Author: Lindsay Buroker
Date: 2013-01-08 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Steampunk; Adventure; Romance; Magic; Fiction; Science Fiction; Novella; Short Stories; Action
Description: Alternate cover edition of ASIN B00AYR3BS2 All Sergeant Evrial Yara wanted was to protect the young emperor from those plotting to kill him. Joining forces with a group of notorious outlaws wasn’t part of the plan, especially not when one of them is determined to charm her out of her uniform at every turn. Working with the criminals might have been worth it if their efforts had saved the emperor, but it seems he’s not the rightful heir to the throne.... Evrial may have thrown away her career for nothing. To make matters worse, fate isn’t going to give her time to calmly decide what to do next.
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.

Beneath the Surface

(an Emperor's Edge novella)

- Title Page
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- EPILOGUE

Beneath the Surface

Lindsay Buroker

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Lindsay Buroker

CHAPTER 1

Sergeant Evrial Yara jogged past crew and passengers bundled in coats, their backs to the cold wind whipping down the Goldar River. A wan afternoon sun poked through the clouds, dappling riverbanks littered with soggy orange and brown leaves, but its rays did little to warm the air. Winter was on its way. Coal smudged the skyline to the north, promising a town waited somewhere ahead. Evrial didn’t know if the River Dancer was due to stop there or not. If it were...

“You could get off there,” she muttered to herself. A week ago, she never would have considered abandoning Sespian Savarsin, the young emperor who was being plotted against from all sides. That was before the truth had come out. “You don’t owe him anything. He’s not the proper heir.”

Realizing she’d spoken aloud, however softly, Evrial glanced left and right. Though she was earning curious looks from the people she passed, she guessed it was for her repeated laps of the lower deck rather than any muttered words.

Evrial grimaced as her gaze landed on the knot of jugglers practicing on the aft deck. Every time she passed them, they decided to make her a part of their exercises, tossing batons and clubs to each other over her head.

A pair of the young men smiled when they saw her coming again. One was juggling a trio of razor-edged knives, and he nodded to his comrade, indicating the other fellow should move closer to the wall so she’d be forced to jog between them as she made the turn. What was it about her that always drew the attention of idiots?

Without slowing her gait, Evrial skewered the blade juggler with a glare. “If you two sludge-licking toads so much as wave those knives in my direction, I’ll rip your apples off, stuff them like taxidermy ostriches, then hand-deliver them to your boss with the suggestion that they be incorporated into future juggling practices.”

That threat was a mouthful, especially given that she was breathing hard from her jog, but it was worth it. The brats shrank away from her path, muttering apologies as she passed. One’s face took on an impressively pale shade, given the bronze coloring of his skin. Evrial supposed being born into a long line of blacksmiths, where the men and women were all over six feet tall, came with occasional perks. Her shoulders were broad enough to swing a hammer, her back was strong enough to move an anvil, and her hands... well, she fancied making good on her threat wouldn’t tax them overly much.

“Ah, Sergeant Yara,” a familiar baritone called from a doorway. “I thought I recognized one of your classy threats.”

Maldynado Montichelu, formerly Maldynado Marblecrest, stepped onto the open deck, smiling and spreading his arms wide, as if he expected Evrial to jog into his embrace. His broad-brimmed black hat—an accessory made completely ridiculous by the addition of a giant plumed pink feather—couldn’t throw enough shadows to hide the chiseled features of his face. His high, well-defined cheekbones, strong square jaw, and liquid brown eyes that always crinkled with humor combined to create a visage that made women of all ages swoon. Evrial kept reminding herself that she wasn’t the type to fall for that sort—after all, that sort had never fallen for her—but he kept smiling warmly at her. It was all very disarming, so she reacted the only way she knew how when he fell into step beside her, giving her a pat on the back.

She snarled. “We’ve gone over the no-touching rule numerous times, have we not?”

Unlike the jugglers, Maldynado wasn’t quelled by her tone or her snarl. His smile grew wider, and he said, “Indeed so, but it’s been a few days since you mentioned it. I thought you might have changed your mind and decided to succumb to my charms in the interim.”

“Aren’t you and your charms supposed to be hiding in your cabin with the rest of your team?” Evrial left his side, ostensibly to run around a pair of acrobats practicing throws and airborne somersaults, but mostly to put space between her and Maldynado. It discomforted her that she occasionally found herself wondering what it’d be like to let his hands linger and where they might roam if given permission to explore. Her face heated, and she ruthlessly shoved the thought away. Though he might have shown her he wasn’t as foppish and dumb as he pretended, she knew he was only flirting with her because she resisted his advances, not out of any desire or true feelings. For one who so easily seduced women, she must represent a challenge.

Maldynado caught back up with her on the other side of a team of actors practicing the battle scene from some old tale. “The ice circus folks only visit the capital once a year; I doubt they’re familiar with the handsome face gracing my wanted posters.”

Evrial shot him an exasperated look. She might have figured out that he was more than a fop, but he certainly made it easy to forget. “The crew and some of the other passengers may be more frequent visitors. Though I suppose those well-to-do enough to afford steamboat tickets aren’t likely to feel inclined to risk themselves wrestling someone with such a meager bounty.”

“Meager.” Maldynado sniffed.

“It’s still only two hundred fifty ranmyas, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but I’m convinced the printer made a mistake and left off some zeroes. I’m sure if you brought me in, you’d find the reward more like twenty-five thousand ranmyas.”

“Careful, you’ll tempt me to turn you in.”

Evrial spotted someone walking down an outside stairway up ahead, a woman with locks of gray hair escaping a hood she clasped about her face. She glanced left and right, then darted into a doorway leading to the kitchen. Evrial slowed down, a discordant twang plucking at her enforcer senses. Only the crew used that door, and the woman had not been wearing one of the ubiquitous white uniforms.

“Turn me in?” Maldynado asked. “Before we’ve shared a night of passionate sheet tussling? You may find my skills are worth more to you than coin. Perhaps you’d wish to blackmail me into servicing your every whim, a sacrifice I’d be willing to make to avoid being arrested, of course.”

“Why must you be such an insufferable lout so much of the time?” Evrial headed for the kitchen door.

“It comes naturally, I suppose. Did you recognize that woman?” Maldynado was trailing along beside her.

Evrial was almost surprised he’d noticed the woman, though she shouldn’t be. She’d just been admitting to herself that he had half a brain under his soft curly brown hair. At least, it looked soft. She’d never touched it.

Focus, Evi, she told herself with a mental growl. “I couldn’t see her face, but she was acting suspiciously, don’t you think?”

“Indeed so. Her gaze went right past me without pausing to linger on my fine attributes. Very suspicious.”

“Would you stop that, already? It’s annoying.” Evrial eased the kitchen door open. The smells of baking pheasants, simmering soups, and sautéing vegetables wafted out.

“Sorry.” Surprisingly, he sounded like he was. “It’s a habit.”

“Break it.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll attempt to do so.”

“Yes, Sergeant is the proper way to address me.”

Inside the kitchen, pots clanged, utensils rattled, and heavy knifes thudded against chopping blocks. Evrial eyed the tight aisles, searching for civilian clothing amongst the numerous white uniforms. Compact and efficient for river travel, the kitchen offered few hiding spots. A swinging door on the opposite end caught her eye.

“Will there be a point when I may call you Evrial?” Maldynado asked as he peeked over her shoulder.

“Not unless I lose my job.”

Which, Evrial feared, was a possibility. She’d been in trouble with her employer and her family when she’d taken off to meet Amaranthe Lokdon and her team of mercenaries. All she’d wanted to do was make sure the emperor was safe, but somehow she’d ended up embroiled in a kidnapping scheme and an assault on an underground lair full of business people plotting against the throne. All that might have been tolerable if not for the shocking news revealed at the end, that Emperor Sespian Savarsin wasn’t the rightful emperor at all, but the son of the deceased Princess Marathi and the former court assassin, a man who, as far as anyone knew, had absolutely no royal blood and no right to have a son on the throne.

When most of the staff’s backs were turned, Evrial eased into the kitchen. She hustled toward the swinging door, hoping to pass through without being seen. Only one woman lifted her head and frowned as she passed.

Evrial stepped into a corridor on the other side, its narrow utilitarian confines intended for crew rather than passengers. She glanced in both directions and glimpsed a woman’s slippers and the tail of a gray cloak disappearing up a ladder. Evrial jogged after the figure, climbing the brass rungs without making a sound. She paused on the next floor, didn’t see anyone in the service corridor, and continued up one more deck. A cart of laundry blocked her view of the corridor, but she heard the patter of soft footfalls. She climbed out of the ladder well in time to see the cloaked woman struggle to open a heavy hatch, almost upending a basket of salamis and flat cakes. Her hood slipped down to her shoulders.

Evrial sucked in a breath, recognizing the sharp-nosed face. It belonged to one the people who’d been seated at that secret business meeting. That made her one of the more prominent heads of the Forge organization, the people plotting to put a loyal figurehead on the throne.

Staying low, Evrial crept forward, a vague notion of accosting the woman arising in her mind. Before she’d reached the laundry cart, her target glanced back.

Evrial ducked, hoping she’d reacted quickly enough to stay out of sight. Hinges squeaked, and the hatch thudded shut. Evrial pushed the cart aside and ran to the end of the passageway. She eased open the hatch without trouble and peeked through the crack. The wide, wood-paneled corridor was empty.

“Emperor’s warts,” she whispered.

Cabin doors stretched along the walls in either direction, but they were all closed.

“She got away, huh?”

Evrial jumped in surprise, losing her grip on the hatch. It clanged shut.

Maldynado stood behind her in the corridor, his hat brushing the ceiling, the feather crooked against the wall. His broad shoulders brushed the walls as well, and Evrial caught herself staring at his collarbone and the hint of firm pectoral muscles revealed by the V-neck shirt.

“What?” Maldynado asked.

Evrial cleared her throat, embarrassed that he’d caught her staring. “I didn’t know you were following me.”

“You thought I’d loiter in the kitchen and graze off the appetizer platters while you wandered off, looking for trouble?”

“No, I mean, I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh.” Maldynado offered a bright smile. “Good. Basilard and Sicarius always tell me I have the stealth of a drunken elephant, but I think they’re hypercritical because they were born with cat’s paws instead of human feet.” He pointed his chin at the hatch. “Did you figure out who she is?”

Distracted by the idea of Sicarius having cat feet, it took Evrial a moment to answer the question. “One of the Forge women.”

Maldynado straightened, clunking his head on the ceiling. He barely noticed. “Really? The boss’ll want to hear about that.”

Yes, and Evrial wished her prey hadn’t eluded her so she’d have more information to share. “I wonder why this woman is sneaking around instead of simply going to the dining room for meals.”

“Maybe she knows we’re here and is worried we’ll flood her cabin with the river,” Maldynado said, “the same way we did with their under-lake meeting chamber.”

“Nobody’s supposed to know your team is here. Lokdon sent me to buy the tickets, everyone boarded after dark with their hats pulled low, and they’ve been sneaking out for their food. Although, some members have been roaming around of late.” Evrial eyed him up and down.

“What do you expect? Books is my roommate, and he’s got his papers all over my bunk. And on the floor. I can barely turn around in there. I ought to come sleep with you.” Maldynado wriggled his eyebrows.

“I have a roommate, too, you know. I don’t think your employer would care to listen to your spelunking attempts.”

Maldynado lifted his hands. “I was just talking about sleeping arrangements. I don’t know what you’re suggesting, my lady.”

Evrial snorted. “Let’s just go talk to her. If more Forge people than that old lady are here, and they know we’re here, we might be in for trouble.”

“Yes, I suppose it was too much to hope that we’d have a week’s vacation to recover from our wounds before arriving to that mess back home.” For once, Maldynado’s face held only grimness and not a trace of humor.

* * * * *

Amaranthe Lokdon darted from shadow to shadow, hugging the railing and avoiding the freshly lit lanterns burning on the steamboat’s hull. The wooden doors between those lanterns were closely placed at this end of the vessel, indicating the smallness of the cabins. Engineering lay right below, and the reverberations from the paddlewheel’s pumping pistons vibrated through the textured steel decking.

A door opened a few meters away. It wasn’t one of the rooms her team had claimed, so Amaranthe turned her back to it, propped her arms on the railing, and pretended to be fascinated with the farmlands drifting past on that side of the river. Though she gazed forward, she watched the door with her peripheral vision. A man and woman walked out, arms linked. They didn’t glance in her direction. Good. Amaranthe patted the brown paper bag tucked beneath a flap of her parka. It seemed she might get away with her discreet outing without having to explain herself to anyone.

After the couple disappeared down the nearest stairwell, Amaranthe trotted to her own door, holding her parka closed—and protecting the bag—with one arm. She slipped out the key and inserted it in the lock... only to find that someone had unlocked the door since she left fifteen minutes earlier. Sergeant Yara must have returned from her exercise session. That was all right. She probably wouldn’t betray Amaranthe to any fitness-obsessed assassins. Yara and Sicarius had never, insofar as Amaranthe had noticed, held a conversation.

She opened the door and stepped inside, a greeting for Yara on her lips, but she found herself face-to-face with Sicarius. Arms crossed over his chest, he stood in the center of the small cabin. He wore his usual fitted black clothing and knife-and-dagger collection. His cool expressionless stare had a where-have-you-been mien to it. Or maybe her imagination conjured up that nuance. Her guilty imagination.

Amaranthe pursued the age-old strategy employed by those seeking to avoid answering questions—she preempted them with her own unrelated rambling. “That’s odd. I distinctly remember locking this door before I left.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “And Yara is my only roommate and the only other key holder, but I don’t see her here.” She made a show of surveying the cabin. She peered under the lower of two bunks mounted on the back wall, then beneath a table bolted to the floorboards near another wall, and she finally pulled open the table’s single drawer to peek inside. “Nope, she’s not here.”

Amaranthe turned, intending to continue her show, this time checking behind the door, but found herself gaping at a new addition to her tiny cabin. Someone had bolted an iron bar in the corner so it hung horizontally a few inches below the ceiling. Two chains dangled from it. A couple of clunky iron balls with handles sat on the floor beneath the apparatus.

“What’s all this?” Amaranthe asked, though with Sicarius being Sicarius, she had a suspicion.

“There is something in your pocket.” Sicarius hadn’t moved from the center of the room, but his gaze had lowered—to the bulge in her parka.

“No, there’s not.” Amaranthe feared her attempts at evasion were in vain, but couldn’t bring herself to give up. Maybe if she could get him to go over and explain the new addition, she could slip her bag into that table drawer. It looked deep enough... “If this were Maldynado’s handiwork—” she tilted her head, trying to draw his eye toward the bar and chains, “—I’d assume it was some sort of apparatus for... sex play, but since we haven’t even, uhm, played in the bed yet...” Dear ancestors, what was she doing? She should have simply confessed. That would have been less painful. “...That would seem premature,” she finished weakly.

“It is for training,” Sicarius said, once again demonstrating his ability to mask his thoughts in the face of any commentary. “Since those of us with notorious faces have been ordered to remain in our cabins for the duration of the journey.”

Er, yes, that had been her order, so she could hardly balk at it. But his explanation offered an opportunity; maybe she could yet salvage this conversation. “Training? Care to demonstrate?”

Sicarius walked past her, though not without giving her an all-too-knowing sidelong gaze, and gripped the bar with both hands. His back was to the room. Perfect. While he performed a variety of pull-ups, demonstrating different grips, Amaranthe tiptoed toward the desk. With one hand still holding her parka flap closed, she eased the drawer open. Meanwhile, she kept an eye toward Sicarius, making sure he didn’t glance back. Emperor’s burst bunions, he didn’t expect her to do those one-armed chin-ups, did he?

“What are the chains for?” she asked when it looked like he might be finishing his demonstration.

She opened her parka flap slowly, careful not to rustle the bag. The man had the hearing of an owl.

“They can be used for abbreviated maneuvers while some of your weight remains on the floor.” Sicarius gripped the chains and demonstrated. “This may be necessary while you regain your strength.”

Amaranthe pulled out the crinkled brown bag, its bottom spotted with grease stains. A faint smell wafted up, teasing her nose. Cinnamon. She placed the bag in the drawer as fast as she could without making noise. Sicarius’s hearing wasn’t his only preternatural sense.

The chains rattled as he released them. Amaranthe slid the drawer shut, coughing to cover the rustle as the top of the frame scraped at the bag. The drawer snagged against something. She winced and started to reach in to adjust the bag, but Sicarius was turning to face her. She spun about, leaning a hand casually on the table and using her body to block his view.

“That’s very thoughtful of you to install that,” Amaranthe said, “but I thought we’d agreed to let the group relax and recuperate on this voyage upstream, considering the battering we’ve all taken.” She touched one of the remaining bruises on her neck. Though she preferred to forget about her wounds, and was glad they were fading, she thought he might be moved by compassion and forget about her suspicious behavior. “We’ll be in the capital in a few days, and we’ll have enough hard work to occupy us then. We’ll need to be fresh.”

“There is a difference between fresh and out of shape.” Sicarius strode toward her.

Amaranthe tried to force the drawer shut with her butt. That last inch wouldn’t budge. She spread her parka to further block the view of the cursed thing. Only when Sicarius stopped in front of her, less than a foot of space separating them, did she realize that the way she was leaning against the table, touching her neck with one hand, spreading her parka open with the other, probably looked like... an invitation. Sicarius might not have reacted to her “bed play” comment, but they had discussed a future that involved such things—insomuch as she could imagine him playing at anything. When she was ready, he’d said. If he thought she was ready to resume training, maybe he thought she might be ready for other activities. Amaranthe swallowed. Might she be?

Sicarius was gazing steadily at her. She couldn’t tell what thoughts lurked behind his dark brown eyes, but he didn’t seem annoyed or irritated—those emotions she could usually read in the extra degree of hardness to his jaw. He lifted his hands to touch either side of her waist. Her breath hitched. The warmth of his fingers radiated through her shirt. He stepped closer. He was going to—

Sicarius’s grip tightened, and he lifted her from her feet.

Amaranthe blurted a startled protest as he picked her up, rotated her, and set her down behind him. Sicarius slid open the desk drawer, plucked out the bag, and dropped it on the table. He arched a single eyebrow. It was all Amaranthe could do not to squirm and shuffle her feet like a child caught filching cookies from the kitchen.

“You risked being seen by security to acquire a bag of tarts?” Sicarius asked.

“They’re pastries, not tarts. Besides...” Amaranthe set a hand on her hip. “You risked being seen by security to acquire iron bars and chains.”

“I was not seen.”

“Neither was I.” All right, that was a lie. The baker had been making up a fresh batch for dessert, and Amaranthe had needed to offer her most charming smile to convince the man that some of the pastries had been hastily frosted and were in no condition to be served to the high-paying guests whose tickets earned them seats in the formal dining hall.

Sicarius’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“By anyone who would turn me in,” Amaranthe amended. “Anyway, you did a good job providing me with nourishing food on the trek from the Forge ship to the lake, and then again on the way to Port Dremel.” At least during that second part of the journey, they’d been with the rest of the team, and Basilard had foraged for late-season herbs to add flavor to Sicarius’s organ-delight meals. “I’m feeling much better, and there’s no need for such stringent dietary guidelines now.”

Sicarius’s grunt didn’t sound terribly convinced.

“On the other hand,” Amaranthe said, “you could stand to add a pound or two, after all those days of running you endured to find me. I have enough to share.” She opened the bag, letting more of those delicious scents waft out. “Would you like one?”

“I have no need for sweets.”

“You could take one to Sespian. As a peace offering.”

Sicarius eyed the bag, and for a moment Amaranthe thought he might do it.

“I do not believe he would accept a peace offering from me.”

Yes, though Sespian hadn’t pulled any more weapons on Sicarius, their new relationship wasn’t off to a brilliant start. Like a mother hoping to make two young brothers get along, Amaranthe had tried to put them together as roommates, but Sespian had traded berths with Basilard before ever stepping into the cabin.

“You have to keep trying,” Amaranthe said. “Be friendly in the face of his dark glares, and he’ll eventually grow weary of rejecting you. Why, just look at us. In a short ten months of sparkling smiles and effervescent one-sided conversations, I thawed your icy exterior and got you to profess your undying love for me.”

Sicarius blinked slowly.

“It’s possible we remember the events a little differently,” Amaranthe said. “The female mind has an interesting way of filtering reality.”

“Yours certainly does,” Sicarius said, a hint of dry humor finally infusing his tone.

Amaranthe rattled the bag and pulled out a flat round roll drizzled with frosting. “Seriously, you should take him one. It’ll be funny. It’ll warm the frosty air between you.”

