Forged in Blood I

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Yes?” Sicarius asked calmly, keeping any hint of expectation out of his voice.

  He’d had to learn such rigid control over his body during his years of training that he had little trouble suppressing sexual urges, though if she decided she wanted more, he’d have no problem obliging. Her question in the smokestack as to whether he was capable of enjoying intercourse… If he remembered how to laugh, that would have been the time for it. She had no idea how many nights he’d thought of little but intercourse. Especially of late. Since he’d spent those hundreds of miles chasing after that ship, since she’d admitted what she’d endured to withhold his secrets…

  He lowered his head, brushing his cheek against hers, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and the salty warmth of her skin. She’d been running not long ago—sweating. He’d have to get the details of that shopping mission. Later.

  Amaranthe cleared her throat. “I, uhm… Tonight? When you come to… stand guard?”

  “Yes?” he murmured, his lips against her skin now, touching, tasting their way down her neck.

  He ought to pull away, to let her finish her question, especially if it was going where he wished it would go, but the pleasure of letting his hands roam, brushing along soft, taut flesh that shivered in response to his touch, and the taste of that skin beneath his lips, his tongue… He enjoyed the feel of her quick breaths whispering past his ear, stirring his hair. More, it pleased him that he affected her so. When her arms slipped around his back and the remaining space between them disappeared…

  “You should,” Amaranthe said—gulped, “do it… from my blankets.”

  “Like last night?” He lifted his head, intending to accept her offer with a kiss, but he paused at her earlobe, giving it a nibble.

  She gasped, and her arms tightened about him. This close, she’d have no trouble discerning his own interest in… standing guard.

  “Not exactly,” she breathed, pressing her hips into him.

  He responded with an unintentional growl, capturing her against the edge of the desk, locking her to him. His lips found hers, a different taste, a different texture, even more arousing. Why wait until night? With her invitation on his mind, he’d be distracted during the trip to Fort Urgot. Besides, he was tired of suppressing himself, over and over…

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs below the office. He didn’t care. If anyone opened the door to interrupt them, he’d—

  Amaranthe broke the kiss, her gaze darting toward the window. “Yara, I told her to come back after lunch.”

  “Unfortunate,” Sicarius said, mostly because he was thinking of hurling a knife at the door if Yara came in. Not to kill… but a blade quivering in the jamb inches from her ear would convince her to leave them alone.

  Amaranthe squirmed out of his grip, though, rushing to straighten her clothes like a thirteen-year-old girl in danger of being caught necking by parents who’d arrived home. “I know,” she said as the footsteps reached the landing. “You should have told me you wanted to deliver more than news. I’d have told her to wait until after dinner.” Her cheeks were flushed and she sounded as though she’d just finished a hard run. She flashed a grin at him. “Or maybe breakfast?”

  Breakfast indeed, he thought, his eyes arrested by her lips. If the door hadn’t opened, Sicarius would have pulled her back, and slag Yara or anyone else who wandered upstairs. He had a lot of knives he could throw to ensure privacy.

  “Are you two done?” Yara asked from the threshold.

  Absolutely not, Sicarius thought.

  Amaranthe cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  “Books and Akstyr are coming,” Yara said. “Maldynado was explaining his costume choices. You may find some resistance.”

  “Ah. Yes, he did mention something about a robe and… tassels, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t know, but they better not be for me.”

  Yara came in and more footfalls sounded outside. Amaranthe upended the shopping bags onto the desk. Sicarius found a corner, lamenting this swift return to business, though it didn’t surprise him. Before Amaranthe, he never would have considered engaging in carnal activities, or even permitting himself such distracting thoughts, during the course of a mission. Somewhere along the way, though, this had become more than just a mission. It was… life, he supposed. A way of existing that was more interesting than simply accepting orders and obeying them.

  Amaranthe held up a shiny silver chain with a medallion formed by a pair of slitted eyes. “Uhm. Who’s costume is this a part of?”

