sicarius was looking up instead of down, toward the lip of their smokestack. The furnaces weren’t stoked while in port, so there weren’t any black plumes pouring from either stack, but Amaranthe couldn’t imagine hiding inside of them. For one thing, the lip was fifteen feet above the roof, and they didn’t have any rope. For another, the walls of the black cylinder rose vertically and smoothly, with only a couple of slight circular ridges where segments had been soldered together.
“You’re not serious,” Amaranthe whispered.
“We’ve practiced this.”
“On stone or brick walls, not some slick, frictionless metal.” She waved to the nearby roof edge. “There’s not even any space to get momentum going.”
The voices grew louder, each word distinct. Security was definitely looking for them, and tossing men overboard wouldn’t be nearly as effective when the boat wasn’t moving. They’d simply climb back up. Not to mention that people flying from the roof might draw the attention of the approaching squad.
“Follow,” Sicarius said.
He backed up three steps, not all the way to the edge of the roof, lest someone spot him from below, then sprinted straight at the smokestack. He ran up the side, legs churning, propelling him upward. He gripped the lip before gravity caught up with him. In a blink, he disappeared over the side.
Amaranthe grumbled to herself but backed up to give it a try. If he thought she could do it, who was she to argue?
“A mortal person more effected by gravity than he,” she muttered.
“Check behind the stacks,” one of the men said.
They were both on the roof now, walking in her direction. She’d be in their sight in a few seconds.
Amaranthe raced for the stack, then up it. Taking large steps, she kicked into the wall, throwing the knee of her opposite leg up, propelling herself upward. All too soon, her momentum faded. She threw her arm up, hoping she was close to the top. Her fingers brushed the lip, but she couldn’t quite get a grip.
Before she started to drop, Sicarius’s hand whipped out with a viper’s speed. He caught her wrist and hauled her up as if she weighed mere ounces.
Conscious of the men below, Amaranthe kept from grunting when her stomach rammed into the stack’s lip. A little abdomen battering didn’t compare to what she’d endured at Pike’s hands. She slithered the rest of the way over as quietly as possible. Inside, she groped about for someplace to put her feet, but didn’t find anything. Sicarius was bracing himself with one boot and one hand against each side of the interior. The smokestack wasn’t wide, and she bumped him several times as she maneuvered about, attempting to find a similar position. She finally settled in, facing him. Under other circumstances, she might have blushed at how few inches separated their bodies. As it was, she merely hoped she hadn’t bumped him any place sensitive.
Sicarius gazed impassively at her. She tilted her head, listening to see if the enforcers had spotted her. She could hear them talking, but the stack walls muffled the words. She and Sicarius hung in tableau, waiting.
Though the furnaces might have been permitted to burn down to embers, heat still wafted up from below. Warmth emanated from the metal walls, too, and she alternated lifting hands to give them a break. She eyed the soot coating her palms with distaste. She did manage to feel pleased that her muscles were supporting her weight without trouble. So long as the enforcers wandered off before the stokers below readied the boat to leave the docks, she ought to be fine.
“At least I’m warm now,” Amaranthe whispered. “We should have climbed in here earlier.”
Sicarius was watching the sky, or perhaps listening to the enforcers, and she didn’t expect him to respond. He surprised her with a quiet, “My arm did not warm you sufficiently?”
“Don’t feel bad. You’re new at snuggling with women. You’ll learn.”
His gaze lowered to meet hers. More teasing words floated through her mind, but she kept them to herself. After all, she wanted to encourage snuggling, not divert him from the notion. Other notions came to mind when she realized how close her face was to his. Given their precarious perch, and the enforcers clomping about on the roof below, this probably wasn’t the place for amorous activities, but as the seconds ticked past, she found herself wondering what he’d do if she kissed him. She also wondered if he thought about such things even half as often as she did. By all accounts—especially Maldynado’s—men were supposed to be more enamored with sex than women, but with him... one would never know if he had such urges at all. Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did but didn’t know how to have a normal relationship with someone. She’d been thinking about what she’d endured at Pike’s hands, but what about what he’d endured? Not as a hardened adult either, but as a child.
“Equipment cleaning,” Sicarius said.
“What?”
“Your job. It could be tending to the group’s training gear.”
Amaranthe shook her head slowly. Here she was worrying about his past and whether he’d ever enjoy physical relations, and he was mulling over the most literal meaning of her earlier words. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispered. “I meant jobs as in things we do specifically to please the other person. It should be...” She trailed off. The lighting wasn’t the best inside the smokestack, but she was certain the corners of his lips were turned up slightly. “You know what I meant. You’re just teasing me.”
“Yes.”
“Sicarius...? Do you find pleasure in... I mean, did your experiences as a boy... with... him... make it so you can’t...” Amaranthe dropped her chin and winced. This was the worst place ever to have this conversation. What was she thinking? Once started, though, she couldn’t help herself. “I know you said you’d be ready when I was ready, but do you think it’ll be... something you can enjoy?”
Sicarius lifted his face toward the mouth of the smokestack, ear tilted toward the jabbering enforcers below. “Is coitus with you not typically enjoyable?”
Amaranthe was glad he wasn’t looking at her, because her cheeks flushed hotter than a pot-bellied stove. “Of course it is,” she whispered. Though, technically, she’d never asked any of her previous lovers. All two of them. Men never seemed that picky though. Emperor’s warts, she’d caught Akstyr entertaining himself with a tree once.
Amaranthe realized Sicarius’s gaze had returned to her face, and her flush deepened. “Does that mean you’re not going to answer my question?”
Sicarius shifted his weight, and she thought he meant to climb up and check on the enforcers, but he drew closer and laid his hand on her waist. His fingers hooked under her belt, as if he meant to give her extra support to ensure she wouldn�
�t fall. She opened her mouth to protest—sure, she’d get tired of hanging up there eventually, but a few minutes didn’t bother her. Then he touched his lips to hers.
Her boots skidded an inch down the wall. She jammed her hands against the sides to catch herself. Her heart thundered in her ears at the thought of plummeting three decks down to the boiler room, but Sicarius’s other hand came to her waist, and her mind caught up to her reflexes. She was in no danger of falling. Even if she slipped, he wouldn’t let her drop. Not when he was teasing her lips with his tongue. Playfully. That still wasn’t exactly an answer to her question, but she wasn’t about to start talking and ruin the moment.
Though he kept the kiss light, the desire for more built within her. How long had she wanted him to kiss her? How long had she dreamed of it? The warmth that flushed her body had nothing to do with embarrassment or the heat wafting up from the furnaces. Had she been cold earlier? That feeling seemed an eternity past now. She lowered one of her hands from the wall, wanting to reach for him and deepen the kiss. Then she remembered her position, that only her braced arms and legs kept her from falling. But Sicarius didn’t let her budge. His hands on either side of her waist ensured she wouldn’t fall. Her fingers found the back of his head, twining in his short, soft hair. She let go of the wall with her other hand, wrapping it around his back, and then, encouraged by what felt like a smile against her lips, she let the arm slip lower. Feeling audacious for her presumption, she cupped his rear. Taut muscle lay beneath his trousers, a result of his straddled legs supporting his weight and some of hers. He could hold them both up, she had little doubt. She was tempted to wrap her legs around him, to—
“Rokkov,” someone yelled outside. “You and Ganz better get down here. We found Jokranov and Reki. Their bodies anyway.”
“We’ll be down in a minute,” one of the men on the roof yelled back.
Sicarius drew back, leaving Amaranthe breathless and disoriented. It took her a moment to focus on work again and realize the implications of the shout.
Beneath the Surface Page 12