Sicarius’s gaze went from her to the roll and back to her. “Funny.”

His monotone had returned, and she couldn’t tell if it was a question, but answered anyway.

“Yes, funny, because of the name.” Amaranthe hefted the sticky roll, but didn’t spot any sign of illumination in Sicarius’s eyes. She supposed a man who never consumed sweets wouldn’t know what the various types were called. “They’re emperor’s buns,” she explained. “Given his occupation, there’s all sorts of potential for humor, don’t you think?”

“Or for causing offense.” Sicarius clasped his hands behind his back. “I will stay here and see to your recovery and training.”

How... considerate. As much as Amaranthe appreciated his new interest in caring for her—and demonstrating that he cared for her—he’d been around a lot, first during their trek to Port Dremel and then hourly since they boarded. His eyebrow had twitched a good millimeter when she’d announced Yara would be her roommate. She’d shooed him out at bedtime the last two nights and had made him promise not to stand guard outside the door.

“I’d like it if you two reached an agreement, or working relationship at least, before we arrive in Stumps.” Amaranthe wondered what he’d say if she tried to make it an order. “We’ll need the team to be working flawlessly together if we’re to have a chance against our opponents.”

“Agreed,” Sicarius said, but he didn’t make a move toward the pastry bag—or the door. “I will approach him soon for a frank discussion.”

“Tomorrow?”

Sicarius hesitated. “Soon.”

She’d have to accept that as a start.

“If you do not feel ready to train physically,” Sicarius said, “we could play Stratics to hone your mental acuity.” He fished in the drawer and pulled out a box of tiles and accompanying roll-up game map.

Amaranthe supposed that was an improvement over chin-ups. “Fine, but if you sit over there and glare at me while I’m indulging in my sweets, I’ll shove a bun up your nose.”

Sicarius’s eyes glinted. “You may try.”

Huh. That sounded like a challenge. While he spread the map across the table, Amaranthe mused upon how that particular challenge might go if she tested him with it. She’d probably be the one to end up with baked goods lodged in her nostril, though it might be worth it if she elicited a playful side in him. Hm.

CHAPTER 2

Though Evrial had been sharing a cabin with Amaranthe since they boarded, she hesitated outside the door and decided to knock instead of walking inside unannounced. More than once, she’d found the assassin in there with her. They’d never been doing anything except playing strategy games, but Evrial had been forced to hold back a snippy comment that perhaps Amaranthe and Sicarius should be roommates. But she didn’t particularly want to stay with any of the men either—she flicked an irritated finger at her mind when it conjured Maldynado’s face—so she said nothing.

When the door opened, her hunch proved correct. Sicarius stood inside, using the door to block his body, no doubt prepared to defend—or attack—if she’d been an enforcer. Or anyone who dared give him a cross look. The man’s hard, angular face could have been chiseled from ice, for all the warmth it ever held, and Evrial, familiar with the number of soldiers and enforcers he’d killed, had a hard time thinking of him as anything other than “the assassin.” Maldynado had admitted to being perplexed by Amaranthe’s willingness to spend time with Sicarius. Evrial could understand that feeling. Still, having seen Amaranthe charm and manipulate a number of people—herself included—Evrial suspected she teased more out of the man than he gave others.

Without a word, Sicarius stepped aside to let Evrial enter.

“Good evening, Sergeant Yara.” Amaranthe smiled from a stool perched before a Stratics game.

Like most of the others, she’d been wearing the same clothing for a week—in her case, a long-sleeved wool shirt and sturdy green trousers with numerous pockets—but, unlike the others, her garb appeared clean and freshly ironed. Even Maldynado rarely looked so crisp—apparently his love of fashion didn’t extend to a love of doing laundry. Amaranthe wore her hair in her typical bun, and not a single brown strand dared escape its confines. Her nails were clean—if short—and not a smudge of dirt darkened her hands or face, though an uncharacteristic white streak—was that frosting?—smeared one cheek.

On the table, a mosaic of tiles sprawled across a brown and green “battlefield” board. The face-down, not-yet-played tiles on either side sat in tidy stacks, three deep. Though Evrial was clearly interrupting the game, Amaranthe’s smile seemed genuine, even hopeful, as if she wanted some news to add interest to the days of confinement. One would think she’d appreciate a chance to rest. Before striking the blow that had destroyed Forge’s underwater base, she’d been captured and tortured. Most of the bruises mottling her face and hands had faded, but she likely had wounds that the eye couldn’t see, wounds that would take far longer to heal.

“Lokdon,” Evrial greeted. Though she’d started thinking of the former enforcer by her first name, it seemed like a good idea to keep professional distance. Especially since Evrial wasn’t certain she’d stick around for the next phase of Amaranthe’s plan.

“Did you enjoy your training?” Amaranthe asked.

Evrial had almost forgotten she’d gone. “It was adequate. I saw someone though. I thought you should know.”

Amaranthe stood up and glanced at Sicarius. “Oh?”

The assassin remained by the door, blending in with the shadows, though his tousled patch of short blond hair didn’t quite fit in with his neat, tailored black clothing. Bed-head, Evrial’s mother would have called it, though Sicarius always wore it that way, apparently too busy being dark and deadly to bother with hairbrushes.

“An older woman,” Evrial said. “Someone I recognized from the Forge meeting.”

“I thought some of them might be on board,” Amaranthe said, “as we seem to have flooded the tunnels before all of them could have escaped in their underwater conveyances.”

“We?” Evrial asked. She’d had nothing to do with collapsing the tunnels; in fact, Amaranthe had handled that all by herself.

Amaranthe offered a sheepish shrug. “Either way, it’s not surprising that others found their way back to the Goldar River and booked passage on the first steamboat heading north to the capital. What was this Forge lady doing?”

“Sneaking about furtively. With food.”

“Why would Forge have to sneak?” Amaranthe asked. “They’re not... wrongfully accused outlaws.”

Tactfully, Evrial decided not to mention that Amaranthe and her team had committed numerous crimes, crimes that might have one day been justified if it’d come out that they’d been working to protect the rightful emperor from assassins and usurpers, but now that Sespian was just one of more than a half-dozen people with enough royal blood to make a claim on the throne...

“I don’t know,” Evrial said. “I followed her from the kitchen up to the top deck. I didn’t see which cabin she went into, but it was a dead-end corridor, so that narrows down the possibilities.”

“And you came to... suggest we go for a visit?”

“We?” Evrial asked at the same time as Sicarius said, “No,” the first word he’d spoken since she entered.

Amaranthe spread her arms and managed an expression of sheer innocence. “Where there’s one Forge person, there could be others. Don’t we need to keep an eye on them? And see if they’re up to anything besides catching a ride upriver?”

“What could they be ‘up to’ on a steamboat?” Evrial asked.

“I don’t know, but you’re the one who suggested furtiveness was going on.”

“I will search the cabins tonight,” Sicarius said. “You will stay here.”

Amaranthe’s eyebrows rose. “I will thank you not to give me orders.”

Sicarius did not respond, though his gaze seemed to grow a shade flintier. Amaranthe returned the stare. Evrial didn’t imagine “quelled” was a word many people had used to describe her.

“I suppose a nocturnal search would be better than nothing,” Amaranthe mused when she and Sicarius finished their staring contest—Evrial couldn’t tell if anything had been resolved during it. “But, wouldn’t it be better if we could chat with the woman as well as searching her belongings?”

Yet another degree of coldness descended upon Sicarius’s glare. Evrial had teased Maldynado once, about kowtowing to the assassin, but she had to admit those glares were unnerving—knowing all the people he’d killed only made them more so—and she was glad she wasn’t the recipient.

“What are you suggesting?” Outside of kidnapping and torture, Evrial couldn’t imagine a scenario where they’d walk up and chat with the enemy.

“Those upper-deck cabins are more posh than ours, I hear,” Amaranthe said. “Built-in washouts instead of pots you have to dump, and I believe there’s maid service, isn’t there?”

It took Evrial a moment to catch on—she was too busy wondering where Amaranthe had heard anything, since she was supposedly staying out of sight in her cabin for the whole trip. “Maid service? Are you suggesting we dress up as servants and clean people’s rooms?”

“Why, that’s an excellent idea. Thank you for suggesting it.” Amaranthe beamed.

Evrial crossed her arms over her chest and added her glower to the glare Sicarius was still sending across the room. She was beginning to see how Maldynado got blamed for so many things that may have not been his fault after all.

“We will speak.” Sicarius flicked his gaze at Evrial, then focused on Amaranthe. “Alone.”

Amaranthe’s beaming smile didn’t fade. “Sergeant Yara is my roommate. I’m not going to ask her to leave.”

Sicarius took a step toward Evrial, and she tensed. Fighting him would be ludicrous, but she wasn’t going to stand meekly and let him shove her out the door either.

“You’re not going to ask her to leave either,” Amaranthe said, coolness creeping into her own tone for the first time.

Sicarius stopped a step away from Evrial, his face impossible to read. He had a knack for that expression. Evrial noticed that her fists were clenched, her arms up in a defensive posture. Though he’d stopped, she didn’t lower them.

“Asking isn’t what I had in mind,” Sicarius said.

“Yes, I can see that.” Amaranthe planted a hand on his chest, fingers splayed. “Why don’t you give Yara and me a few minutes alone to discuss this? I’ll brief you on whatever we decide to do before we do it. And you can loiter nearby in case anything goes wrong.”

His face didn’t soften exactly—and he gave that hand a long look before meeting Amaranthe’s eyes—but the hostility he’d been oozing did seem to lessen. “Assassins don’t loiter,” he said.

The comment startled Evrial, and she wondered if she’d heard it correctly. The man hadn’t uttered much that could be classified as humor, not with her around anyway. Maybe he was simply feeling indignant.

But Amaranthe smiled. “What do you call it?”

“Standing. Purposefully.”

“I’ll note that for further discussions,” Amaranthe said. “In the meantime, would you mind standing purposefully in your own cabin? I’m sure Basilard has missed you, and we girls need to chat.”

Sicarius didn’t sigh—his expression didn’t even change as he backed away—but something about the way he looked over his shoulder implied he thought Amaranthe was going to stir up trouble. Evrial had a feeling she should be thinking the same thing.

After the door snicked shut, Amaranthe waved for her to take a seat. “I suggest we sneak into a maid’s closet during dinner hour, grab uniforms and a cart, and go see if anyone needs their beds turned down.”

“What if we run into the real maids?”

“Oh, I imagine we can talk someone into distracting them.” Amaranthe nodded toward the cabin Maldynado shared with Books.

Evrial scowled at the idea of Maldynado flirting with a couple of young women, but she didn’t say anything. Apparently, as the pretty face on the team, this was his job. “He’d better not distract them with more than words.” She regretted voicing the threat as soon as it came out, for Amaranthe’s nod was a little too knowing. Evrial’s feelings weren’t anyone else’s business, so she ought to keep signs of them to herself.

“I’m sure he won’t,” Amaranthe said. “And if he does, then it’s better to know that now than six months further into the journey, isn’t it?”

“There aren’t any journeys happening there.”

“Hm.” Amaranthe stood. “I guess that’s everything. Shall we have something to eat before our adventure?”

“That’s all the planning we’re doing? Why’d you send your assassin away?”

“Because all the protective looming he’s been doing this week has left me feeling smothered like an egg under a chicken’s bu—, er, behind.”

Evrial almost snorted and asked which of her men she’d gotten that phrase from.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Amaranthe said. “I certainly appreciate his solicitude, but I’m concerned he’s seeing me as some frail, broken being not capable of taking care of herself anymore.”

“Solicitude?” Evrial asked, her mind snagging on that word. “From... Sicarius?”

Amaranthe hesitated, as if she held some secret she wasn’t sure she should be sharing. “Not so most people would notice it, but yes.”

That was hard to believe. “Was that an example of it?” Evrial waved toward the door to indicate the stiff order tossing the assassin had done before stalking out.

“No, that was the protective looming.”

“All right...”

Amaranthe cleared her throat. “Enough girl talk. There are enemy cabins full of dastardly old ladies that we must infiltrate.”

“Unbelievable,” Evrial murmured.

“What is?”

“That you can say things like that and still get those men to rally behind you.”

“Sometimes I also have to gaze into their eyes with youthful exuberance that they find impossible to resist.”

Evrial could imagine that working on Maldynado, but Sicarius? “Unbelievable,” she repeated.

* * * * *

There were times when Evrial’s height came in handy; being squished into a dark cleaning-supply closet with another woman wasn’t one of those times. A laundry cart was digging into her ribcage, her foot was in a bucket of mop water, and the overpowering scent wafting from stacks of lye soap tempted a sneeze. She dared not rearrange herself, not with people talking on the other side of the door, so she suffered in stillness.

“Surely, there’s no rush, my lovely ladies,” Maldynado was saying, his smooth baritone floating through the door. With luck, he was leaning against it so the “lovely ladies” couldn’t enter.

“Please, my lord,” came a young woman’s voice, “if we’re tardy, we’ll be punished.”

“Again,” another woman said. Neither sounded older than twenty, twenty-five.

“There are things in life worth risking punishment for,” Maldynado said.

Evrial imagined a suggestive smile on his face, and he was doubtlessly touching his chest. Knowing him, he’d found a way to unbutton his shirt to display the swell of pronounced pectoral muscles.

“Are you changing clothes?” Amaranthe whispered.

“Er, what?” Evrial blushed, glad for the darkness. It wasn’t like her to let her mind wander when it should be focused on work. “I mean, there’s no room. I couldn’t change without making noise.”

Amaranthe pushed a stack of clothing into her hands. “Try anyway. They won’t hear anything over the sound of how beautiful Maldynado is.”

Evrial held back a snort, barely. She unfolded the clothing and, by touch, soon realized she was holding a dress. She grimaced. “I hate dresses. They always snag on something.” She remembered running through the briar patches behind the smithy as a girl, trying to keep up with her brothers. “I haven’t had to wear one since...” She realized she was complaining—whining, she’d say if Maldynado were doing it—and clamped her lips shut. The situation was what it was.

“Since when?” Amaranthe’s voice came from the floor—she must already be changing shoes.

“Nothing.”

The voices continued outside, but an expectant silence came from Amaranthe’s side of the closet. Or maybe it was only in Evrial’s imagination that it was expectant. Either way, she felt compelled to explain. “My mother used to make me wear them as a girl and later on, too, when we visited grandmother and grandfather’s ash cairn.”

“She stopped doing it?” Amaranthe asked. “Or...?”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh. How’d it happen?”

“Are you always this nosy, Lokdon?”

“Always.” Amaranthe’s voice held a smile.

“She was murdered when she was in the city trying to sell the family’s wares. It’s why my brother and I became enforcers. My father never approved of the career, not for me, but I think he understands it.” Evrial extricated her foot from the bucket, propped it against a shelf, and unbuttoned her utility belt and trousers. She wriggled out of the clothes, wincing when her elbow clunked against a shelf. Wood bars fell into her—mops. She growled and tried to straighten them without making more noise.

“—hear something?” one of the girls outside asked.

“Bloody balls,” Evrial whispered and almost crouched to grab her knife. She caught herself. What was she going to do? Stab some twenty-year-old girl?

“Nah,” came Maldynado’s voice, followed by a response too low to hear through the door. Whatever it was, it caused the girls to giggle.

“It’s good that you still have your father,” Amaranthe whispered. “I lost both parents before I was eighteen. I was too young to remember Mother much, but Father... He was sick, and the disease ate at him over the months. It was hard.”

“Oh,” Evrial said, for lack of a better response. Somehow she hadn’t pictured Amaranthe as someone who’d ever lost anyone. She was too... optimistic. And spunky. Evrial had imagined her as a spoiled city girl, having a mother and father who were still alive and living in some upper-middle class brownstone near the University.

“I think they’ve left,” Amaranthe said.

Evrial almost said, “Who?” but realized the corridor outside had grown quiet. “Right.” She wrestled with her clothing, nearly tearing her sweater in the removal process, and banging more elbows. One bang resulted in bars of soap tumbling off the shelf around her. “Can we risk a candle now?”

Before she’d finished the sentence, the door opened, allowing in light from a lamp mounted across the corridor. The soft illumination didn’t do much more than cast shadows into the cleaning closet, but Amaranthe was visible, unbelievably neat and trim—given the limited space for changing—in a white fitted dress and apron. After checking the corridor, she pulled the rolling laundry-and-cleaning-supply cart out of the closet, leaving more room. Evrial rushed into her own dress and a pair of white slippers designed to mash five toes into the space for three. She much preferred enforcer boots.

Evrial picked up her utility belt. “Where do I put my knife?” She’d left her short sword in the cabin, but to wander about without a single blade was asking for trouble. Of course, so was masquerading as a maid.

“You need a thigh holster with a dress. That’s what I’ve used when Maldynado has picked out... disguises for me.” Amaranthe made a disapproving clucking sound and stepped back into the closet to pick up the soap bars and mops littering the floor. “If you don’t mind a bit of advice, never let that man shop for you.”

“I figured that out already.”

Evrial picked up a soap bar and set it on the shelf with the others—she had made quite a mess changing in the dark—but Amaranthe plucked it from the chosen spot and put it on another shelf, lining it up just so with others. Evrial shrugged and figured out a way to loop her belt twice around her thigh to ensure the knife was at hand.

“Are you sure there’s time for all this?” Evrial whispered when the tidying continued for more than a few seconds. “It wasn’t this clean when we came in here.”

“I’m sure Maldynado will keep those ladies busy.”

Evrial didn’t want Maldynado keeping any ladies busy, but Amaranthe brushed off her hands, smoothed her dress, and returned to the corridor. When they stood by the wall lamp, she paused to wave at her dress. “Is everything tucked in and proper looking?”

“It’s fine.” A twinge of jealousy rose within Evrial at the fact that Amaranthe, despite all the training she did, managed to look feminine in a dress. Evrial always felt... hulking in such attire, when she could find clothing to fit at all. “Mine?”

Amaranthe gave her a toe-to-head perusal. “Well, you’re the most intimidating maid I’ve ever seen.”

Evrial scowled.

“Sorry, you look fine. Just keep your face down and try to appear servile.”

Pushing the cart ahead of her, Amaranthe headed for the corner and the dead end Evrial had seen earlier in the day.

“In regard to faces,” Evrial said, “aren’t you worried someone will recognize yours?”

“I doubt any of the Forge people spend much time looking at the faces of their servants, but I’ll keep my eyes down too.” Amaranthe knocked on the first door.

“They might have a special place in their memories for the person who blew up their secret meeting place.”

“I didn’t blow it up. I flooded it.” When nobody answered, Amaranthe tried the knob. It was locked. “And I didn’t show my face before I did it.”

“I don’t suppose that cart comes with a universal key?”

“Not that I noticed. That’s why we stopped in the laundry room.” Amaranthe produced a rectangular palm-sized punch card dotted with holes. “I borrowed this from one of the automated machines.” She slipped the card into the door crack next to the knob. She tilted it toward her, pushed it in further, then bent it the other way as she turned the knob and leaned into the door. It popped open. “A handy trick,” she said and slipped the punch card back into a pocket.

“One I do not recall learning at the enforcer academy.” Evrial supposed Amaranthe had been an outlaw long enough to become proficient in numerous means of illegally entering premises. Yet another sign that she should rethink her association with these people.

“Oh?” Amaranthe peeked into the dark cabin, then slipped inside. “Perhaps you were absent that day.”

“I was never absent.”

When she didn’t find anyone sleeping inside, Amaranthe pulled a lantern off the cart and lit it. The twin bunks were side-by-side instead of stacked against the wall, and the cabin offered a desk, table, chairs, sofa, and water closet.

“A little more luxurious than our accommodations,” Evrial noted.

“I didn’t think we should waste Sespian’s money on fancy rooms. Unless I think of something terribly clever during the next week, we’ll likely need it for buying weapons and troops to oppose Ravido.” Amaranthe turned down the beds, handed Evrial a wastebasket to empty, then poked through the desk drawers.

“You believe it’s appropriate for Sespian to head an army to take back the throne when he’s not the true heir?” Evrial looked at the wastebasket. Did Amaranthe actually expect them to service all the cabins?

“Nobody’s the true heir, and he’s got as good a claim as anyone else. We don’t want some power-grubbing relative of Maldynado’s to simply take the throne.”

“But is it up to us to decide?”

Amaranthe slid a desk drawer shut. “Empty that, will you? If anyone wanders past, we want to look authentic.”

Evrial dumped the contents of the wastebasket into a larger refuse bin on the bottom of the cart. A man and woman, arms linked, turned the corner and walked toward her. Ducking her head—and attempting to appear servile, or at least not intimidating—Evrial pulled the cart to the side. The pair walked by without glancing at her.