  “In Kendor, the gia gia lizard features in many legends,” Sicarius said, “always wise and often all-knowing. Those eyes are its typical representation. They’re popular in jewelry worn amongst those with status. Or who wish to appear to have status.”

  “I think he just said that’s yours,” Yara said.

  “Unfortunately, that’s the message I got too.” Amaranthe pulled out a matching silver chain, or perhaps a woman might wear it as a belt. It, too, featured the eye motif. “Hm.”

  Yara plucked a small emerald green piece of material from the pile of clothing. “Did he truly buy these? What a rock head.”

  Amaranthe grabbed the garment, strings twitching in the air, and stuffed it in a bag. She glanced at Sicarius, cheeks flushing anew. Undergarments, he guessed, and decided he didn’t care for the idea of Maldynado picking such things out for her. Though his mind did snag for a moment, imagining a modeling show.

  Books and Akstyr strolled in, each with a fat tome held under one arm, and Sicarius was glad the undergarment had been hidden. An uneven gait and the clack of a swordstick announced Deret Mancrest’s approach. The office was growing too crowded for his taste.

  After Mancrest entered, Sicarius slid toward the door. The warrior-caste man sidestepped, putting his back against the wall, as if he worried Sicarius had been attempting to get behind him. Sicarius ignored him. The movement by the door had drawn Amaranthe’s eyes, but she looked at Sicarius, not Mancrest. She lifted her eyebrows and mouthed, “Tonight?”

  He held her gaze for a long moment and nodded once before stepping outside.

  Chapter 9

  There weren’t many troops patrolling the streets in the upscale neighborhood that housed the Mildawn Business School for Women. A good thing, since it wasn’t as late an hour as it should be for sneaking into a locked building. Wanting to a meet a lover for a midnight tryst probably wasn’t a valid reason for a rebel leader to rush her breaking-and-entering plans, so Amaranthe decided it was the need to acquire information with enough time to study it that motivated the evening infiltration. Anyway, it was dark and late enough that the students and faculty should be gone for the day.

  “Let me know if anyone comes.” She slipped out her lock-pick set.

  “Of course,” Yara said, a hint of indignation in the tone. Yes, she hadn’t needed to be told. She already had her back to the wall beside the kitchen door, and was watching the alley.

  “You didn’t answer my question on the trolley,” Amaranthe said after a few minutes of prodding in the lock. Down on one knee, the cold from the concrete stoop seeping through her trouser leg, she figured this would take a while. The school could afford high quality locks.

  “That’s because we had to jump off between stops to flee enforcers who were squinting suspiciously at you,” Yara said.

  “We didn’t flee anyone. We were simply disembarking preemptively to ensure the enforcers didn’t have time to confirm those suspicions.”

  “Disembarking preemptively. I see.”

  Amaranthe supposed Yara would be offended if she pointed out that she, with her brusque, sometimes humorless manner, reminded one of Sicarius at times.

  “Yes,” Yara said, finally answering the question, “things are going well with Maldynado.”

  She started pacing the alley, checking the streets on either end. Meanwhile, Amaranthe finished with the lock. She pulled matches and lantern out of her pack, and stepped into the kitchen. By the time Y
ara joined her, shutting the door at their backs, the light from the flame played over polished wood cabinets, countertops, and flooring.

  “Are there likely to be squatters?” Yara asked.

  “At Mildawn School for Women? I should think not.” Amaranthe issued her best haughty sniff. “But we’ll keep an eye out regardless. It’s early enough that a night janitor might be around.”

  Amaranthe led the way past large coal stoves and racks of hanging pots. They slipped into the wide empty hallway that ran the length of the building. The last time she’d been here had been with Sicarius—nicknamed, to his disgruntlement, Hansor at the time—and she smiled to think how far they’d come in the last year. And how far they might go later that night. She flushed at the memory of the afternoon’s… promise. If she’d known talking about hurling herself into danger could bestir that response in him, she would have done it more often. Usually she hurled herself into danger without warning him beforehand.