Inside the cabin, Amaranthe closed the last drawer and rose. “As to who’s responsible for deciding… if everybody leaves it up to someone else, only those who seek the power of the position will be involved in the decision making, and those are probably the last people we want controlling our destinies, don’t you think?”

While mulling that over, Evrial followed Amaranthe into three more cabins. She watched in bemusement as her fastidious companion turned down all the beds, tidied the areas, and removed rubbish. Perhaps Ms. Lokdon should have opened a cleaning business instead of pursuing an enforcer career.

In the fourth cabin, Evrial stumbled to a stop on the threshold. A familiar gray cloak hung on a peg. She caught Amaranthe’s arm and nodded toward it. “The woman was wearing that.”

“Excellent.”

Amaranthe waved Evrial toward the closet while she dove into the desk drawers. Evrial searched through dresses and robes, patting down pockets. The closet was divided in half with different person’s garments occupying each side, both belonging to women. She wondered if both wardrobes represented Forge people. How many of them might have lost their underwater vehicles and stowed away on the steamer? Not stowed away, she corrected herself. These people had purchased passage and in the nicest cabins too. So why was one of them sneaking about, pilfering food and wine?

She didn’t find any answers in the closet. “Do you have anything?”

“Maybe.” Amaranthe leaned against the desk, a large book open in her hands, columns of ink handwriting scrawled down the pages. “It looks like... someone’s business expenses for the year.” She flipped a few pages. “Or maybe just the current quarter. There are at least three businesses being tracked in here. I don’t recognize these two, but this information is for the Traveling Ice Show and Circus.”

“The same people somersaulting and juggling all over the boat?” Evrial asked.

“The same. They’re—”

Voices sounded in the corridor, and Evrial threw up a warning hand. The doorknob rattled as someone applied a key. Amaranthe shoved the book back into a drawer, and Evrial closed the closet doors, careful not to slam them. Amaranthe lunged for the beds and started turning down the covers. Evrial grabbed a wastebasket a heartbeat before the door opened.

“—didn’t know they were on this boat,” a woman, one of four standing around the entrance, was saying.

“Sssh, someone’s in there.”

Surprised by the number of people coming in, Evrial stared for a moment before she remembered she was supposed to be keeping her face down. Not before the gray-haired woman who’d been sneaking about met her eyes. Evrial dumped the wastebasket into the bin on the bottom of the cart. She didn’t think the woman had seen her following before.

“It’s just the maids.” Gray-hair walked in first, grunting when her arm caught the corner of the cart. “Get this garbage out of my way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Evrial said.

“Ma’am?” one of the other women asked. “That’s ‘my lady,’ to you.”

“Yes, my lady.” Evrial hated debasing herself before anyone, but she’d had to suffer through worse as a low-ranking enforcer.

“Not me, you dolt. Her.”

Amaranthe, who was doing a better job keeping her head down and staying unnoticed, shot Evrial a stop-talking look. She took her time creasing the sheets and fluffing the pillows. Evrial just wanted to get out of there. She tried to pull the cart to the side so the women could pass, but even the more luxurious cabins were small.

“Out of the way, you hulking behemoth.” A woman tried to brush past Evrial, but bumped into her thigh instead.

The poorly-fastened knife fell to the floor with a noticeable clunk. Evrial dove down to pick it up, trying to hide it before anyone saw what it was. It didn’t work.

“Uhm, the maid’s got a dagger the size of a broadsword.” The woman who had knocked it free hustled backward, almost tripping over her feet in her haste to find the corridor.

Evrial didn’t know whether to deny that her dagger was that big or claim she’d found it somewhere or—

“Well, of course she does,” Amaranthe said. She kept her face down as she stepped up beside Evrial, but she was clearly addressing the women. “Have you seen the womanizing leers of some of the men working in the kitchens? A girl has to defend herself.”

Judging from the way the rest of the group was backing toward the corridor, the women weren’t believing the story. “Those aren’t the usual maids, are they? That one has muscles like a wrestler in the Imperial Games.”

“We’re from the second deck,” Amaranthe said. “Your regular maids didn’t show up for work, so we had to take over.”

That much was true at least. The women kept backing away though. Only one of the four was still in the cabin, the rest having slipped into the corridor. Nobody had bolted off to find security yet, but they were exchanging a lot significant glances with each other.

Evrial crouched, thinking to spring after them, but Amaranthe stopped her with a hand on the arm.

The last woman hustled into the corridor. “You stay here. We’ll just check out that story.”

The door slammed shut, trapping Evrial and Amaranthe in the cabin.

Evrial spun on her comrade. “Why did you stop me? We could have dragged them in here, tied them up, and locked them inside.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Amaranthe said, “but then what? Unless we wanted to kill them, they’d be found eventually, at which point they’d identify us and cause a search. We’d have to grab the entire team, jump overboard, hike to the next port, and wait for another steamer to come. We need to get to the capital as soon as possible.”

Evrial propped her hands on her hips. She wanted to point out that this scheme had been Amaranthe’s idea, and it’d be her fault if that happened, but she lowered her hands again. Her knife had been the one to fall. “Can your card open it again?” she asked.

“Not from this side.” Amaranthe jogged to the door and tried the knob. “Hm, I didn’t know you could be locked in from the outside. Not very safe in the case of a fire.”

“We won’t stay locked in. Move.” Evrial flexed her shoulders. She’d had to ram down more than a few doors in her years as an enforcer.

“I don’t think that’ll work,” Amaranthe said, but she evacuated the threshold.

Evrial backed up a few paces from the door, then ran at it, shoulder leading. She smashed into it with a jaw-rattling thud. The wood trembled but held, though her teeth might be in danger of falling out. “Tougher door than it looks like.”

Amaranthe delved into the bottom of the cart.

Evrial kicked off the stupid slippers and measured off a pace-and-a-half for a step-behind side kick. Striking with her heel hurt less than with her shoulder, but it didn’t open the door either. She glowered at it. Those women hadn’t had time to push something in front of the door, had they?

Amaranthe tapped her on the shoulder. “You’re a lot like Maldynado. You should be nicer to him.”

Evrial turned her scowl onto her comrade.

Amaranthe waved toward the hinges. “It’s tough to kick open a door in the opposite direction from which it usually opens.”

Evrial’s scowl turned sheepish. Good point.

Amaranthe slipped something under the door. She grabbed a lantern and lit a—was that a fuse? What had she been doing in the laundry cart? Evrial eyed a bar of soap on the carpet next to a glass jar emitting pungent fumes.

“Back around the corner, please,” Amaranthe said.

“What?”

“Quickly.” Amaranthe sprinted away from the door, grabbing the wall to swing herself around the corner.

Before Evrial could more than stumble after her, an explosion roared. Something slammed into the wall behind her—a piece of wood. The arm-length wedge had embedded itself into the wall where it quivered like a thrown knife.

Amaranthe peeked around the corner. Evrial leaned over her shoulder, crinkling her nose at the burning-chemical scent of the smoky air. When it cleared enough to see the door, or rather the two hinges that were the only things left hanging on the frame, all she could do was gape. Amaranthe pushed a piece of wood off the desk and pulled out the business book.

She patted Evrial on the way past. “Time to go.”

Evrial couldn’t disagree with that. She jogged after Amaranthe, leaving her slippers and the cart—what was left of it—behind. Before they reached the corner and access to a service ladder, footsteps pounded up nearby stairs. Evrial jerked to a stop. Someone must have heard the explosion and was running to check.

“It’s those maids!” a familiar voice screeched.

“Back, back,” Amaranthe whispered.

Evrial was already opening the door of one of the cabins they’d serviced, one that didn’t have any people in it—or hadn’t when they’d been in earlier. Amaranthe pushed in right behind her. She shut the door, and darkness fell over them. Footsteps thundered past in the corridor.

“I’m not sure your plan was better than my idea of beating those women up and locking them in their cabin,” Evrial whispered.

Amaranthe locked the door. “We’ll be fine so long as this cabin’s occupants don’t come back from dinner in the next few minutes.”

“And security doesn’t decide to search the entire deck. Where’d you learn to blow up doors? That wasn’t a class at the academy either.”

“I have Sicarius to thank for my lock-picking skills and Books for an education on the properties of certain household chemical compounds. He made smoke bombs in someone’s kitchen once.” The darkness hid Amaranthe’s smile, but it came through in her voice.

How could she possibly be having a good time?

Evrial pushed away from the door, stalked into the room, and promptly rammed her shin against the corner of a bed. “They may not have identified us, but they’re going to be suspicious when that book comes up missing.” She rubbed her shin. What a deplorable night. “Those people probably have enough money to order the captain to search the entire boat.”

“Maybe,” Amaranthe said, “but the older lady has been lying low. Maybe they all have. They may not want to stride into the captain’s cabin. I hope the explanation as to why is in here.” Thumps sounded as she knocked on the book’s cover.

Evrial found that she could see the movements. A porthole on the far side let in faint nighttime illumination. “Maybe we can go out that way.” She pointed toward the window. Wedging her shoulders through it wouldn’t be easy, but she thought the feat doable. “There’s not a deck out there, is there?” Evrial pictured the layout of the boat in her mind. “But we’re near the top. Maybe we could climb up to the roof. As long as the helmsman is looking forward instead of backward, he wouldn’t notice us crawling across to a ladder going down.”

“We may have to try that,” Amaranthe said from the door. “They’re going to search every cabin on this end of the deck.”

Evrial grumbled and groped her way past the furnishings to the porthole. Something scraped over the thin carpet—a chair? Amaranthe must be wedging it under the doorknob.

Evrial patted around the porthole, searching for a handle, but didn’t find anything. “It doesn’t open. You don’t really think I’m like Maldynado, do you?”

“You favor a similar approach to opening doors.”

Heat flushed Evrial’s cheeks, and her shoulder ached in reminder of the ill-advised bashing. “He doesn’t take anything seriously, and he has the work ethic of a... a... well, an indolent son of the privileged caste. I’ve worked my entire life, and I...”

“Take everything seriously?” Amaranthe suggested.

Evrial crossed her arms. “Maybe. So, what? Life isn’t a joke.”

“No, but it’s easier to enjoy if you can find the humor in even the grim moments. Perhaps it’d be healthy for you to let someone bring a little levity into your life.”

Evrial dropped her arms. Maybe it would be if... “He’s silly about everything though. How could you count on someone like that to be serious when it counts?”

“He is. Didn’t he stand by your side for the fight on that steamboat?”

“I suppose. And he did risk himself to pull his comrades out of that booby-trapped building in that park. I guess I have seen him be serious and take responsibility, but he’s always... He says the dumbest things to me. I can’t imagine what’s inside his head.”

“His smiles and silly lines usually work on women,” Amaranthe said. “And I think they’d actually work on you, too, if you weren’t worried about being hurt.”

Scowling, Evrial patted around the porthole again. They ought to be focusing on getting out of there, not talking about such unimportant matters. Unfortunately, the porthole still lacked a latch. She rapped a knuckle against the glass, wondering if they might break it. It sounded thick, but she still had her dagger.

“It’s understandable,” Amaranthe went on. “If you believe half of what comes out of his mouth, he’s loved and left a lot of women.”

“I don’t know why he’s bothering with me,” Evrial muttered, drawn back into the conversation despite her thought to drop the topic.

“Even if you had no features which men find alluring, which isn’t true by the way, you represent a challenge to him. It’s human nature to want that which we can’t have. If you were so inclined to give in to his advances, that’d be the point where you could find out if there might be more to it than that.”

“What more could there be with someone like him? I figure he’ll get his itch scratched, and that’ll be that.”

“Do you want something else?”

“With him? No. I don’t know. I don’t really see what we have in common or how it’d work or anything.”

“If you decide you do want something with him, show him that you trust him,” Amaranthe said. “I gather his family never did, and he’s been upset of late with how many people here have turned suspicious eyes in his direction.”

“I’m not suspicious of him. I just—”

“Growl at or insult him every time he tries to start a conversation with you.”

“That’s because he starts them with stupid lines,” Evrial said.

“That’s his way of protecting himself, by not expressing true feelings. Just as you protect yourself with those insults. Perhaps if you both dropped your defenses long enough to have a serious conversation, you could find out if you have any commonalities after all.”

Evrial pressed her hands on either side of the porthole. She remembered a conversation with Maldynado that had gone that way. One where they’d been crouched on a boiler in the darkness. And it’d been... not unpleasant. Until he’d voiced that stupid spelunking comment. She caught herself smiling at the memory. Maybe Amaranthe had a point. Maybe—

The doorknob rattled.

“Uh oh,” Amaranthe said. “Any progress with that porthole?”

“No, it’s—”

A pale blob appeared on the other side of the glass. Evrial yelped and jumped backward faster than a dog bit by a snake. Her calf caught on the edge of the bed, and she tumbled onto it.

“Good timing,” Amaranthe said.

“What?” Bewildered, Evrial stared at the porthole. Only on the second long look did she recognize the pale blob. It was Sicarius’s face—upside down.

Amaranthe pointed to the porthole frame and mouthed something.

Sicarius’s head rose out of sight. Evrial rolled off the bed, embarrassed by her startled—and ungraceful—stumble.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Amaranthe said, “but I’ll have to let Maldynado know.”

“What?”

“That you are capable of shrieking.”

Evrial would have snapped a retort—she hadn’t really shrieked, had she? Surely it’d been more of a surprised grunt—but thumps started up at the door. Whatever had escaped her lips, it must have been loud enough for the team in the corridor to hear her. “I’ll refrain from asking after the context of that discussion,” was all she said.

“Wise woman,” Amaranthe said.

Sicarius’s head reappeared along with a hand holding a narrow razor-edged blade. A louder thump sounded in the corridor, followed by a crack. It might have come from the door or the chair bracing it. Either way, it didn’t sound auspicious.

“He better hurry up,” Evrial said.

Sicarius applied the blade to the glass and cut a circle. Something else struck the door—it sounded like wood rather than a shoulder this time. A battering ram?

Sicarius waved for them to back up. Conscious of her bare feet, Evrial leaped onto the bed. Sicarius thumped the glass circle with the heel of his palm, and it popped out of the porthole. It landed on the carpet with a crack.

Amaranthe moved it out of the way. “You first.”

Evrial’s first inclination was to argue that she should go last—after all, she’d been the one to drop the knife and rouse suspicions—but another blow at the door convinced her there was no time to argue. Amaranthe draped a towel over the sharp edge left in the porthole, and Evrial jumped, caught the frame, and did her best to wriggle through. Her momentum only took her halfway before her hips stuck in the narrow opening.

Sicarius, still dangling—what he had his feet hooked around, Evrial could only guess—caught her under the armpits and pulled her out. His grip was about as gentle as a vise clamp, and she was certain she left flesh and clothing on the frame, but her hips were freed. Her legs followed, and she barely managed to catch the frame with her feet, so they wouldn’t tumble out before she could right herself. She doubted Sicarius would appreciate having to hold her weight thirty feet above the water. Nor did she want anyone walking on the deck below to see her dangling legs.

With his help, Evrial pushed off the porthole frame and clawed her way to the roof. She dropped onto her belly and turned around, thinking to offer an additional hand to Amaranthe. Sicarius’s black boots were hooked around nothing more than a cable attached to an eyelet on the edge of the roof. Evrial couldn’t believe he could hold himself up that way. Before she’d done more than stick her head over the edge, Amaranthe’s hands appeared on the roof. She pulled herself up without help and dropped into a crouch. In an acrobatic move that would have impressed the circus performers, Sicarius flipped up beside them.

Wind gusted down the river, ruffling his short hair. Enough of a moon peeped between the clouds to illuminate his face—and the cool stare he leveled at Amaranthe.

“I heard your explosion,” he said, apparently assuming Amaranthe, rather than Evrial, had been responsible.

“Good.” Again unfazed by the glare, Amaranthe gripped his arm. “We’re fortunate you decided to loiter up here.”

“Stand purposefully,” he said.

“Yes, that too.”

Shouts erupted from below—security breaching the cabin.

“Time to go,” Evrial said at the same moment as Amaranthe. Only as they crept across the roof toward a ladder, did she realize she’d adopted Amaranthe’s phrase. She wondered if she should be worried about that.

CHAPTER 3

Amaranthe perched on a stool in her cabin, perusing the stolen ledger and waiting for Yara to change and join the rest of the team. Basilard sat on the other stool, his burly arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall and watched her flip the pages from across the table—a hint of interest lighted his pale blue eyes, as if he hoped something more interesting than being incarcerated in his cabin might come up.

Akstyr and Books sat cross-legged on the bottom bunk, each engrossed in work of his own. Books had a stack of his own notes in his lap. A thick tome penned in a foreign language sprawled across Akstyr’s legs, and his freshly spiked hair—dyed orange this week—scraped against the frame of the upper bunk as he mouthed words and nodded to himself. Maldynado lounged above them, drumming his fingers on the thin mattress and watching the door. Either he’d suddenly found Sicarius interesting—he was standing guard just inside the entrance—or he was looking forward to seeing Yara again. Sespian was the only one who didn’t seem interested in anything. He leaned against the one free wall, his hands in his pockets, his chin drooped to his chest. Now and then, he glanced at Amaranthe through pale brown bangs in need of a trim. She’d been leaving him alone since their chat in the boathouse the week before, but perhaps that had been a mistake. He looked.... lonely. And lost.

Sicarius opened the door, checked outside, and closed it without comment. That was the third time he’d done so.

“More security about?” Amaranthe guessed.

“Yes.”

“Searching rooms?”

“Not yet.”

“Why would they be searching rooms?” Maldynado asked.

“There might have been a small explosion in a cabin on the upper deck.” Amaranthe had been waiting for everyone to arrive before explaining everything, but Yara already knew of the events, so she decided to go ahead with the story.

“We should eliminate the Forge people rather than letting them return to the city,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe and Sespian scowled at him at the same time.

“Eliminate as in kill?” Sespian asked.

“Or otherwise incapacitate them so they cannot return to the city to assist their brethren,” Sicarius said.

“Or,” Maldynado said, “we could stay in our cabins, enjoy the rest of our trip, and wait until we get to Stumps to deal with Forge. Why pick fights before it’s necessary?”

Amaranthe feared that option might already be unavailable. The idea of hiding out didn’t appeal anyway, not if there was a chance to whittle down the enemy forces before they could all band together in the capital. Of course, she had no interest in Sicarius’s method of eliminating people. And she wanted to know what—

Someone knocked on the door, interrupting her thoughts.

After checking outside again, Sicarius let Yara in. She’d changed out of the maid uniform and back into unassuming brown trousers and a gray sweater.

“There’s my lady.” Maldynado shifted his position to open up a spot for her and patted the bunk. His new position involved dangling his legs over the edge and into the face of the person sitting below him—Books. “I saved you a seat. You decided to eschew the maid’s uniform, eh? Probably just as well. Those uniforms are dreadfully monochromatic and the cut is all wrong for accenting... things that should be accented.”

“What she’s wearing now doesn’t accent much either,” Akstyr muttered without lifting his gaze from his book.

Amaranthe thought about chastising him, but Yara climbed onto the top bunk, not-so-accidentally kicking him in the shoulder on her way up, and that seemed a more appropriate response. Yara had, Amaranthe recalled, been raised with a bunch of brothers.

Though Maldynado couldn’t have seen her foot strike, he must have heard Akstyr’s protesting grunt, for he smiled and winked. Yara glanced at Amaranthe, then offered a return wink. Huh. Maybe Amaranthe’s earlier words had made an impression.

Maldynado seemed to appreciate the small gesture for his smile widened, and he leaned against the wall, hands locking behind his head.

“Did I miss anything?” Yara asked.

“Oh, the usual,” Maldynado said. “The boss is trying to figure out the next step, Sicarius wants to go kill all the Forge people so we don’t have to worry about them anymore, and nobody’s listening to my suggestion that we simply stay in our rooms and out of trouble until we arrive in Stumps.”

“Surprisingly prudent advice,” Books murmured. “Given the source.”

Maldynado let his legs swing back and forth a few times.

“Ouch, watch what you’re doing, you odious troglodyte.”

Maldynado gave Yara another wink. “Books was obviously an only child. If he’d had any brothers, he would have learned that it’s never wise for the person on the bottom bunk to be lippy to the person on the top bunk.”

“Let’s get back to our discussion, shall we?” Amaranthe asked.

Basilard waved his fingers for attention, then signed, Perhaps instead of killing the Forge women, we should throw them overboard. That would delay their return to the capital and give us time to arrive first.

“That’s a possibility, but I’m wondering if there’s something more going on here than four Forge refugees finding passage home.” Amaranthe tapped the pages of the open book. “The Traveling Ice Show and Circus made a pricy purchase, one simply labeled as equipment and supplies, at Arstor Island in the Gulf before boarding the River Dancer.”

Akstyr straightened, clunking his head on the bunk above him. “Arstor Island? That’s known to be, uhm, in certain circles, the closest place to the empire where one can acquire artifacts, constructs, and various components that are of interest to... certain persons.”

Yara leaned closer to Maldynado. “He just said they sell magic stuff, right?”

“Yup. One can’t be too careful with one’s phrasing of such things when one’s in the empire, you know. I’m surprised you’re open to the idea that magic exists.”

“It’s called the Science,” Akstyr groused from below.

“I’ve seen too many strange things in the last couple of weeks to doubt its existence,” Yara said.

“The Traveling Ice Show and Circus does entertain in Kendor and on some of the Gulf islands at the southern end of their circuit,” Amaranthe said, “but they’re originally from the empire and wouldn’t incorporate magic—” she glanced at Akstyr, “—the Science into their acts, not when they spend eight months a year in Turgonia. At least I wouldn’t think so.”

“You’re quite correct,” Books said. “In fact, there was a thorough investigation done of the outfit several years ago. I remember reading the newspaper accounting—and scoffing at the notion that magic existed. It was proved, at least in the minds of the investigating enforcers and journalists, that all of the troupe’s acrobatic feats were acts of mundane skill and that they used nothing more than black-powder fireworks to enhance their shows. It’s possible they simply stopped on Arstor Island for a performance.”

“According to the ledger, they were only there for one day.” Amaranthe tapped her fingers on the table. “You’d think that an organization that’s been previously investigated would stay away from a place like that to avoid suspicion.”

“If that ledger is the only place their stopover was recorded, not many people would know about it,” Books said.

“Do we believe it likely this circus troupe will have anything to do with the coup in the capital?” Sicarius asked.

“Are you implying that we’re wasting our time with this discussion?” Amaranthe asked him.

“Our time may be better spent training for the inevitable confrontation with Forge and Ravido, rather than meddling with inconsequential affairs.”

Ah, Sicarius, always the blunt one. He was probably right, though Amaranthe wondered why he cared about Forge and Ravido and, for that matter, the fate of the empire. With Sespian no longer in Forge’s grasp, Sicarius no longer had a wrestler in the Games, not so far as Amaranthe knew. Unless he hoped to help his son get the throne back. Perhaps he felt that by doing so, he could gain Sespian’s trust?

All she said out loud was, “This might not be inconsequential.”

“You have a hunch?” Books asked.

“Why would the circus troupe be going to the capital now if they didn’t have some role to play in the events there? From everything we’ve been able to discern from the newspapers, Stumps is in upheaval with martial law on the horizon, if it isn’t in place already. As far as everyone there knows, the emperor is dead, and there’s going to be chaos until a successor is appointed. Stumps should be the last place the troupe wants to visit right now. Who’s going to worry about getting circus tickets at a time like this?”

“Even in eras of economic woe, people will spend money to be entertained,” Books said.

“This isn’t so much woe as chaos, or the potential for it,” Amaranthe said. “Would you go to the circus if there were soldiers marching up and down the streets, enforcing curfews and who knows what else?”

“We don’t know that’s happening yet,” Books said. “We won’t know the exact scenario until we’re on the ground there and able to investigate for ourselves.”

Sespian waved toward the open ledger. “It could just be that they’ve made a commitment to perform and are financially obligated to do so. And the Forge woman that owns them... maybe she simply boarded the River Dancer because it was the fastest way to get back to the capital and reconnect with her Forge cronies. Maybe she didn’t even know the troupe was aboard. Maybe she’s sneaking about so they won’t spot her and question the fact that they’re being forced to travel to a city on the brink of war.”

“In other words, you two both think we’re wasting our time?” Amaranthe looked back and forth from Sicarius and Sespian. Though she felt a tad ganged-up-on, she managed to find amusement in the situation. “Is this the first time you’ve been in agreement over something?”

Sicarius said nothing, but Sespian straightened his spine and uttered a hasty, “No.”

“You’ve agreed on a point before?” Amaranthe asked.

“No, I meant we’re not agreeing now. We’re just spreading our tiles on the board. Everyone is. Isn’t that what one does at meetings like this?” Sespian peered about the cabin, seeking support.

“I don’t know.” Maldynado pointed at Sespian and Sicarius. “Your tiles do look similar to me.”

Sespian frowned at him. Amaranthe supposed Maldynado had given up on greasing the kid’s lube points when he realized Sespian was in no position to grant him a statue. Or maybe he thought everyone appreciated his ribbing.

Amaranthe patted the air in a placating gesture. “Maybe you’re all right. Maybe this is all nothing and we blew up an absolutely lovely door for no reason.”

“Being trapped on the wrong side of it was reason enough for me,” Yara said.

“But we don’t have anything else to do until we reach the capital,” Amaranthe said. “We might as well—”

“Train,” Sicarius said.

“Er, what?”

“We can train. Whatever awaits us in the capital will be taxing.”

“I’ll... keep that in mind,” Amaranthe said, “but we may find it’s worth having a couple of people go out to poke around.”

“In maid outfits?” Maldynado gave Yara a speculative look, as if disappointed he hadn’t seen her in the disguise.

She flushed, but was quick to counter with, “Only if you’ll be the one wearing it.”

“That would certainly alarm those old Forge ladies,” Sespian said.

Akstyr snickered. “Imagine returning to your cabin after dinner to find a big muscle man in a skirt and slippers.”

“There’d be screaming involved, surely,” Books said.

Maldynado sniffed. “I assure you, I look good in anything. If there were screams, they’d be screams of delight.”

“No more maid outfits,” Amaranthe said of the groans of protest. “For anyone. Security will be on alert after the first incident. Those of us with notorious faces will stay in our cabins.” Unfortunately, that probably included her.

“And those of us working on more important tasks as well?” Books asked.

“Yes, yes, you can continue concocting your new-government paradigm,” Amaranthe said. “I do want someone with a gift for stealth to roam around and see if any more Forge people are aboard. I also want someone to find out where the circus troupe is staying and see if they acquired any interesting items on their Gulf stopover.”

Basilard glanced at Sicarius and, when he didn’t volunteer for the stealth mission, signed, I will look for Forge people.

“Thank you, Basilard,” Amaranthe said.

“I’ll look through the troupe’s belongings,” Yara said. “I’m... responsible for our earlier discovery. You might have found more if I hadn’t dropped my knife.”

Amaranthe’s first instinct was to wave the notion away and alleviate any guilt Yara might be feeling, but maybe she could use the moment to her advantage. She sensed that Yara was undecided as to whether this was her fight anymore, now that Sespian wasn’t who she’d thought. But Amaranthe would need every hand she could get once they returned to the capital. Giving Yara some responsibility might be a good way to get her thinking she was an integral part of the team.

“Thank you for volunteering, Sergeant,” Amaranthe said. “I’ll put you in charge.”

“In charge? Of... what?”

“Are you sure you should be roaming around the ship after nearly being caught by security?” Maldynado asked before Amaranthe could assign someone else to go on the mission.

“I think the troupe is staying on the lower deck near the staff and servants,” Yara said. “Better for me to be down there than up where I might run into Forge people.”

“Or better for you to stay in your cabin instead. We can find some in-room recreational activities for you to engage in if you get bored.” Amazing that he could say that with a straight face. Only his eyes twinkled.

“If you’re worried about my safety, you can come with me.”

Amaranthe blinked, surprised that she’d invited him.

Maldynado sat up. “Really?”

“Er.” Ah, maybe Yara was surprised she’d invited him too.

“That’s a good idea,” Amaranthe said before the other woman could back out. “Akstyr, will you go with them too?”

“What? But my face is notorious, and I’ve got as much research to do as Books.” Akstyr thumped his magic tome.

“Yes, but nobody else here will recognize magical doohickeys if they chance across them,” Amaranthe said.

“They’re called artifacts,” Akstyr said. “Fine, I’ll go. Do I get to keep what I find?”

“That depends on the explosive potential of the items.”

Yara snorted, probably thinking Amaranthe was the last one to chastise someone about explosives. Amaranthe shrugged. She’d see for herself how things went if she had to command those two.

“What will the rest of us be doing?” Sespian asked.

Amaranthe’s gaze slid toward Sicarius. He lifted his chin, and though his eyes wouldn’t think about twinkling with so many people in the room, his voice held a hint of satisfaction when he said, “Training.”

“I’m glad I’m going with you,” Maldynado whispered to Yara.

* * * * *

The next night, Evrial leaned against the railing on the lower deck, using Maldynado to block the snowflakes blowing sideways down the river. Having a big, broad man around might have its uses after all.

“I think we should go into the show.” Maldynado pointed to a poster hanging next to the double doors leading into the dining hall. It announced the circus troupe would be performing that evening, and couples were streaming inside. “We probably look suspicious loitering here.”

“We’re not loitering, we’re standing purposefully,” Evrial said.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“It’s cold enough to shrivel the balls off a donkey,” Akstyr said from the other side of Maldynado. “I say we go inside too. I can let you know if their show has any unusual features, if you get my meaning.”

“That’s a good idea,” Maldynado said, “don’t you think?”

Both men were looking at Evrial. How had she let Amaranthe put her in charge? “As long as nobody recognizes us.” She had her hood pulled up, something that was quite natural out on the snow-dusted deck, but which would draw attention inside. “Maybe we can stand in the back.”

“Whatever you say, my lady.” Maldynado bowed and offered his arm.

Evrial decided it wasn’t worth arguing over hand holding when it was a ten-foot walk to the door. She linked her arm with Maldynado’s. He beamed.

Akstyr’s lip curled up. “Are you two going to pretend you’re engaged again?”

“Yes,” Maldynado said at the same time as Evrial said, “No.”

“Uh huh.” Akstyr’s lip curled up further, and he left them to stride into the hall.

Evrial was about to follow when two men approaching the door made her pause. She hadn’t been scrutinizing the flow of people, but almost every other pairing had been male-female. These two men had short hair, clean-shaven jaws, and—

Emperor’s warts, they were enforcers. Enforcers she recognized.

Evrial spun about, drawing Maldynado with her, and stepped back to the rail. She pointed at the bank. “Look, the snow is starting to stick. Do you think there’ll be enough on the ground to make a decent snow gladiator when we reach Stumps?”

Maldynado leaned close, shoulder-to-shoulder, and lowered his head to whisper, “Don’t you listen to any of the outlaw-enforcer drinking-house stories? You’re supposed to kiss the fellow you’re with when you’re trying to avoid someone’s notice. You know, to look like an amorous couple too engrossed in each other to be up to anything suspicious.”

Cold snowflakes landing on Evrial’s cheeks drew her attention to how warm they’d grown. “Enforcers don’t really fall for that,” she said.

Maldynado eyed the door over her shoulder. “I think they recognized Akstyr. I told him he should have flattened out that hair and put on a hat. Come on. They went in after him.”

“They must remember him from the steamboat fight,” Evrial said.

Maldynado paused, his hand on the door. “Those are the same enforcers?”

“Yes, it looks like everyone hopped the first ride back upriver.”

“We already passed the town those enforcer boats originated from though. Unless it’s a coincidence? Maybe they were given medical leave after we thumped them so soundly.”

“More likely they spotted one of us boarding and got permission to follow.”

“Lovely.” Maldynado lowered his chin to peer through one of the portholes in the doors. “They’ve dimmed the lights.”

When Evrial opened the door, the susurrus of dozens of conversations flowed out. She stepped inside and almost crashed into someone’s back. The formal dining hall might be the largest room on the steamboat, but it seemed tiny that evening. Passengers filled every seat at the round tables, and more people stood along the walls, some stacked three or four deep in the back. Even with her height, Evrial had to stand on her tiptoes to glimpse the stage up front. Green-, red-, and blue-hued lamps burned up there, spilling colored globes of illumination onto the raised platform. Trampolines and other apparatuses awaited the performers. The ceilings were high, but not that high, and Evrial pictured a much more abbreviated show than usual. As a rural gal, she’d never been into the city for the circus, but she’d heard that the performers skated and performed most of their acrobatics on the ice.

“Ouch.”

“Erg.”

“Terribly sorry,” Maldynado said, pulling Evrial in his wake. He apologized as he went but continued to elbow his way along the wall until he found a shady nook near a support pillar. People grumbled, but nobody attempted to stop him. The flames in the wall lamps burned so low that one couldn’t make out faces back there, but it was hard to miss Maldynado’s height and breadth.

More grunts and curses came from along the wall on the other side of the door. The enforcers pushing their way through?

As Evrial followed in Maldynado’s wake, she tried to spot Akstyr’s spiky locks. They needed to get him out of the room before the enforcers found him.

Drums started up somewhere behind the stage, and the conversations grew softer.

Maldynado found his nook and pulled Evrial into him, her back against his chest. Before she could decide if she wanted to protest this familiarity, he pointed over her shoulder toward a cluster of tables near the stage. The colored lighting illuminated those first few rows, revealing faces. Evrial groaned. Another pair of men occupied half of one table, men she also recognized from the steamboat battle.

“Definitely not a coincidence,” she said. “Or medical leave.”

Maldynado sighed, his chest expanding against her back. “I suppose not. Though I’ll take some pride in that one’s eye, more precisely the sickly yellow bruise around it that hasn’t quite healed.”

“Are you sure that’s one you thumped?” That whole event had been so chaotic that Evrial scarcely remembered specifics. “Basilard and I were defending the railing too, as you’ll recall.”

“I recognize my handiwork.”

“The bruise is on the large side. It might match your fat fingers.”

“I’m not sure whether I should reject the notion that anything on me is fat—stout or muscular perhaps, but not fat—or simply be pleased that you’re developing a sense of humor.”

“We’ve discussed this. I’ve always had a sense of humor. You people just aren’t funny.” Evrial thought she glimpsed someone with a prickly ridge of hair making his way along one of the side walls toward the stage. “Is that your man? Or just someone with a hat stranger than most of yours?”

The drumbeats increased in speed and intensity, and Evrial didn’t hear Maldynado’s answer. It sounded indignant though.

“Welcome to this special showing of our traveling circus,” a voice rang out, amplified somehow to echo throughout the dining hall, “in which we shall entertain, mystify, and impress you with feats of dexterity and skill. We’ll follow this with a theatrical reenactment of the infamous Drunken Valley Battle from the Second Border War.”

“That should prove interesting on that tiny stage,” Maldynado said. “I’m surprised they’re performing here at all. Their usual milieu is a frozen lake.”

“It’s probably how they’re paying their way.” Evrial leaned to the side, trying to track the movement of the figure she thought might be Akstyr. “Did you just say milieu?”

“Dear ancestors, I believe I did. What a dreadful word. I’ll have to thump Books later. He’s the only one who would have cursed my vocabulary with such an addition.”

“Make sure to smack him in the eye, so I can compare his bruise to the one on that enforcer, and see if your stout, muscular fingers truly can claim that blow.”

For a moment, Maldynado didn’t respond. She hadn’t offended him, had she? That hardly seemed possible.

Then his breath stirred her hair—not a breath, a soft laugh. “You do have a sense of humor. That’s delightful. You should trying unsheathing it as often as your sword.”

“I’ll consider it.” Evrial pointed again. “Now there are two figures working their way along the wall after—”

“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.

It took Sicarius a moment to stop staring at Sespian—at least he wasn’t glowering, not the way he had with Mancrest, but his regular expression wasn’t that inviting either. He met Amaranthe’s gaze, seemed to read her question, and nodded once.

“We’re...” Amaranthe started. The words caught when Sespian swung his brown eyes toward her, eyes full of youthful hope mixed with a wariness for what was coming—he had to have sensed this on some level. “We’re a we,” she finally said, pointing back and forth between herself and Sicarius. It wasn’t particularly eloquent, but judging from the ashen color that came over his face, Sespian understood.

Tempted to lift a fingernail to her lips for gnawing, Amaranthe waited for his reaction. She didn’t think he’d explode and throw a tantrum—he wasn’t that young—but she feared harsh words and stung emotions. Especially when Sespian had to still be reeling over the shock of learning that he wasn’t the rightful emperor and that he had an assassin for a father.

“Yes, of course,” Sespian finally said. “I can see... The signs were there all along. I get it.” He stood, bumping against the chair, nearly tipping it over, and righting it with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

Amaranthe closed her eyes, feeling like she’d personally jammed a knife into the kid’s stomach.

“I’m not hungry after all. Please help yourselves to my portion.” Sespian hustled for the door.

Amaranthe didn’t stop him. When she’d been fantasizing about locking the men in the room together, it hadn’t been to discuss anything like this.

“I’m sorry,” she told Sicarius after the door thumped shut.

“You are not to blame.”

“I didn’t mean to bring that up. Not now.” Amaranthe prodded the bag. “Maybe you were right and pastries weren’t a good idea after all.”

“He had to know eventually.”

“I just feel bad about dumping all of this on him in the same week.” Amaranthe sank down into the vacant stool. The wooden seat was still warm. “He’s had a rough year. A rough life. I remember asking you once if you’d ever known happiness, but I now wonder the same thing about him. I have the sense that he had a lonely childhood, and you told me yourself that Raumesys wasn’t kind.”

“Yes,” Sicarius murmured. “There are times...” He traced the grain of the table with a finger.

“Yes?”

“I have mused upon how his life might have been if I’d told him the truth long ago and taken him away after his mother died. I could have ensured he was raised by a normal family with other children so that he wouldn’t have to endure what he did. I was not wise enough to act on those musings.”

Amaranthe laid a hand on Sicarius’s. “There’s still time for... something between you two. A better future for him. I know it doesn’t look promising now, but I truly believe that.”

“Perhaps.” Sicarius didn’t sound convinced.

* * * * *

In the dark cabin, Evrial leaned against the wall, drumming her fingers on her thigh while she waited for the enforcers outside to wander away. Clangs had announced them opening hatches and searching rooms. For a moment, she’d worried, assuming they’d walk in on her and Maldynado’s hiding spot. But Maldynado had turned the lock, and the enforcers had done no more than try the latch.

The minutes dragged past, however, as the men continued to search. Evrial was surprised Maldynado hadn’t suggested any after-dark activities in which a man and woman could engage to pass the time. She would have rebuffed him if he had, but it hadn’t been necessary. When she’d checked on him, he’d been standing quietly, ear pressed to the hatch. She told herself she needed to stop being surprised that he could be professional when the moment called for it.

“I think they’re gone,” Maldynado said. “I haven’t heard a hatch shut for a while, though it’s hard to tell with that music in the background.”

“Let’s check,” Evrial said, remembering she was ostensibly in charge. She hoped Amaranthe wouldn’t blame her if she lost Akstyr.

A slash of light entered the cabin, highlighting discarded socks and soiled underwear. Evrial’s nose had been correct.

“Out or further in?” Maldynado asked after checking the passageway. He pointed the way they’d come and then deeper into the warren of tunnels.

“We have to find your wizard.”

Maldynado nodded, and they slipped outside and jogged for the next intersection. Unlike the wider passenger hallways, these narrow corridors didn’t allow two people to walk side-by-side, so the only warning Evrial had was Maldynado stopping to peer around the corner, then stiffening.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“A problem.” Arm spread to keep her from looking, Maldynado stepped back.

A faint creak came from behind Evrial. She spun and found herself facing one of the enforcers who’d been seated at the table. A hatch stood open behind him. She tensed, tempted to spring, but he lifted his arm, revealing a pocket-sized crossbow in his hand. The tiny dart would have been laughable if not for the dark smudge on the tip. Drekal, she guessed, a paralysis poison. Neither it nor the miniature crossbow were standard enforcer weapons, but they were sometimes used by detectives and undercover operatives. The man’s jaw was clenched in a scowl—perhaps mentioning wizards hadn’t been a good idea. She’d grown too blasé of the concept over the last few weeks.

“Looking for someone?” Maldynado asked.

His back bumped Evrial’s—he must be facing a similar opponent in the intersection.

“Yes,” a male voice replied, “and I’ve found one of them. Is your whole team on this boat?”

“Of course not,” Maldynado said. “We split up and took different boats in case there was a search at the Stumps docks. It’s just us.”

While Maldynado chatted with his fellow, Evrial searched for a way to disarm hers. Maybe she could fake an attack and surprise him into loosing the single shot at the wall or ceiling. If she’d guessed the type of poison correctly, then the most she risked was being knocked unconscious and taken to an interrogation area. Not ideal, but she wouldn’t be much worse off than they were right now.

“And your wizard,” Maldynado’s enforcer said. “We already have him.”