  Of course, she was nervous at the prospect of “later that night” too. What if she were overcome with some intense memory of being sprawled on Pike’s table? What if, in the middle of things, she grew scared and decided she couldn’t go through with it? What if she were so cursed tired that she passed out and drooled all over Sicarius before they got started? Sure, girl, she thought with a snort, that’ll happen. He could rouse the unconscious with those roaming fingers. All this time, she’d been certain he wouldn’t be all that practiced with women, at least not in the art of teasing… physical responses from them. Princess Marathi must have given her teenage paramour some lessons. Amaranthe couldn’t imagine anyone else in the intervening years who might have had the gumption to dare instruct him.

  “Are we going in or will the records magically appear under the threshold?” Yara asked.

  Amaranthe blushed. They’d climbed the stairs to the third floor and were standing in front of the headmistress’s office. Judging by the comment, they’d been standing there for a while. “In.” She tried the knob and found it locked. “Shortly.” She set down the lantern and withdrew her tools.

  Yara sighed and leaned against the wall again. “Are you sure you’ll need me for this underwater adventure of yours? Someone should take a portion of Sespian’s funds and try to acquire some of the Forge prototype rifles. For our new troops.”

  “All two of them?”

  “You’ll get more. I’ve heard your spiel,” Yara said with a pointed sidelong look. Yes, she’d received the recruiting speech herself. “Besides, Sespian is out trying to get more men right now, isn’t he? We should be prepared.”

  “Would you prefer a weapons-acquisition assignment for yourself? Instead of going to the Forge lair with me?” Amaranthe hadn’t been certain about bringing Yara anyway. She could imagine getting two “assistants” past the Forge ladies, but, as she had told Sicarius, it was unlikely the real Suan traveled with an army.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Yara said. “I could take the new men, make them feel useful and part of your team. They’d be less likely to cross us that way.”

  Amaranthe appreciated her initiative. Yara’s enforcer promotion hadn’t come simply because she was a woman, and Sespian wanted a few female sergeants on the force, Amaranthe was certain of that. She couldn’t resist the urge to tease Yara though. “Are you sure you aren’t simply looking for a way to get out of wearing the costume Maldynado picked out for you?” Surprisingly, the velvety blue fabric was quite attractive, but if one didn’t like dresses, one didn’t like dresses.

  “It’s the ridiculous footwear that always comes with those sorts of clothes,” Yara said. “My feet are already big enough that I don’t need snowshoes in the winter. Those dumb… girl shoes just draw attention.”

  Hm, she must harbor secret longings to experience life as a modestly proportioned waif of a woman. Amaranthe wondered how many waifs out there saw Yara’s height, athletic form, and easy power and wished they could experience her life. The veins were always richer in someone else’s mine.

  “Your feet are perfectly proportionate,” Amaranthe said. “Maldynado certainly doesn’t seem to mind them.”

  Yara snorted.

  Amaranthe replaced her picking tools and pushed the door open. They entered a tidy office overlooking the street, with a floral seat cushion on the desk chair and light airy curtains framing the window the only feminine touches. She moved the lantern to a bookcase and tried the door beside it, one of two that led to the records area. The other door was in the scholarship office—a room she and Sicarius had visited. She sighed when she found it locked. “They’re dedicated to security around here.”

  Fortunately, this last lock could have been picked with a rusty hairpin, so she made short work of it. They walked into the long aisles of the records room. Long, dusty aisles. Amaranthe crinkled her nose and resisted the urge to whip out a kerchief.

  “Maldynado is too busy being impressed, so he says, by my other attributes,” Yara said, surprising Amaranthe by continuing the conversation. “And attitude. And willingness to do… Well, I like a challenge. I think he expected me to be shy. I’m not.”