Evrial hoped that was a bluff. Amaranthe had given her a chance to command, and she’d already lost a third of her team. No, he’d been lost before, she reminded herself. Now he was captured. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t wanted to command outlaws to start with; she couldn’t help but feel she’d failed.

“Well, you can keep him,” Maldynado said. “He’s a pain to deal with, and we won’t miss him.” His hand brushed the side of Evrial’s thigh in a quick downward motion.

It might have been nothing, but she interpreted it as a, “Let’s try something,” signal.

“I will miss the way he can start fires,” Evrial said, having no idea if the youth had that skill or not. She whispered over her shoulder loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Did he get a chance to booby trap these lamps?”

The enforcer’s gaze flicked toward the lamp burning near his head. It was only a split-second distraction, but it would have to do. With the man’s eyes averted, Evrial sprinted two steps and launched a straight-kick at his crossbow hand. The enforcer recovered and started to leap back, but her foot caught the tip of the weapon, ripping it from his grasp. It clanged against the metal bulkhead.

Evrial didn’t slow her advance. She followed up with a kick to his shin, hoping it would distract him, then launched a jab-punch combination.

Unfortunately, he possessed the same training as she and reacted quickly, dodging the kick and blocking her punches. She pressed, hoping her aggressive style would keep him off balance. He backed up a step.

“Don’t touch the lantern, you idiot,” she blurted, “or we’re all dead.”

She doubted the man would have fallen for it if they hadn’t been talking about wizards, but Turgonian superstition played into her favor. He cursed and leaped away from the lamp. Evrial lunged, feinting with a punch while she threw her body behind her real attack, a leg sweep. He lifted one boot in time, but she caught the inside of his other knee. The vulnerable joint gave, and he went down. Evrial dropped, pinning his legs. She yanked her knife out and whipped it to his throat, stopping shy of drawing blood.

Before she could make any warnings or demands, a shadow fell across her shoulder. She tensed, fearing the second enforcer had shot Maldynado and meant to stop her next. But it was Maldynado who stepped around her, leaned down, and grabbed her prisoner. Evrial scrambled off his legs, and Maldynado hauled him upright, locking the man’s arms behind his back in the process.

“I’ll take this one,” he said. “Can you manage that one?”

That one lay on his back in the intersection, eyes open but with the pupils rolled back in his head.

“Manage him how?” Evrial asked.

“We either need to lock them up somewhere or throw them overboard. Given that we’re still four days out of Stumps, I suggest the latter.”

“These are some of the same men that we threw overboard before.” Though she made the comment—and felt badly for so mishandling men who should be colleagues, not enemies—she couldn’t think of an alternative. She searched the downed enforcer for weapons. She found a hidden dagger and tossed it down the corridor, in case he woke up while she was toting him.

“Yes, we are,” Maldynado’s enforcer growled.

“Guess you shouldn’t have coming looking for us then,” Maldynado said cheerfully.

Evrial’s knuckles brushed against something hard during her search. She unbuttoned the enforcer’s shirt pocket and pulled out a small journal. She debated whether to snoop inside or not. These were lawmen, she reminded herself, not criminals—she was the one in the wrong for manhandling them. She slid the book back into his pocket.

“We were looking for the wizard.”

“He’s one of us, and you don’t want to pick a fight with us.” Maldynado shoved the man. “Start walking.”

Evrial eyed her unconscious charge. Dragging him over raised hatchways wouldn’t prove feasible, so she grabbed his wrist and ducked to hoist him onto her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When she straightened with the man’s weight balanced over her shoulder, she caught Maldynado gazing back at her, his eyebrows climbing into the shadows beneath the brim of his hat.

“What?” Evrial didn’t want to dawdle. Carrying the fellow would tax her.

“Oh, nothing,” Maldynado drawled and went back to shoving his prisoner down the passageway. He picked a different corridor than the one they’d come down—toting enforcers out in front of a room full of entertainers might not be good. “It’s just that the occasions I’ve had to... entertain a strong woman, it’s been quite intriguing.”

“What kind of entertaining?” Evrial had a feeling she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help herself. If he truly preferred strong, athletic women to the sort of delicate milksops she’d always imagined him with, that might explain what she’d considered an inexplicable interest.

Maldynado tossed her a wink before opening a hatch. “The sort where upper body strength and agility can be quite the boon.”

She rolled her eyes, making sure he could see the reaction.

Cool wind blasted through the open hatchway. A back route to the deck, good.

“I don’t see anybody around,” Maldynado said before stepping outside. “Everybody’s enjoying the show.”

“Let’s hurry and finish this then.” Evrial shifted her weight and leaned against the wall to alleviate some of the burden on her shoulder.

“I want to make sure security isn’t about.”

Maldynado pushed his fellow ahead of him, heading straight across the deck to the snow-dusted railing. The enforcer balked before they reached it. He tried to ram an elbow into Maldynado’s gut.

The man on Evrial’s shoulder stirred and uttered a confused, “Huh?”

Not wanting a second fight, she hustled for the railing, striding around Maldynado and his man. She envisioned herself simply rolling her enforcer into the water, but it was a more laborious process than expected, especially with the cold air reviving him. She hoisted him onto the railing, but his hand caught her arm before she could shove him overboard.

“Wha’s happening?” he slurred.

Evrial blurted a, “Sorry about this,” and slammed the back of her forearm into the side of his jaw. His head flew backward, and she shoved his legs after him. A boot almost caught her in the chin. She jerked her head back in time and turned to see if Maldynado needed help. A resonating smack sounded as his fist connected with his enforcer’s nose. The man stumbled back against the railing, and Maldynado hefted him over the side.

He heaved an exasperated sigh as the second splash sounded. “It’s like these blokes have some experience with being hurled overboard and aren’t that fond of it.”

“Imagine that.”

“I suppose the weather is colder this week,” Maldynado said.

Yes, Evrial certainly wouldn’t want to take a dip in that frosty water.

Something on the deck caught her eye—the journal. She groaned. It must have fallen out of the man’s pocket. Great, now she was a thief as well as an obstructer of justice—and who knew what else she’d get pegged with if reports of her collusion with outlaws made it back to her district?

Evrial picked up the journal and buttoned it into her own pocket. She’d no more than straightened when someone shouted from farther up the deck.

“There!”

“Uh oh,” Maldynado said. “There’re the other two enforcers.”

Something sharp pierced Evrial’s shoulder with enough force to spin her back toward the railing. Pain burst from the wound. She gasped and clasped a hand to her shoulder. Her fingers bumped against the fletching of a tiny crossbow quarrel.

“Poison.” She spat the word like a curse. In a fit of rage and fear, she grabbed the protruding part and tore it free. Another wave of agony went through her, almost forcing her to her knees. “Cursed ancestors, how can something so little hurt so—”

“Look out,” Maldynado cried from a few feet away.

Evrial started to turn, but her reflexes were already compromised. She couldn’t move quickly enough. Even the snowflakes flying downriver seemed to sail by at half speed.

Something blunt slammed into her back. Hands grabbed her, more than one pair. She hurled an elbow, trying to force her attackers to back away, but she didn’t connect with flesh. The movement only stirred more pain in her shoulder.

“Get him, he’s the dangerous one,” someone yelled.

“He’s one of those murdering outlaws!”

Grunts and scuffles sounded behind Evrial. There were far more than two men. She needed to do something, to tear away from the ones restraining her, but blackness edged her vision. Fear crept into her heart. What if it wasn’t simply a paralysis poison? What if this was the end? The enforcers hadn’t even wanted her; they were after Maldynado and his team.

Enraged at the notion, Evrial summoned all of her remaining strength. She pushed away from the railing and threw a punch at the first person she saw. The man dodged—like the snowflakes, he seemed to move far more slowly than usual, but her punch flew slowly too. She only clipped the side of his jaw. He backed up, letting go of her.

“Take care of that woman,” someone ordered. “She’s expend—ow, you slagging—”

Maldynado was keeping the others busy. Evrial had to deal with the two focused on her. She kicked at the shin of the sole man left holding her. Her leg was too heavy, though, and she could barely lift it. The effort upset her balance. The man she’d meant to attack snorted, stepped inside her extended leg, and sank a punch into her stomach. Though those curled fingers arced in slowly, she couldn’t bring an arm across to block them fast enough—she barely had time to exhale and tighten her abdomen to protect against the blow. The impact sent her staggering back against the railing.

Before she could come up with an attack—one she might manage in her slowed state—the men grabbed her legs, lifting them in the air. Since she’d just tossed someone over the side, she knew their intent right away. Evrial flailed, trying to find a chin or knee or other weak spot that would slow them down, but she was helpless to thwart the men.

They counted to three, then heaved her over the railing. White flurries blew past her face, a stark contrast to the dark, cloudy sky above. Ages passed before she struck the water, landing on her side and sinking quickly. The river’s icy embrace shocked her body. She couldn’t move. It could have been the cold or the poison, the final stage overtaking her. It didn’t matter. There was nothing she could do but sink.

CHAPTER 5

Before Evrial hit the bottom, the blackness swallowing her was complete—as was the icy chill paralyzing her limbs. She was vaguely aware of a current passing over her, but she might as well have been encased in a glacier for all that she could move or escape. Her lungs ached for air, but she couldn’t push off the bottom, couldn’t do anything. If she died down there, nobody would ever find her body. Her family would have no idea what had happened to her.

Something prodded her. What new insult? A giant river fish to eat her alive?

No, that was a hand groping about. Hope sprang into her mind. Maldynado?

The hand caught her beneath the armpit. In a burst, Evrial found herself rising to the surface, water rippling past her body. Her head broke the surface, and her lungs still worked enough to suck in a great gasp.

Water streamed into her eyes. Lights burned in the distance, but she couldn’t tell if they were on shore or belonged to the steamboat. Was that it pulling away? She tried to raise a hand to wipe the water away, but her limbs wouldn’t respond.

“Just relax,” came Maldynado’s voice near her ear, the words barely recognizable over his chattering teeth. “I’ve got you,” he said, then added, “Blast, it’s cold enough to freeze a man’s love apples right off.”

All she could concentrate on was breathing as he swam, not toward the lights—they were pulling away too quickly—but toward the dark shoreline. Trees loomed along the banks, thick evergreen branches outlined with snow. Of course they’d picked this fight out in the middle of nowhere without a town in sight. There would be no hotels or even farmsteads where they could recover. Tremors coursed through Evrial’s body. If the poison on that dart didn’t kill her, the cold might.

No, she told herself, don’t think like that. She wasn’t going to die on some wild forsaken shore.

“Lo—oo—ve ap—ples?” she stuttered, trying to distract herself.

“Sure. They’re terribly important. A man’s most prized possessions, you know.”

Water continued to stream past as they drew nearer to those towering trees. Finally Maldynado shifted position—his feet must have found the bottom. He released her armpit, and terror flowed into Evrial, a fear that she’d slip away and float—or sink—into the darkness again. But Maldynado was only changing his grip. One arm slipped beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. He lifted her from the water and carried her to the bank.

The snow made the night seem brighter than usual, but Evrial still couldn’t make out Maldynado’s face, just his dark form above her. It shouldn’t matter, but she wished she could see his face. Somehow it felt important. He’d just saved her life.

“It’s darned inconvenient that we lost Akstyr,” Maldynado said, teeth chattering as he climbed away from the water. “He does know how to make fire with his mind. I can’t say that I thought to bring matches to a dinner show. Not that they would have survived a dip in the river anyway.” He paused to look around. “No chance of catching the steamboat, I don’t think. They’ve already disappeared around that bend up there. Though sprinting to catch up might keep us warm.” He gazed down at her. “But you don’t look like you’re up to that.”

“Bastards shot me,” Evrial said, though it came out muffled, and she didn’t know if he could understand.

“With one of those crossbows? The poisoned ones?”

Evrial nodded.

Maldynado growled and looked around again. “If those shrubs come ashore on this side of the river, I’m going to pound them into the ground like a jackhammer.”

He laid her down, and a grunt of protest escaped Evrial’s lips. Being pressed against his chest had been the closest thing to warmth out there. At least she found—by inadvertently dropping her hand onto the cold snow—that she could move her arms now.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Maldynado said. “I’m going to try and find a cave or nook or something where we can huddle until you get the feeling back in your limbs. You should probably, uhm, take your clothes off.”

Having been born in the country, and seen any number of people caught out in the area’s harsh winter elements, Evrial knew the dangers of hypothermia well enough and was already trying to pry open her trouser button, but she did manage a moment of wry amusement over the way he fumbled the statement. Funny to think that a man who had doubtlessly told dozens—maybe hundreds—of women to disrobe would find it awkward to do so now.

“I don’t think it’s much below freezing,” Maldynado said, “and the snow will be insulating, but that water was cold enough to shrivel up, well, you know.”

“Love apples?”

“Precisely so.” Maldynado jogged into the forest. “Be right back!”

It took Evrial five or six hours—or so it seemed—to remove her soggy boots, socks, and trousers. The shirt and jacket came last. Shivers wracked her body, but she knew that was better than if she stopped shivering. She would have liked to leap to her feet and run to warm herself, and maybe catch that steamboat, but her limbs were still heavy and slow to respond. Fortunately, the trees sheltered her from some of the frosty northern wind that had been gusting downriver, battering the boat with horizontal flakes.

The snow crusting her bare, numb backside convinced her to see if she could stand. Even using a tree for support, her leaden legs barely held her weight. After a moment of standing on the snow, she chanced sticking her bare feet back into her boots. She draped her clothing on branches to dry, though more likely they’d freeze into stiff sheets of ice. With luck, morning would bring thawing temperatures. She just had to survive the night.

“Now there’s a unique fashion style.” Maldynado jogged out of the forest and waved toward her boots, or perhaps he was noting the lack of anything except boots.

“Fashion,” Evrial said, irritated by her chattering teeth, “has never been a pri—priority for me.” She tried a haughty sniff, but her nose was running, and it sounded more like she was trying to tame wild phlegm. “If you don’t like my outfit—”

“Oh, no. I approve.” Though the darkness hid his face, he winked. She was sure of it. “Come, my lady.” Maldynado extended an arm. “Time to get cozy for a spell.”

“I suppose there’ll b—be touching.” Evrial couldn’t manage her usual grumble for that word, not with frostbite threatening. She stumbled into Maldynado’s proffered arm and was fortunate that he caught her. She wanted to protest when he swept her off her feet and against his chest again, but it seemed like too much work. Besides, her trembling body betrayed her by snuggling closer.

“Only in a medically approved manner,” Maldynado said solemnly. “Unless you decide you require vigorous exercise to warm your blood.”

“What I require is a big furry blanket.”

“If you wanted furry, you should have been stranded with Books.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I’m perplexed as to why he’s always accusing me of being the one with simian ancestry.” Maldynado stopped before a sheltered nook between two huge gnarled roots protruding from the base of an ancient cedar. He set her down and waved to a pile of boughs stacked in the hollow. “These will be almost as nice as blankets. Cozy branches with the snow shaken free.”

“Cozy, huh?” Evrial wrapped her arms around her torso and squatted, gingerly resting her rump on the pile. Meanwhile Maldynado shucked his wet clothing. There wasn’t much to see in the dark, and she found herself regretting that, though she made a show of settling herself in on the branches. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was watching.

“Comfortable?” Maldynado tugged his boots off.

“The water dripping from my hair down my back is like icicles licking my skin, my shoulder feels like feral cats are biting their way out from the inside, and there are frozen pine needles stabbing my nether regions.” And she wished he’d hurry up and join her. If she got any colder, she’d turn into an icicle herself.

“So, that’s a no?”

Evrial snorted.

“Just checking. You’re tough; you might appreciate those sorts of hardships.”

Maldynado slid into the nook, distracting Evrial from whatever retort she might have come up with. He lifted an arm, hesitated, started to put it around her, then ended up propping his hand on the ground behind her. His arm barely touched her back.

“What’s that supposed to do to keep us warm?” Evrial asked.

Too cold to worry about modesty, she flung her legs over his, crawled into his lap, wrapped her arms around his torso, and buried her face in his shoulder. She hoped he’d get the idea and return the embrace, because the shivers coursing through her were threatening to shake her teeth out of her jaw.

Maldynado hesitated again, but finally encircled her with his arms. “Sorry, I’m damp.”

“Isn’t the woman supposed to say that?” Evrial asked before she could think better of uttering the silly line.

Several heartbeats thumped past—she and Maldynado were pressed close enough that she could feel them—before he said, “Uhhh. Normally I’d say yes, and that there shouldn’t be an apology with the statement, but... was that a joke?”

“Maybe.”

“I haven’t heard you make one before. You’re almost as humorle—, er, taciturn as Sicarius.”

Evrial didn’t have a response for that. Being compared to a cold-hearted assassin stung, but could she blame him? She knew it was partially true, that she was on the blunt side, but...

Evrial thought of Amaranthe’s suggestion that she lower her defenses, and that maybe Maldynado would lower his in turn. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not always so... grouchy. It’s just that when I first met you people, you were clearly The Enemy.”

“Me?” Maldynado sounded so innocent she almost laughed.

“I thought I was done with you all until, months later, Lokdon showed up on my family’s doorstep with her assassin. That got me in trouble with my family, and my brother reported the visit to my commander, so I’m not sure if I’ll have a job when I get back. For all I know, there’ll be a wanted poster hanging in headquarters, right alongside of Sicarius’s. I went down to Forkingrust against my better judgment, largely because I felt compelled to help the emperor, though I clearly saw Lokdon manipulating me into that situation. Part of it, too, was that I guess I hoped that by helping him, I’d end up with another recommendation or commendation that would erase suspicion back home. But as it turns out, he’s not the emperor, and now I’m running around with outlaws with no hope of having those suspicions cleared, and I fear I’ll dig myself into deeper trouble by being with you. I don’t particularly want to see this Ravido of yours on the throne, but I’m not convinced we have any right to pick who does take the throne.” Evrial sank deeper against Maldynado’s chest, worn down by the long ramble. She hadn’t meant to say—to reveal—so much. Especially not to someone who was as likely to make a joke out of it all as anything.

“All right,” Maldynado said, “I can see some reasons for grumpiness in there, but... are you not having any fun at all? That train fight was exhilarating. Especially the part where we survived it.”

Evrial may have cringed at the idea of a joke, but somehow his actual words lightened her heart, and, her face once again buried in his shoulder, she laughed. Curse Amaranthe, maybe she’d been right about that as well. Maybe she did need more humor in her life.

“I won’t try to tell you what to do,” Maldynado said, “but I’d be terribly put out if you wandered off and left us, leaving me with only Books to trade barbs with. He’s been too busy for it of late anyway, what with his political scheming. Oh, you should ask him about it, if you can stand a lecture. That might help you make up your mind about whether you want to back our efforts or not. Knowing Books, he wants to do something noble, democratic, and tormented-dead-ancestors boring.”

Evrial lifted her face from Maldynado’s shoulder. That actually... wasn’t a bad idea. If she knew what Amaranthe and the others wanted to replace Ravido with, she might know if this should be her fight or not.

Though night hadn’t relinquished its grasp, her eyes had long since adjusted to the dim lighting, and she could tell Maldynado was watching her. However offhandedly he’d said it, that he didn’t want her to leave... it meant something. She didn’t know exactly what yet, nor did she want to examine the feeling too closely, but she lifted her hand to his hair, letting her fingers trace the contours of his muscular back on the way. She probably should have chosen a moment when his wavy brown locks weren’t crunchy with ice to touch them, but one had to act when inspired. And, though she’d never admit it to him, sitting on the lap of someone who, despite his comrades’ teasing to the contrary, did have a physique that would be very flattering if immortalized in statue forum, was quite... inspiring.

“You’re wiser than you let on, Maldynado,” Evrial said.

“Mmhmm, remember those kind thoughts when you’re sitting through hour three of Books’s explanation.” Though he said the words casually, his body had grown very still; he scarcely seemed to be breathing. Surely Lord Cocky and Confident wasn’t having doubts about what to do next? “How’s your shoulder?” he asked.

“It wasn’t that big of a quarrel, and I pulled it out right away.”

“Does that mean the feral cats have quieted down, or you’re just too tough to be bothered by them?”

It meant she wanted him to stop talking and kiss her. She couldn’t quite bring herself to blurt that out though. Even though she was ninety-nine percent certain he wouldn’t reject her, she still feared he’d lose interest after he achieved that goal he’d been pursuing. That would hurt. A lot. But he’d saved her life tonight. She owed him something for that.

Oh, please, Evi, she thought. He was gorgeous, adorable, and who wouldn’t be curious to know if all that supposed experience of his equated to masterful bed play? Besides, those frozen pine needles had been the most interesting things to poke her nether regions in she didn’t know how long.