  No, Amaranthe imagined Yara would have no problem telling a man exactly what she wanted. And what he wanted too. “He’s probably not used to that. Not all of us are that…” Brave was the word that came to mind, but she didn’t want to confess to being cowardly. “Unshrinking,” she finished lamely.

  She waved away the sentence and focused on the rows of student records, hunting for less recent ones. Suan Curlev would have graduated in—

  “If it makes you feel better,” Yara said, “I’d be intimidated by your assassin too. His list of kills, his reputation, his sheer deadliness. If someone like that ever got mad at you… I don’t know that I could—I mean, what could anyone do? Woman or not?”

  “Oh, I’ve seen his temper. It takes a lot to disturb his rigid control, but I’ve… pushed him. He didn’t take it out on me, though a cabinet door did suffer ignobly. I trust him not to hurt me. He hasn’t even… there are times when he could have said cruel things—I’ve deserved them—but he didn’t. Even when he lost his temper, he was more irritated with himself than me.” Amaranthe chewed on her lip. Why was she sharing all this? “Anyway,” she said by way of closing off the conversation, “I’ve learned that reputation is a truth others concoct to serve their own needs. Genuine truth is revealed in one’s actions, actions preformed under duress without the time to calculate how they’ll make one appear in the world’s eyes.”

  Yara digested that for a moment, then responded lightly, “Are we still talking about bed play?”

  “I don’t know,” Amaranthe said, relieved her comrade had chosen light over serious. With Sicarius being so private, she almost felt like discussing their personal moments was an act of betrayal. “Is duress often involved in your bed play?”

  “Often.”

  This time, Amaranthe snorted. She wouldn’t be surprised. Maldynado probably had handcuffs, rope, and ancestors knew what else rolled up in his blanket.

  She tapped her fingers on the shelves. “It looks like the records are only kept for ten years. Suan graduated before then. I guess this trip was wasted, and we should have gone shopping for ammunition after all.”

  “Is it possible older records are stored in a basement or some secondary archive system?” Yara asked.

  “I don’t remember hearing about anything like that, though let’s check the library. If this Suan was so brilliant and so beloved by her teachers, maybe some of her papers were kept for posterity.”

  They locked the doors and returned to the hallway. Amaranthe led the way back down to the first floor, though she paused as soon as she stepped out of the stairwell. A mop and bucket rested near the wall.

  “That wasn’t there on our way in, was it?” she murmured.

  “No,” Yara said.

  Amaranthe shuttered her lantern and skirted the bucket. With luck they could slip into the library without chancing across the janitor.
She didn’t want to leave a trail of bound-and-gagged people stuffed into closets, not on this excursion. If Forge learned she’d been at the school, they might make some guesses as to why she’d been at the school.

  She slowed as they neared the double-door entry to the library. One of those doors stood ajar, faint light seeping out from within. She stopped on the threshold and risked peering inside. If the janitor were down on his hands and knees scrubbing floors, maybe they could sneak in behind him without being noticed.

  Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t visible from the doorway. The light from a single lantern brightened the end of an aisle several meters into the library. If the furnishings hadn’t been rearranged in the last ten years, tables and desks lay down that wide book-filled corridor. Maybe the janitor was dusting. Amaranthe wanted to look in an alcove on the other side of the room, one that held copies of periodicals and newspapers featuring articles from former students, as well as a handful of economics books written by faculty.

  She’d taken no more than a step when a chair creaked, followed by a sigh. Keys jangled on the person’s belt. He might be rising to his feet, or simply shifting his weight.

  Amaranthe ducked back into the hallway. She waited, but nobody walked out of that aisle.

  Before she stepped into the library again, Yara tapped her on the back and signed, Smart do this? You don’t know if anything good inside, right?

  Yara hadn’t yet learned all of Basilard’s hand signs, but she knew enough to be understood. Amaranthe shrugged and stepped back into the library again. This time, she padded to her destination as quickly as she could. Yara waited in the hallway.