“My shoulder is better,” Evrial said. “How are... your love apples?”

The strangled noise that came from Maldynado’s throat might have been a laugh or an exclamation of surprise. Both, perhaps. “They’re better now too. They’ve been nice and warm since you climbed into my lap.”

“It’s good to know that they’ve recovered.” Evrial trailed her fingers from his hair to his shoulder, tracing the rounded swell of his muscles, and breathing in the mingling scents of cedar boughs and his warm, clean skin. She watched him watching her, expecting him to kiss her at any moment, but he hadn’t moved yet. He was still holding utterly still. Almost as if he’d developed a shy streak. No, he was probably afraid she’d snap at him if he touched her. If so, she had only herself to blame for that.

“Maldynado?” she asked.

“Yes?”

Evrial smiled at the hint of squeakiness in his voice. She didn’t imagine that he usually hesitated with women, and thought maybe, just maybe, he cared more about the outcome here. “I’m trying to seduce you,” she said.

“Oh, good. That’s what I thought, but I was afraid you’d give me a huffy, ‘no touching,’ order if my fingers went exploring.”

“Tempting, but I think it’d be more fun if we both engaged in touching. Just this—”

The last word disappeared beneath a pair of warm, eager lips. With her permission given, his hands found all sorts of places to touch, the sword calluses on his palms stirring delicious sensations as they slid over her flesh. Any thoughts of associating him with the word shy disappeared. Instead, the image a long-restrained panther came to mind, the powerful predator suddenly unleashed and leaping for its prey. After that, she was too distracted to manage coherent thoughts.

* * * * *

Amaranthe was not, she told herself, hiding from Sicarius and his proclivity for filling downtime with training. She was simply checking in on Books. And waiting impatiently for Maldynado and the others to return with information.

“Stop,” Books said without looking up from the stack of papers on the desk in front of him. Three pens and an old-fashioned quill and inkwell surrounded his work, dribbling stains onto the pages.

Amaranthe realized she’d been tidying the papers on the bunk and clasped her hands behind her back. “Sorry.”

“I’m still brainstorming. I’m not ready to organize.”

“Where do you sleep?”

The papers were sprawled across both bunks, not to mention much of the floor.

“Right here,” Books said.

“Where does Maldynado sleep?”

“I don’t know.”

Amaranthe watched Books’s pen fly. They’d been on board a few nights now. Was he truly that oblivious? “When are you going to share the highlights of this masterpiece with the rest of us?”

“Soon. I’m sure you’ll want to contribute and suggest amendments.”

“Me? I lack experience and education in the area of politics.” She’d planned to suggest Sespian sit in on the meeting and offer most of the ideas. He might be young, but he would have studied civil history and political science from birth.

“It’s not that much different from business,” Books said, “just less efficient. Besides, you’re the one spearheading the revolt. You’ll want to be firmly behind the new ideas we propose.”

Amaranthe let her hands droop to her sides. Spearheading the revolt? Her? She was simply trying to stop Forge and Ravido. They were the ones revolting, not her.

A soft knock sounded. Amaranthe feared Sicarius had come to collect her for another round of training, but he didn’t usually bother knocking. Or being constrained by door locks.

“Come in,” Books said without lifting his head.

Amaranthe strode to the door, a hand on her knife. Though security hadn’t run a full-boat search yet, she didn’t know if that would last.

The door eased open. Basilard slipped inside with Akstyr trailing after him.

“It’s not my fault,” Akstyr whispered with emphasis that made Amaranthe suspect he was repeating the statement.

She shut the door behind them. “What’s the problem?”

“Watch where you step,” Books warned, his head still bent over his work.

Basilard picked his way between pages without touching anything and stopped in a foot-wide bare spot in the corner.

“There’s junk all over the floor,” Akstyr said. “Where am I supposed to stand?”

“It is not junk.” This new threat finally bestirred Books to rise. He stomped about gathering the pages, placing them in a particular order as he stacked them. He halted before Akstyr and pointed at the floor. “I’ll thank you to remove your grimy boot from the corner of that page.”

Akstyr lifted his leg and held it there, knee bent, the sneer on his lips suggesting he’d like to plant his “grimy boot” between Books’s hind cheeks. He noticed Amaranthe watching him, though, and lowered his leg. “Maldynado and Yara are missing.”

“What happened?” Amaranthe asked.

“We got separated. I sensed a Made artifact—lots of them—and went to try and find the source. I thought the others were right behind me.” Akstyr paused to glower at Basilard.

Basilard lifted his hands and signed, When I spotted Maldynado fighting the enforcers, he was alone.

“Fighting the enforcers?” Amaranthe asked. “Start at the beginning.”

“I don’t know how they got to that point. Sure there were some undercover enforcers about, but I avoided them just fine.” Akstyr tapped his chest. “I don’t know why they didn’t stay with me. Anyway, I went behind the stage at the circus performance and into the crew area. I went all over that first deck, like a hound sniffing after a ’coon, but I couldn’t get close enough to the source. There were always bulkheads and locked doors in the way. I thought the artifacts might be upstairs, but Basilard found me and made me come with him before I got to finish looking.”

“You can search more tonight when most of the boat is asleep,” Amaranthe said. “Right now, I’d like the details on Maldynado and Yara, please. You said they were fighting enforcers. Where are they now?” She wondered if she’d need to plan a brig breakout.

Akstyr and Basilard exchanged looks, and Amaranthe knew she wouldn’t like the answer.

“You saw it,” Akstyr muttered. “You tell her.”

I only saw Maldynado, Basilard signed. I heard fighting sounds, but I was coming down the steps at the far end of the deck, and it took me a moment to reach him. He was finishing up a couple of enforcers, but some had miniature crossbows and were trying to shoot him. His back was toward me, and I don’t think he noticed me running toward them. He threw himself over the railing.

“He what?” Books asked.

“You didn’t see Yara?” Amaranthe asked.

It was hard for me to stop to look, because when the enforcers saw me running up, they turned their attention toward me. I had to sprint back the way I’d come and lose them on the second deck. But I glimpsed Maldynado swimming down the river, and I thought I heard him call out her name.

Amaranthe rubbed her forehead. How had such a simple task turned into such a mess? She found herself staring at Akstyr.

“It’s not my fault,” he repeated, balling his fists and stuffing them into his pockets. “It’s not. I’m sorry though. I didn’t mean for them to get caught. I was just concentrating on what I sensed.”

An apology was an improvement from him, but it didn’t get her team back together. Should they all gather their gear and find a lifeboat to steer to the shore? To see if they could meet up with the others? If Yara was hurt, Maldynado wasn’t the most knowledgeable person when it came to medical skills. And they wouldn’t have any food or gear.

“Did you see which side of the river they headed to?” Amaranthe asked Basilard.

He shook his head. By the time I eluded the enforcers and had a chance to look back over the railing, we’d gone around a bend. I never spotted them again.

So, even if the team went after Maldynado and Yara, finding them would be a matter of luck. The steamboat was due to reach a town in the morning, docking there for a few hours. Maybe those two could catch up on their own. Besides, there was the matter of these artifacts Akstyr had sensed. Were they what the circus troupe had purchased? And had the Forge women been the ones to provide the funds and instruct them to do so? What if they were tools or weapons meant to aid Ravido?

“Why are all these enforcers on board?” Books asked.

Amaranthe had thought he’d already have his face buried in his self-appointed work again, but he was listening, and he raised his brows when she met his gaze. “Good question,” she said. “The steamboat has its own security team.”

Basilard shrugged.

“Because they’re always around to harass us,” Akstyr said. “We’re their special hobby.”

“No, if they’d boarded because they suspected we were here,” Amaranthe said, “they would have searched the vessel the first day.”

“We could be experiencing heightened security due to the potential for trouble in the capital,” Books said. “We saw that in Sunders City.”

“Even allowing for that,” Amaranthe said, “wouldn’t the military have been tasked with accompanying a steamboat upriver? We’re passing in and out of several enforcer districts, and patrollers aren’t usually assigned work that involves encroaching on other districts’ territories.”

Basilard signed, Some sort of investigation?

Akstyr snapped his fingers. “Maybe they know about the artifacts.”

Amaranthe doubted enforcers would recognize magic if they saw it performed before their eyes, but perhaps someone had reported suspicious activity from the circus troupe, and a team had been assigned to trail them. “We better figure out exactly what these entertainers are hiding then. I’ll find Sicarius and Sespian, and we can split up and search. All of us.” If they could find what they sought that night, maybe they could steal the items, sneak ashore at the next port, and wait for Maldynado and Yara there. She didn’t like the idea of delaying the team’s return to Stumps—Forge and Ravido already had far too much of a lead in enacting their plans—but it couldn’t be helped. “Basilard, you were keeping an eye on those Forge women, right? Did you find any more of them?” As much as she preferred gentler means of dealing with people, maybe she should grab Sicarius and go to interview those ladies.

No, Basilard signed. And they’ve left their cabins.

“Left? As in they’ve moved to other quarters or they snatched a lifeboat and floated away?”

Basilard shrugged. All I know is that the rooms were empty of people and belongings. I was checking around the ship, looking for familiar faces, when I ran into Maldynado’s fight.

“All right,” Amaranthe said. “I might send you and Books to keep looking for them while Sicarius, Sespian, Akstyr, and I search for these artifacts.”

Books lifted a protesting hand. She scowled at him. He wasn’t going to object to helping with the search, was he? His new government-design avocation was fine when they had nothing else to do, but they needed everyone tonight.

“What about Maldynado?” Books asked.

“I guess you won’t have to worry about where he’s sleeping tonight.” The words came out snippier than Amaranthe intended, but she’d heard from Maldynado about how Books had accused him of colluding with his family and being untrustworthy. Even if Maldynado’s actions had been a tad suspicious at times—she’d been a little concerned herself for a while—he’d proven himself a dependable ally again and again and hadn’t deserved ongoing mistrust from the team. He’d even saved Books and Akstyr’s lives in some Forge trap.

“They won’t have any money or supplies,” Books said, “and unless there are female trees in the forest, Maldynado won’t be able to charm those things out of the boughs.”

“You’re actually worried about Maldynado?” Akstyr asked. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

Books blinked. “I don’t... dislike him. He’s just immature and grating.”

One wonders what colorful adjectives you have for people you do dislike, Basilard signed.

“We’ll reconnect with them as soon as we can.” Amaranthe waved for Basilard and Akstyr to head outside. Before heading out herself, she told Books, “You should let Maldynado know about your... lack of dislike. You’ve been crusty with him of late, and I know it’s stung him.”

“I’ve been crusty with everyone. I’m busy.” Books waved at the paper stacks.

Amaranthe raised her eyebrows, letting him know she didn’t accept the excuse.

Books’s arms drooped. “I need this, Amaranthe. I’m a washed up professor who can’t look at a bottle of wine without craving it. Even when I was working, I wasn’t... respected by my peers. Few of my papers passed review and made it into the archives. This...” He pointed at his documents again. “This is my chance to do something that matters. To contribute to the world. To...”

“Earn a spot in the history books?” Amaranthe asked.

He hesitated, then nodded warily. As if he feared she’d think him foolish. How could she when she had similar delusions?

“To shape humanity’s future,” Books said.

“I understand, trust me, and it’s a noble pursuit. But I don’t believe you can improve humanity’s future by being so obsessed with your work that you ignore the human beings around you. You might want to make your peace with Maldynado before we enter Stumps. Given the odds we’ll be facing... I think it’s a good idea not to leave words left unsaid, things you might regret later.”

Books lifted a hand in defeat. “I heed your point. We will be going back for them, though, won’t we?”

“We’ll see what tonight’s search reveals. The best we may be able to do is wait for them to catch up on their own.”

CHAPTER 6

On the middle deck, Amaranthe and Sicarius stood guard by an interior door while Akstyr crept through yet another cabin. Bunks stacked three high lined the two longest walls, and snoring figures occupied half of them. She doubted they’d find any signs of Science use in there, but she certainly couldn’t track magic on her own, so she had to follow Akstyr’s lead. After a few moments, he slipped back out into the narrow corridor, its lamps dimmed for the night, the tiny flames barely providing enough illumination for one to navigate the passageway. The evening’s dinner and show had long since completed, and only those people necessary to keep the boat traveling after dark remained awake.

“It feels like we’re farther away on this deck,” Akstyr whispered.

“The circus troupe is housed below,” Amaranthe said. “If they’re smuggling contraband into the empire, they’d probably keep it close so they can keep an eye on it.”

“I already hunted all over that deck. I even pawed through people’s closets.”

Amaranthe tried to catch Sicarius’s gaze, but his thoughts seemed to be turned inward. Maybe he was worried about Sespian. He hadn’t been in his cabin when they’d gone to collect him for the search. After the news she’d given Sespian earlier in the day, Amaranthe also worried, but there weren’t many places he could go on a boat. He probably just needed private time to think.

She touched Sicarius’s arm. “Any ideas?” He knew more about the Science than anyone else on the team, save Akstyr. Actually, she wasn’t positive Akstyr truly knew more, despite all his studies.

“Under the deck,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe had long since grown accustomed to decrypting his terse statements and guessed, “You think there’s storage down there?”

“Oh!” Akstyr blurted. “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t get to it.” He lowered his voice to mutter, “Knew my skill wasn’t the problem.”

“The boat doesn’t have a deep draw,” Sicarius said. “It’d be a couple of feet at most.”

“Enough room to house artifacts though, right?” Amaranthe asked. “If they’re not too big.”

“There may be schematics in engineering,” Sicarius said.

“Let’s go.” Akstyr bounced on his toes, then launched himself down the corridor. Not much enthused him, but artifacts surely did. He nearly crashed into a woman in ship’s whites entering the hatchway as he tried to exit.

“Who’re you?” She frowned at his rumpled, baggy clothes. “This area is for crew only.”

“I know. Wrong door!” Akstyr pushed past her, nearly knocking her into the wall, and disappeared into the night.

Amaranthe and Sicarius had to exit through that hatchway as well, but she worried that two more people using Akstyr’s tactic would cause the woman to raise an alarm. Not wanting to give Sicarius a reason to throw anyone overboard, Amaranthe stepped in front of him to approach the exit first. He’d be more recognizable than she, especially since he never bothered changing out of his familiar black. Or his knives. With luck, the shadows would make recognition difficult.

The woman, young and prim and wearing an ensign’s rank pin next to a bar that declared her a navigation officer, jammed her fists onto her hips and stepped into Amaranthe’s path, blocking the exit. “You choose the wrong door too?”

“Not us,” Amaranthe said, then lifted a hand and whispered around it conspiratorially. “We both have roommates upstairs, so we were looking for a quiet, dark place for amorous activities, if you get my meaning.” Amaranthe threw in liberal winks to ensure it couldn’t be missed.

“Here?” The woman scowled. “You came here for that?”

“Yes.” In her mind, Amaranthe ran through the rooms they’d searched. A couple of the larger ones had possessed two bunks instead of three, such as a young officer might rate, and one of those cabins had sported an empty sleeping area. “The door was open at the end of the hall, and the person in the other bed was sleeping so hard, she didn’t even notice—”

“The end of the hall?” The woman dropped her hands. “That’s my room. You—that’s disgusting!” She sprinted down the corridor and would have caromed off Sicarius, but he glided out of the way. She never glanced at his face.

As soon as the officer disappeared around the corner, Amaranthe stepped outside. Akstyr had already disappeared. The boy was like a hound on the trail when he sensed magic. She headed for a set of stairs, assuming he’d gone down to engineering to check on schematics.

Sicarius fell into step beside her. “You have a singular sense of humor.”

Amaranthe paused at the top of the stairs. “Singular as in remarkable or singular as in unique?”

“Yes.”

Amaranthe snorted. “We better catch up to Akstyr before enforcers show up to throw us overboard. Those trailing after him don’t seem to fare well.”

Sicarius led the way down the steps. As soon as they reached the bottom, he gripped her arm and pulled her into the shadows beneath the staircase.

“Are we avoiding someone’s notice?” Amaranthe whispered. At this late hour, there was only one other person outside on their side of the boat, a cloaked man leaning against the railing with his hood pulled up. “Or did my words to the officer stir thoughts of amorous activities in your mind?”

A finger came to rest on her lips. Two security guards in ship’s whites strode into view. That answered her question.

Though they bore lanterns and swords, one yawned widely, and neither appeared alert. They had the miens of men stuck on the night shift, simply doing their rounds. Neither glanced toward the shadows underneath the stairs.

“I hope those enforcers don’t talk the captain into doing a full search,” one man said as he drew even with Amaranthe and Sicarius.

“What do you care?” his partner asked.

“The enforcers only have one squad of men on board, so you can guess who’ll end up doing the searching. At dawn probably. That’s when we’re supposed to get off and go to bed. Besides, if it is those outlaws, I don’t want to walk in on Sicarius. I want to live. I...” His voice drifted out of earshot as they kept walking.

“I guess that means we need to move our belongings out of the cabins soon,” Amaranthe whispered.

“Yes,” Sicarius said.

“We’ll have to find a hiding place until we reach the next port.” She’d planned to disembark there anyway, so long as they could find these artifacts and deal with them by then. “Think these theoretical below-deck storage cubbies of yours are warm and cozy?”

Sicarius said nothing. He was watching the security team as it slowed down to approach the cloaked man. It was late for stargazing, so Amaranthe could understand why they might be suspicious.

“That’s Sespian,” Sicarius said.

She stiffened. “What? How can you tell?”

One of the enforcers tapped the figure on the shoulder. Sicarius stepped out of the shadows. Amaranthe tried to catch his arm, wanting to tell him to give Sespian a chance to handle the problem on his own, but Sicarius moved too quickly. Cursing under her breath, Amaranthe ran after him. Amazing how the man could glide across the deck like a wraith, seemingly not in a hurry at all, but covering the distance as if he were sprinting. His feet didn’t make a sound as he closed on the three men.

“Don’t kill anyone,” Amaranthe whispered after him, trying to pitch her voice so the security men wouldn’t hear it and Sicarius would.

“...remove your hood,” one of the enforcers was saying when Amaranthe came into hearing range.

“It’s cold out here.” That was Sespian. He turned to face the men, but he didn’t reach for the hood. The darkness and the beard might disguise him, but they might not. “I’m out here getting some air. I couldn’t sleep.” His gaze shifted over the men’s shoulders.

Sicarius stood behind them, not bothering to hide his face as the breeze rifled through his short blond hair. He hadn’t drawn a weapon yet, and Amaranthe hurried to catch up, to keep him from doing so.

First one security man glanced over his shoulder and jumped, then the second emulated the move.

Sespian lifted a hand. “Don’t hurt—”

One of the men pointed to the side of Sicarius, cried, “Look, enforcers!” and hurled himself past Sespian and into the river. The second man squeaked, scuttled backward until his shoulders rammed against the railing, then grabbed it and also propelled himself into the water. His lantern caught and dropped to the deck instead of falling overboard. It clanked and highlighted a dubious puddle before tipping over and winking out. Amaranthe had forgotten how much Sicarius’s reputation affected the average person.

By the time she reached his side, there was little left to worry about, except Sespian’s reaction. Not everybody appreciated protective looming the way Amaranthe did. The two men stared at each other, their profiles like mirror images, each unreadable.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully. “Everything all right, here?”

“It is unwise to stand with your back to the deck,” Sicarius told Sespian.

Oh, good. Lecturing. That’d be sure to warm Sespian’s heart.

Sespian lifted the flap of his cloak to reveal a small crossbow in his hand. Amaranthe recognized it as an enforcer-issue weapon, one that often had poison on the tip, making it ideal for subduing dangerous criminals during undercover missions. Had he already tangled with an enforcer to acquire it? Sespian kept it pointed at the deck, but he held it out for a long moment, as if to make sure Sicarius saw it, before dropping the flap. Letting his father know he could take care of himself?

Sicarius did not amend his statement.

“We’re searching for contraband,” Amaranthe said. “Do you want to join us? We checked your cabin earlier, but you weren’t there.”

“Is that what Akstyr’s doing?” Sespian asked. “He went by a moment ago. He was peering into every vent and grate he passed.”

Amaranthe nodded, pleased that, whatever thoughts had been going through Sespian’s head, he’d remained observant. Sicarius would notice that too, she knew.

“Yes, we suspect magical weapons or something of the sort are being smuggled to the capital by the circus troupe.”

“For Ravido?” Sespian asked.

“Forge, we imagine, but Ravido will surely benefit.”

“So it’d behoove us to find them and destroy them.” Sespian took a deep breath and blew it out, like a man bracing himself. Or perhaps acknowledging that whatever he’d been thinking about was less important than this new mission.

“Or acquire them for ourselves.” Amaranthe smiled.

For the first time since identifying Sespian, Sicarius looked at her. A rather sharp look that implied the thought lacked prudence.

“Let’s find them before worrying about what to do with them.” Amaranthe waved toward the nearby engineering room hatch. Faint light escaped from a porthole beside it. “Think you can find those schematics without being seen by the night shift?” she asked Sicarius.

“Yes.”

A long moment passed, with Sicarius eyeing Sespian and Amaranthe in turn, before he walked away. He disappeared into the shadows long before he reached the hatch. She waited, expecting to see it open, but it didn’t. Perhaps he intended to go in another way.

“Are you all right?” Amaranthe asked.

“I’m fine,” Sespian said.

“You’re sure? I didn’t share that particular tidbit in the most judicious manner this evening.” Maybe she shouldn’t be bothering him. She’d aligned herself with the enemy, more so than ever, as far as he was concerned. Maybe she was the last person he wanted to confide in or even talk to. If not for the limitations of the boat, he might have walked much farther away to think. “I apologize for that. And for continuing to bug you. I’m not good at simply letting sleeping grimbals stay in their dens. Just ask...” She was going to say ask Sicarius, but bringing him up might not be wise. “Ask anyone who’s known me for more than a month.”

“A month?” Sespian smiled faintly. “It didn’t take me that long to realize you have a nosy streak.”

“Well, you’re more perceptive than most people.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but Sespian’s smile faded and his eyes grew sad. “When you and your team barged into the train for me, and I learned how much you’d done in the last year, in the name of helping the emperor, I thought... Well, that’s what made me think you might also have... feelings for me.” Amaranthe opened her mouth to say that she did care for him, but he lifted a hand to stop her. “I thought you wouldn’t have done all that, risked your life and those of your men if you weren’t guided by more than indoctrinated imperial loyalty to the throne. But it was for him, wasn’t it?”

Amaranthe didn’t know what to say. She wanted to deny the accusation, but couldn’t, not when Sespian seemed to finally understand that Sicarius cared for him. That mattered more than what Sespian thought of her. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to simply nod, because it wasn’t the full truth. “Partially for you, partially for the good of the empire—I’ve always thought you were a better option than Ravido or any of those old-fashioned war-war-war men—and partially, no, a lot, for him, yes.”

Sespian exhaled slowly and nodded to himself. “I’ll survive my dashed dreams. Don’t feel bad. I just need some time. All of this—you, Forge, my shattered identity—is difficult, but the hard part is that it’s him. A brutal murderer who I’ve seen...” He shook his head. “It would have been more palatable if it’d been someone else. Anyone else.”

“Come now, you wouldn’t want Maldynado for a father, would you?”

Sespian lowered his head and chuckled softly. “Perhaps not. His advice on winning women wasn’t particularly apt.”

Amaranthe didn’t want to bring the conversation back around to that topic again, so all she said was, “That’s one subject I’m fairly certain you’ll never have to worry about Sicarius advising you on. He thinks it’s appropriate to wear a dozen knives while leading a girl into the Imperial Gardens for a, uhm, chat.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Sicarius reappeared at Amaranthe’s side. For once, she didn’t twitch with surprise, but she did grimace, fearing he’d heard her comment.

“Did you get the schematics?” she asked. Best to stick to business.

The hatch to engineering remained shut, the light glowing within. That didn’t mean much—Sicarius could have left a pile of dead bodies without her and Sespian ever having heard a thing.

“They were on the wall,” Sicarius said. “I memorized them. To retrieve them would have involved revealing myself.”

“Is there a secret cargo area?”

“Inside and below the deck, yes.”

“Lead the way then.” Amaranthe extended a hand toward engineering, though she had no idea where one might find an entrance to the storage area. “Let’s see if we can collect Akstyr on the way.”

They jogged around the deck to the opposite side of the steamboat, pausing only when they spotted Akstyr. He lay on his belly, face pressed to a grate near the boiler room.

“This way,” Amaranthe told him.

They caught up with Sicarius at the door to the dining hall.

“We already looked all around in there,” Akstyr whispered.

Sicarius didn’t respond. He found the door unlocked and disappeared into the dark interior. Amaranthe groped about until she found an unlit lantern mounted on the inside wall.

“He’s heading for the stage,” Akstyr whispered.

“How can you tell?” Sespian stood near the door, holding it open to allow in the faint lamplight from outside. It didn’t penetrate far.

“I can see him,” Akstyr said.

“Magically?”

“With the Science.”

A moment passed before Sespian said, “How does he see?”

“I haven’t noticed that he particularly needs to. I think he senses his way around.” Amaranthe took her lantern outside to light it from one of the burning ones. “You didn’t inherit that skill?”

“Apparently not,” Sespian said.

Amaranthe stepped inside, shut the door behind them, and turned up her lantern. The flame illuminated tables with chairs turned upside down on top of them, along with Sicarius striding out of the shadows near the front of the room.

“Training,” he said.

“Is that an explanation for something?” Amaranthe asked. “Or a random statement of enthusiasm for the practice?”

“Blindfolded training.” Sicarius took the lantern. “Get another light.”

“Talkative, isn’t he?” Sespian asked.

“Terribly so.” Amaranthe lit a second lantern, then weaved between the tables toward the stage.

“So women wouldn’t be the only thing we’d not discuss if we spent time together?”

“You’d probably not discuss a lot of things.”

Amaranthe smiled over her shoulder at Sespian, then focused on Sicarius. He’d knelt and unscrewed a panel at one end of the stage, revealing a trapdoor. Utter darkness waited through the hole. Amaranthe couldn’t tell if the space went back a few feet or extended the width of the stage. Akstyr stared intently into the dark space but didn’t say whether he sensed the artifacts more strongly there or not.

For a long, quiet moment, Sicarius gazed at the floor, his ear tilted toward the opening. Amaranthe was about to ask if he’d heard something or otherwise expected trouble when his head swiveled toward her.

“Akstyr and I can go alone,” he said.

Akstyr frowned.

“What’s in there?” Amaranthe whispered.

“I smell something.”

“What?”

“Death,” Sicarius said.

“Bloody bears,” Sespian murmured.

“Death?” Akstyr eyed the hole. “As in dead rats and stuff? Or people?”

“Humans,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe spread a hand. While she couldn’t claim to enjoy stumbling across corpses, it wasn’t anything new for her team. But maybe Sicarius wanted to protect her. Or Sespian. If people were dead down there, something had to have killed them.

“We’ll all go,” she said.

“Akstyr.” Sicarius jerked his chin. “Enter.”

Akstyr drew back. “What? I don’t want to go first if there are bodies.”

“There may be booby traps,” Sicarius said. “Science-crafted ones.”

“But...”

“I will also lead. To check for mundane traps.”

Whether due to this addendum, or the unwavering stare that accompanied it, Akstyr’s shoulders drooped and he didn’t utter a further protest. “Fine, but I want a light.”

As Sicarius ducked into the darkness beneath the stage, Amaranthe handed Akstyr one of the lanterns. “Be careful.”

Her words were for both men, but only Akstyr responded, voicing a sullen, “Whatever.”

He clunked his head as he scrambled through the trapdoor, inspiring a string of curses involving street licking and donkey balls.

Amaranthe lifted her eyebrows, silently asking if Sespian wanted to go next or take up the rear. He gripped the edge of the square opening and stared into the gloom. Akstyr’s light played across crates, mesh bags of ice skates, and disassembled acrobatic apparatuses.

“Sensing dead people isn’t a skill I inherited either,” Sespian said. “Are you sure about this paternity link?”

Amaranthe smiled. “I can see it even if you can’t.”

“Well, at least he never hit me. That’s more than I can say for my—Raumesys.” Sespian slipped through the low opening with more alacrity—and less head bumping—than Akstyr had demonstrated.

“I can see it even if you can’t,” Amaranthe repeated in a whisper to herself as she reached for the panel. She doubted anyone would wander into the dining hall in the middle of the night, but it wouldn’t hurt to camouflage their route. She propped the panel against the wall, hiding the under-stage entrance, and scooped four screws into her hand. Sicarius had left them in a tidy row by the molding after he’d removed them, but, on the off chance that someone did discover the panel ajar, she didn’t want anyone to have the idea of screwing it back into place. Especially not if there were bodies down there.

Holding the second of the group’s lanterns, Amaranthe hustled after the others, half-crawling, half-crouching in the three-foot-high space. Though most of the gear appeared to belong to the circus troupe, and would have had to have been recently loaded, the air smelled of dust. And mold. And... Erg. She crinkled her nose, catching the meaty odor Sicarius must have noticed. Well, he’d warned her.

“Yup, that’s a body all right,” came Akstyr’s voice from ahead. “One of those enforcers. Not stinking much yet anyway.”

Sespian peered back at Amaranthe, and she had no trouble reading his your-people-are-ghouls expression. She twitched a shoulder and scooted closer.

“He triggered a trap,” Sicarius said. “Hold while I check for others.”

Amaranthe held her lantern up, hoping for a better view of the storage area, though she regretted it when her light illuminated suspicious dark stains on the ceiling. Mold, mildew, and... was that dried blood? Maybe on a previous voyage, the stage had hosted duels or gladiator matches for the diners. What she didn’t see anywhere was anything otherworldly.

“We haven’t gone beneath the deck yet, have we?” Amaranthe asked.

“No,” Sicarius said. “There’s an entrance over here.”

With Sespian and Akstyr in between her and Sicarius, Amaranthe couldn’t see where he pointed. “Any traps?” she asked.

“They’ve been disarmed by people bumbling into them,” Sicarius said. “Akstyr. Science?”

“We’re definitely close to something,” Akstyr said. “Several somethings. I can’t tell if anything is a trap, but... I think they’re all lower than we are.”

“Understood,” Sicarius said. “Proceeding.”

Amaranthe paused when she drew even with the dead enforcer. He didn’t have any obvious wounds. “What killed him?”

“Poison.” Sicarius had disappeared into a crooked aisle of crates, and his voice came back muffled. “Look at his palm.”

Amaranthe gingerly maneuvered the arm to reveal the enforcer’s palm. Rigor mortis had come and gone, so the man had been dead a couple of days. Since before Akstyr, Maldynado, and Yara had come searching, and since before any enforcers had known her team was on board. Amaranthe examined the hand. A cut marred one finger. Such a small mistake to lose one’s life over. Surely, she’d committed numerous larger errors.

Sespian touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, thanks. Let’s just... be careful and get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Akstyr said. “It’ll stink down here in a few days.”

Sespian glared in his direction. “Do you ever want to smack him?” he whispered.

“Daily,” Amaranthe said.

She maneuvered past the dead enforcer, careful not to step on him, and picked her way over a pile of cleated shoes and into the crate aisle to join Sicarius. He knelt before an iron grate set into the floor. A shiny steel lock unblemished by rust or corrosion appeared to be a recent addition. A yellow glow emanated from somewhere below. Amaranthe wriggled closer, but whatever accounted for the light wasn’t directly beneath the grate. The only thing in view was a tiny mirror and a sliver of brass lying against the darker metal of the ship’s hull. A key, she realized. For the grate lock? If so, a lot of good it did down there. Maybe the enforcer had stolen the key, dropped it down there by accident, and tried to get a look by lowering a mirror. She’d never know for certain; whatever curiosity—or orders from superiors—had driven him here had killed him.

Sicarius was in the process of unstringing a trip wire so slender Amaranthe wouldn’t have noticed it in the dim lighting. He laid the small coil next to a couple of pins beside the grate.

“The traps are disarmed.” Sicarius withdrew his compact lock-picking kit.

“Wait,” Akstyr said. “There’s something about that lock. You’d almost miss it, compared with the power oozing off whatever’s down there, but it tingles a bit.”

“With... magic?” Sespian had joined them around the grate.

Akstyr nodded. “And I think... What is that down there? Beside the mirror. There’s an aura about it too. It’s Made.”

“It’s a key,” Amaranthe said.

“In all senses of the word,” Akstyr said. “I bet if you stick a pick in the lock, you’ll trigger a trap. That key’s probably the only thing that works. I wonder how the enforcer got his hands on it.”

“Maybe they’ve been tracking this shipment for some time,” Amaranthe said. “Any chance you can nullify the trap, Akstyr?”

“I don’t know. It seems intricate. Good, quality work. Why don’t we just get the key?”

Amaranthe waved at the crisscrossing grate bars. “I’m the smallest one here, and my arm isn’t going to fit through any of those holes.”

“Do you sense any other Science about the grate?” Sicarius asked.

“No, just the lock. And the key.”

Sespian poked the grate with one finger. When nothing happened, he tried to pull it open. It didn’t budge. He offered a sheepish shrug. “You never know.”

“There were nets back there,” Sicarius said. “Someone make a length of rope.”

“Fishing?” Amaranthe asked, though she didn’t know how they’d hook the key. It didn’t have a hole, and it lay flat on the hull.

Sicarius didn’t respond. He’d drifted off farther down the aisle. He must have some idea.

Amaranthe returned to the bags of ice skates, opened one, and removed a couple of laces. She tied them into a three-foot long string and returned to the grate. Sicarius had found a nail—or, judging by the splinters clinging to the head, pried it out of the stage framework. He pulled out a compass, laid it on the floor, and aligned the nail just so. He unsheathed his biggest knife, a singled-edged serrated blade that could cut firewood if needed, then hammered the blunt side against the nail several times.

“Uh,” Akstyr said.

Sespian also watched in puzzled silence.

Amaranthe nodded and handed Sicarius the string. Thanks to having seen the trick done before in a drinking house, she caught on, but she kept her mouth shut. Sicarius tied the string around the head of the nail and lowered his fishing “hook” through the bars. When the nail hovered over it, the key wobbled. The nail brushed it, and the key attached itself.

“Oh,” Sespian said, as Sicarius carefully pulled up the key. “The Inverse Magnetostrictive Effect.”

“The... huh?” Akstyr asked.

“Mechanical stress can cause a change of magnetization in a ferromagnetic material.”

Akstyr’s face scrunched up in bewilderment.

“He made a magnet,” Sespian said.

“Why didn’t you say that to start with?” Akstyr squinted at Sespian. “You sure you aren’t Books’s kid?”

“I’m not sure of anything any more.”

“I’m sure you’d have more job opportunities than you think if you decide to get out of government.” Amaranthe grinned.

Without commenting on the exchange, Sicarius pulled the key through the grate and slipped it into the lock. It clicked open. Everyone held his breath, but no booby traps sprang. Sicarius opened the grate and Akstyr, despite his earlier disinterest in leading, was the first to flatten to his belly and stick his head through.

Amaranthe caught Sespian watching Sicarius with his mouth parted in surprise. Remembering his comments about Sicarius being nothing more than a brutal murderer, she hoped he’d rethink the assessment. She recalled her own early meetings with Sicarius and how she’d also been surprised to learn he’d been educated in far more areas than fighting and killing. She’d been intrigued. Maybe Sespian would share a modicum of that interest.

Akstyr lifted his head and propped himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know what they do, but there’s power in them for sure. They’re long and skinny and remind me of fireworks from the solstice fests, but they’re not solid. There’s glass or something like glass with a yellow gunk inside. There are little clear blocks floating in the gunk.”

“Clear blocks?” Sicarius asked sharply.

“Uh huh. Small ones. I think there’s something in them.”

Sicarius took Akstyr’s spot and lowered his head. Sicarius’s sharp tone concerned Amaranthe—when did he ever let emotion seep into his voice?—and she nibbled on a fingernail. It usually wouldn’t take him more than a heartbeat or two to absorb all the sights visible from the grate, but he lay there unmoving for many seconds.

Amaranthe’s patience—and fingernail—ran out. She dropped to her belly beside him, bumping his shoulder in an effort to make room for herself. She lowered her head and peered around a dangling thatch of short blond hair to see a pyramid of long, glowing yellow tubes. Rope woven through the stack tied them to each other, and cloth padding ensured they wouldn’t shift about with the bumps and sways of the steamboat. After the dim lighting of the hold above, the artifacts’ illumination made Amaranthe squint, but her eyes soon adjusted, and she spotted the clear blocks Akstyr had mentioned. Perhaps one-inch wide, they were suspended in the yellow substance like raisins and nuts in the sweet carrot gelatin salad at Curi’s Bakery. She couldn’t tell if any letters or symbols marked the cubes.

“Get back,” Sicarius whispered and pulled his head out.

As soon as Amaranthe cleared the grate, he lowered it into place with a firm clang. He twisted the key in the lock, considered it for a moment, then tucked it into his pocket. He waved the others back and pulled a crate over the grate.

“That bad, huh?” Amaranthe had assumed they were dealing with human-made artifacts—Akstyr sensed them after all—but perhaps those cubes came from elsewhere. Her gaze dropped to the knife always sheathed at Sicarius’s waist. So far all of the ancient technology they’d encountered had been black. Was this some exception?

Sicarius crouched, his forearms balanced on his thighs. “I have seen those cubes before.”

“On your mission up north?” Amaranthe asked.

“Yes.”

“What do they do?” Sespian asked.

“The ones I saw were sprayed via a rocket detonating in the air above Fort Deadend. When the cubes broke open, the substance inside killed everyone within a ten mile radius.”

“Rockets.” Akstyr snapped his fingers. “Yes, that makes sense. The energy I sensed comes mostly from the base. It must be stored somehow to propel the tubes into the air.”

Nobody looked at him.

“Killed?” Sespian hadn’t taken his gaze from Sicarius. “How?”

“I came upon the bodies after it’d happened. Some airborne inhalant, I assume. The effects on the people within range were grisly.”

Amaranthe couldn’t imagine how badly mauled a body would have to be for someone as desensitized to death as Sicarius to feel compelled to use such a word.

“And those weapons are going to the capital?” Sespian asked. “I can’t allow—I mean, even if I’m not... We can’t allow something like that to be used.”

“I can’t believe Forge would bring something like that into the city,” Amaranthe said. “A ten-mile radius? So, twenty miles in diameter? That’d devastate the majority of Stumps.”

“A million people,” Sespian breathed.

“Maybe they only mean to use the weapons as a threat,” Amaranthe said. “A bluff. They’d be in danger, too, if they set them off.”

“Not if they’re flying around in their big black aircraft,” Akstyr said.

“True.” Whatever armor the Behemoth possessed, it’d probably protect those within from any number of attacks. “Still, what would they gain from killing everyone in the city?” Amaranthe asked. “They’re business people, and those are customers.”

“They may not know precisely what they have,” Sicarius said.

“Well, isn’t that comforting?” Sespian gripped the edge of a nearby crate. “They’ll kill everybody by accident.”

Amaranthe found herself nodding. “Not comforting, but maybe correct. I got the impression that the girl who was doing the translating of how to work the Behemoth was learning as she went.”

“What are we going to do about this?” Sespian asked. The lost-puppy look that had haunted his eyes for days had faded, replaced by determination.

“Get off the boat?” Akstyr suggested.

Sespian glared at him.

“What? Nobody else is disturbed by the fact that we’re standing on top of something that can kill us instantly?” Akstyr’s voice had grown squeaky.

“Technically, we’re crouching on them, not standing,” Amaranthe said, hoping a little levity would relax Akstyr.

He glowered at her. “I say we grab our stuff and get off the boat before it gets to Stumps. A good ten miles before it gets there.”

Amaranthe wondered if he was thinking of escaping to the Kyatt Islands again. With his mother and her bounty-hunting cronies waiting in Stumps, he had little incentive to return to the capital anyway. This was one more reason for him to abandon the team and head west. But she needed him for what lay ahead. She needed all of them.

“Wouldn’t it be better to destroy the weapons?” Amaranthe suggested. “If we left and they were removed from this boat, we’d be forever wondering who had them and if they might be used against the city. Any city. Perhaps Forge doesn’t intend to drop them on the capital, but means to use them against other nations, nations who we’ve warred with in the past. If Ravido could suddenly wipe out the Nurians, or bring the Kyatt Islands under imperial rule—” she gave Akstyr a frank stare, hoping he’d realize he might not be safe even there, “—the people would throw their support behind him. There’d be no fighting. He’d simply be given the throne.”

Sespian released the crate he’d been gripping only to sink against it for support. “I hadn’t thought of that, but that does seem a plausible scenario.” He closed his eyes. “If we—the empire—did something like that... there’d be no hope for the peaceful future I’d envisioned. Some atrocities can never be forgiven.”

“Destroying them is the best choice,” Amaranthe said.

“Uh.” Akstyr hoisted a finger. “How do we do that if breaking them releases their fumes?”

Good question. “Sicarius?” Amaranthe asked.

“I do not know.”

“We better find Books and see if he has any ideas.” Amaranthe sent a silent apology across the miles to Maldynado and Yara. They were going to have to take care of themselves.

CHAPTER 7

Dawn approached as Amaranthe and the others jogged through a light snow, heading back to their cabins. Sicarius lifted a hand before they reached their block of doors, though, and slipped into the shadows along the rail. Amaranthe, Sespian, and Akstyr followed his example. She checked her hood to make sure it hid her face. It was still early enough that she’d expected only her men to be about, but perhaps that was not the case.

She stood on her tiptoes to whisper, “What is it?” beside Sicarius’s ear.

There wasn’t anything to hide behind on the narrow stretch of deck before their cabins, not so much as a lounge chair. If anyone were standing there, even the dim lighting wouldn’t have hidden them. Maybe someone was inside the cabins.

“Visitors,” Sicarius said.

“Are they still here?”

Sicarius tilted his head back, eyeing the deck above, or perhaps the framework below the deck. Amaranthe squinted into the shadows over her cabin door. Did that dark smudge have a human form? Or was it her imagination? She couldn’t remember anything significant to hang from up there, but Sicarius was focused on the spot. It must be something.

The “smudge” dropped from its perch, a human form distinguishing itself from the shadows. Before it hit the deck, Sicarius sprinted across the intervening meters. By the time the figure’s feet touched down, Sicarius had circled behind, a knife in hand. In an instant, he’d turned the person into his captive, the blade pressed to a pale throat. Sicarius nudged the cloaked figure forward, into the light beneath one of the low-burning lanterns.

After a quick scan of the remaining dark spots, Amaranthe walked over. The figure’s hood dropped about its neck, revealing Basilard’s scarred face.

Amaranthe propped her hands on her hips. “You’re not an enforcer.”

Basilard eyed the blade at his throat before signing, No, but I thought you might be. They were just here. Enforcers and steamboat security, using a master lock to open doors.

By the time Basilard finished signing, Sicarius had removed the knife and returned it to its sheath.

“They didn’t catch Books, did they?” Amaranthe asked. That was a further complication they didn’t need.

No. I heard them searching the other cabins. Basilard pointed at doors farther up the deck. I slipped out, warned Books, and helped him pack all his work.

“How’d you manage to pack that library before the enforcers caught up with you?” Akstyr asked, joining the group. Sespian lingered behind, watching the nearest set of stairs.

He had to leave a few things behind, Basilard signed. He was most distraught.

“What about the rest of our stuff?” Akstyr asked, probably realizing he’d left books on magic in his cabin.

They confiscated everything and positively identified it as belonging to us. I watched from above. Basilard nodded to his spot. I thought about attacking, but Books had already left, saying he had to protect his work, and it would have been me against eight men.

“That’s a problem for you? Have we not been training enough of late?” Amaranthe smiled, though she was running through their inventory in her mind, trying to think if they’d lost anything they needed to get back. The Forge ledger book? No, she’d already read it, and it hadn’t held any condemning evidence.

I know of your aversion for killing enforcers, Basilard signed. I wouldn’t have wished to irreparably harm anyone in my haste to deal with them all.

“Yes, of course,” Amaranthe said.

Your training apparatus did cause much speculation.

“Oh?”

“The what?” Sespian asked.

“The chin-up bar,” Amaranthe explained.

There’s more than a bar. The corners of Basilard’s eyes crinkled. They wondered... Basilard thrust his chest forward and enacted a haughty attitude, mimicking, Amaranthe assumed, one of the enforcers. What kind of sexual deviants employ chains and weights?

Akstyr snorted.

Amaranthe pointed a finger at Sicarius’s chest. “I told you.”

If having his fitness equipment mistaken for the apparatuses of a deviant bothered—or amused—Sicarius, he’d never show it, at least not in front of this many people.

“Where is Books?” he asked.

“Yes, we need to talk to him,” Amaranthe said.

Follow me, Basilard signed.

Instead of heading for the stairs, he hopped up on the railing, grabbed the deck above and pulled himself up. Without questioning, Sicarius followed the example.

“Is this a common method of transportation for outlaws?” Sespian asked as Amaranthe headed for the railing to make the same climb.

“We’d rather not crash into security and be forced to fight.”

Perched on the railing, Amaranthe found her balance, straightened, and gripped the edge of the deck above. She had to reach for the horizontal railing bars. It was a good thing she’d been practicing those chin-ups. One hand at a time, she pulled herself up the bars, then shimmied over the top and onto the deck. Sicarius and Basilard hadn’t stopped there. They were already climbing the wall between two cabin doors and heading for the roof.

“Not Books’s usual studying place,” Amaranthe said.

As soon as Sespian came into sight behind her, she climbed after the others. The icy metal hull numbed her bare fingers. She supposed the enforcers had confiscated her gloves along with the dubious training equipment.

“Stay low,” Sicarius said when she crawled onto the roof.

A thin coating of snow made for slick footing, and Amaranthe almost slipped. A face-first smash into the roof would be one way to stay low.

Sicarius pointed to the lighted pilothouse perched at the front, then headed aft, toward the pair of smokestacks. Basilard’s dark form slipped out of sight behind one. Amaranthe waited until Akstyr and Sespian joined her, then headed for the smokestacks. She expected another stop before they reached Books, but found him hunkered behind one of the big black stacks, his bulging backpack at his side and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Cozy.” Akstyr kicked a clump of snow off the roof.

“It comes with a pleasant view at least,” Amaranthe said.

Looking aft, they could see the river streaming behind the steamboat. The snow dusting the banks made the forest appear bright, despite the cloudy sky.

“The enforcers have Akstyr’s magic books and know we’re all aboard,” Books said. “It won’t be long before they search up here. We have to get off at Port Medar and wait for the next boat. Or catch a train into the capital.”

“We can’t leave.” Amaranthe waved for Books to move his backpack, and she crouched in the snow beside him. The others joined them, hunkering close to stay out of the view from the pilothouse.

“Why?” Books asked.

Amaranthe explained the weapons and finished with, “I thought you might have some ideas.”

Books groaned.

“Is that a general this-night-is-getting-worse-and-worse groan or a we’ll-never-come-up-with-a-solution-to-this-problem groan?” Amaranthe asked.

Books let his head clunk back against the smokestack.

“I’m afraid that might be a yes to both,” Amaranthe said to Sicarius.

“Can we remove the rockets and dump them overboard?” Sespian asked. “If the cubes are set into that yellow substance, you’d think they’d be difficult to inadvertently break.”

Amaranthe brushed aside snow to clear a place to sit. “Once Forge found out they were missing, they’d just send a boat back downriver to retrieve them from the bottom.”

“But that would take a while, right?” Sespian asked. “They wouldn’t know exactly where we dumped them.”

“If Akstyr can track them, I’m sure Forge can find a practitioner to do the same,” Amaranthe said.

“Oh. That makes sense. My mind isn’t accustomed to factoring magical solutions into problems yet.”

“Even without a practitioner,” Akstyr said, “some farmer that wandered down to the river at night would probably see the glow seeping up from the bottom and tell everybody in town.”

Amaranthe frowned. The possibility of innocent people accidentally setting off the weapons and destroying their entire community was too dreadful to consider.

“What about dumping them in the lake?” Sespian asked. “There are spots hundreds of meters deep.”

“And not as inaccessible as you’d think,” Amaranthe murmured. “Although... Akstyr, you didn’t sense that underwater laboratory from the surface, did you?”

“Nah, not until we got close. Water’s real dense and there’s all those pesky fishes and things clogging it up.”

Books snorted at this description of marine life.

“You can’t sense artifacts as easily through it,” Akstyr continued, “unless you’re a strong practitioner.”

“We better not assume Forge doesn’t have access to a strong practitioner,” Amaranthe said.

“Wait.” Books shifted beneath his blanket to face Akstyr. “The density of a substance surrounding an... artifact affects your ability to sense it?”

“Yup. There are even practitioners who specialize in making insulated lead boxes to hide items from other practitioners.”

“Hm,” Books said. “I have an idea, providing Port Medar has sufficient resources. I’ve not been there, but I understand it’s a small town with only a few industries.”

“How destructive will this idea be?” Sespian asked.

“I do not come up with destructive ideas,” Books said. “You are thinking of that ignorant buffoon, Maldynado.” Books gazed toward the nearest riverbank and lowered his voice for Amaranthe alone. “I should only need a couple of people to gather supplies for my plan. We could split up the team and search for him. If he and Yara ran all night, they may arrive at Port Medar shortly after us.”

“We can do that,” Amaranthe said, thinking that it was amazing how men could constantly snipe at each other and yet, beneath it all, care for each other. She hoped Books got a chance to tell Maldynado that some day.

* * * * *

Evrial hiked upriver beneath the early morning sun, smiling to herself as she leafed through the enforcer’s journal. Behind her, Maldynado whistled a cheery tune, drawing enthusiastic responses from birds perched in overhead boughs. She thought to admonish him for making so much noise—after all, the enforcers they’d tossed overboard might have come ashore on the same side of the river—but she supposed that’d be hypocritical of her. After all, she hadn’t been thinking of keeping a watch or paying a whit of attention to their surroundings the night before. There’d been hours—her grin widened at the memory of those hours—when someone could have sneaked up on them.

Her smile faded when she read further in the book. “Uh oh.”

Maldynado ducked under a branch dripping melted snow onto the muddy trail. “Problem?”

“We may want to pick up our pace. Can we catch the others at the next port?”

“The River Dancer is probably already docked at Port Medar. I’m not sure how far away we are, but we lost a lot of time last night, er, warming up.”

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 what 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.

“Bodies?” Amaranthe whispered. “Was there more than one down there?”

“A second, yes.”

“If enforcers have been under the stage, they may have found the weapons.” She returned her hands to the wall, intending to push herself up to the lip.

“Or it may be a trap,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe halted, a few inches above him. “For whom?”

His steady gaze held hers.

“Us? But they think we all left this morning. At least that’s what they’re supposed to think.”

“That squad of enforcers boarded for a reason.”

Oh. She’d forgotten about them. She’d been too busy... not concentrating on work.

“Someone with a spyglass would have been able to count the heads of people in the lifeboat,” Sicarius went on.

“They couldn’t have known anyone was missing, not for sure. Suppose we were simply keeping our heads down to avoid being shot? Besides, they might not know how many people went overboard last night. And there shouldn’t be any way for them to tell we were under the stage or had anything to do with those dead enforcers. Which we didn’t. For all they know, we’re simply trying to obtain a ride back home. Which is true. Mostly.”

“Enforcers do not ascribe innocent motivations to me when alternatives are available,” Sicarius said. “A trap is not unlikely.”

“Are you sure you’re not looking for an excuse to stay in the smokestack with me?”

“If we attempt to check on the weapons now, in daylight, we may be spotted.”

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to say it. I know.” Amaranthe patted him on the chest. “It was good for me too.”

Not sure if he’d appreciate her inability to shift promptly from pleasure to work, she held back her grin as she scrambled to the lip. Daylight was right. The clouds had long since drifted away, and bright afternoon sunlight shown down on the river valley. And on her soot-smeared hands. She grimaced, wondering if the fine black powder coated her face as well. Apparently smokestacks weren’t ideal for smooching sessions. It’d been worth it. Once again, the grin fought to find a place on her face.

Sicarius’s head popped up beside hers.

The enforcers were heading back to the stairs.

“Costumes,” Amaranthe said. “If we—”

Sicarius vaulted over the lip of the smokestack and landed in a crouch below, his feet touching down without sound. A hand-sized smear of soot blackened the back of his head. Amaranthe glanced at her darkened fingers. Oops.

The grime didn’t slow Sicarius down. He sprang across the rooftop like a great black panther. The enforcers never saw him coming.

Amaranthe slid down the outside of the smokestack. By the time her feet hit the roof, both enforcers were flat. She snorted. They might have simply done that to start with, instead of clambering into the smokestack.

Inside the pilothouse, the helmsman still had his legs propped up on the console. Sicarius hoisted one unconscious enforcer over his shoulder and grabbed the other one, dragging him along the roof toward Amaranthe. She hustled over, intending to help, but he quickly pulled his burden behind the closest smokestack. One man’s eyes were rolled back in his head; the other blinked blearily, but didn’t look like he’d recover to fight anytime soon.

“I’m going to find rope,” Sicarius said. “Take off their clothes.”

“I was hoping he’d want to strip me,” Amaranthe told the bleary fellow, but she hurried about her work, removing the garments. When the semi-conscious enforcer tried to object, she tapped her dagger for emphasis.

When Sicarius returned with a coil of rope, both men wore nothing but their smallclothes. She’d folded the larger set of garments into a stack and started donning the smaller uniform. It was still too large. She stuffed the trouser cuffs into the oversized boots and did her best to hide the fact that the sleeves hung past her knuckles. She fiddled with her hair, trying to fit most of it beneath the hat so people wouldn’t identify her as a woman at first glance. If nothing had changed in the last year, female enforcers were still scarce, doubly so away from the relatively progressive capital.

Sicarius buttoned his jacket. Of course his purloined uniform fit handsomely, even if he had to do quite a bit of rearranging to find spots to hide his daggers and throwing knives. He finished and approached the men with the rope. He eyed the top of the smokestack.

“We’re not throwing them in there,” Amaranthe said. “They’d be horribly burned if they couldn’t stop themselves before they hit the bottom. Besides...” She nudged his arm. “That’s our smokestack.”

Sicarius nodded once and tied the enforcers even more thoroughly than the bundle of rockets three decks below. The men would be lucky if they could do anything besides tip themselves over. So long as they didn’t wriggle out from behind the smokestack and catch the helmsman’s eye. Amaranthe frowned, suddenly finding that scenario all-too-likely. She and Sicarius would have to hurry, though she didn’t even know what they’d do. They had to make sure the enforcers hadn’t stumbled onto the weapons or, if they had, ensure they didn’t try to move them. To break one of those rockets, unleashing the deadly cubes within, all in ignorance...

“Come,” Sicarius said.

He jogged toward the steps leading down beside the pilothouse. Surprised, Amaranthe glanced inside. The helmsman no longer dozed in his chair. Frowning, she paused to peer through the window. The man lay on his side, ankles bound, wrists tied behind his back. Well, they needn’t worry about him noticing the enforcers.

“He didn’t want to relinquish the rope,” Sicarius said from the stairs.

“I see that.” Amaranthe trotted after him.

Fortunately, with most of the passengers ashore, they didn’t see many people. Fewer crew members walked the decks as well. Those they did pass were busy loading supplies or cleaning and making repairs. When Amaranthe and Sicarius descended the last set of stairs to the lower deck, they passed their first set of security guards, two men prowling about, checking doors leading to common areas.

Sicarius strode past them, his head up, a haughty tilt to his chin. Figuring that was less suspicious than avoiding eye contact, Amaranthe mimicked him.

“Those arrogant enforcers think they’re so much better than us,” one of the security men whispered loudly in their wake.

Amaranthe wondered if the security guards knew enforcers said the same thing about soldiers.

Ahead, the doors to the dining hall were propped open. An invitation to, as Sicarius had suggested, walk into a trap? The crew certainly wouldn’t be preparing for a meal with most of the passengers gone.

Sicarius continued toward the doors with a determined stride, his chin up, face forward, though Amaranthe knew he saw everything going on around him. He walked into the dining hall as if he were truly an enforcer, someone who’d been ordered to report promptly. Amaranthe trotted in on his heels, though she couldn’t help but let her fingers stray to her knife.

Just past the threshold, Sicarius glided to the side to avoid two men carrying a third. Amaranthe didn’t see them until he’d moved, so she almost stumbled into the back of the closest. That brought scowls from both enforcers. They were carrying a dead comrade so Amaranthe could understand their moods. She ducked her head, gesturing an apology, and skittered sideways. The pair continued past without noticing Sicarius. A second body lay by the open panel beside the stage, waiting to be taken out, but the only other living person in the room was a boy in kitchen whites. He walked between the tables, setting silverware for the evening meal.

Maybe Amaranthe and Sicarius would be able to check on the weapons without raising an alarm after all.

A thump followed by a muffled curse came from beneath the stage. A second voice issued a string of words, unintelligible through the wood, and Amaranthe’s hopes sank. Who knew how many people were in there? Were they hunting for more of their fallen comrades? Or—more likely—searching for the weapons? The crate Sicarius had shoved over the grate wouldn’t hide the storage cubby forever, especially if one of the enforcers thought to head to engineering to look at the same schematics Sicarius had.

He crouched beside the panel, staying out of sight of anyone who might be inside, and waited for Amaranthe to join him. “Plan?”

She knelt at his side. “You have one? Excellent. Please share.”

He gazed back without comment. Right, coming up with crazy schemes was her idea.

Under the stage, shadows danced on crates and walls as enforcers with lanterns moved about. Voices drifted out.

“...too much junk.”

“...need to search...”

“...where?”

“We better do something about those enforcers,” Amaranthe whispered. “And move those weapons. I don’t know how or where, but too many people are searching in this area. Books will probably need them elsewhere anyway, if he’s going to seal them in cement.” She winced, wishing she’d thought of that earlier. She and Sicarius could have been down here, moving the weapons, before the enforcers started sniffing about. Or they could have tried. She had no idea how the circus troupe had gotten them tucked in that hole in the first place. They’d have to move a lot of the crates around the grate to angle them out, and then it’d take two people to carry each rocket. There had been ten or twelve of them. She couldn’t see her and Sicarius moving them alone, not without a lot of uninterrupted time. She needed the others back. But even if she had them... How would they amble through the steamboat toting glowing yellow rockets without anyone noticing? In the empire, carrying anything that glowed, even a key fob, could earn one a crossbow bolt in the chest.

Sicarius was watching her think. Amaranthe tried to wipe the concern off her face.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “Enforcers first.”

He drew a knife and slipped through the square entrance. When Amaranthe joined him, he whispered, “Guard the door. Once they realize I’m here, they may try to escape.”

Only as he was disappearing into the darkness between two piles of gear did Amaranthe realize she hadn’t specifically told him not to kill anyone. Yelling after him now would only alert the enforcers. She thought about scrambling after him, but set her jaw and stayed put. Unless he had something to do with the missing Forge ladies, Sicarius hadn’t killed, or even lastingly harmed, anyone since his escape from Forge’s underwater hideout. Amaranthe suspected those women had disappeared not because of Sicarius—or nosy maids—but because they’d realized they were sharing a steamboat with the deadly weapons they’d ordered their expendable employees to pick up.

Amaranthe nodded and settled in to wait by the entrance. The more she thought about it, the more certain she grew that Sicarius wouldn’t strike to kill unless he were trapped and overwhelmed. Even up on the roof, his first reaction had been to hide from the enforcers, rather than taking them down. Only when she’d suggested costumes had he gone after the two men, and his efficient attack hadn’t spilled blood. His normal logic would have been to kill the men, rather than leave them bound and gagged where they could be discovered or free themselves. But he hadn’t mentioned it. Amaranthe smiled to herself. She didn’t know if it was for her sake—he’d known how she felt about leaving bodies in their wake for a long time but had done so anyway—or because Sespian was traveling with him now, rather than standing vulnerably in Forge’s line of fire. It didn’t matter.

Something thunked nearby. From her spot beside the trapdoor, Amaranthe couldn’t see anything other than a few feet of wall and a curtain, but she could tell someone had entered the dining hall. She eased her dagger out and shifted deeper into the shadows.

“...seen Rokkov and Ganz yet?” a man asked.

“No, those worthless slag heaps are dawdling somewhere, making us do all the work.”

Two sets of footsteps drew closer to the stage. Already crouching, Amaranthe leaned forward on the balls of her feet, ready to spring. A few feet away, clothing rustled. Someone grunted.

“Well-fed bastard,” the second man growled, thumping against the side of the stage.

Oh. Amaranthe relaxed an iota. The second body, of course. These were the men assigned to carry the dead off the boat. They probably wouldn’t look under the stage.

“Be respectful, Private. That’s one of our brethren, even if he’s from another district.”

“I’d be more respectful if he and his mate had left a note telling us what they were doing down there,” the grumpy enforcer said. He raised his voice to holler, “Sarge?”

Amaranthe tensed again. Was he addressing someone on the deck outside? Or one of the men searching under the stage? And if the latter, what if Sicarius had already taken him down? Since she’d gone in, she hadn’t heard a noise aside from the scraping of crates being pushed about, but Sicarius could have rendered half of the search team unconscious by now.

“What?” came a muffled call from the far side of the stage.

Amaranthe let out a soft exhale.

“What d’you want us to do after we take this last body into town?”

“See if you can find blueprints for the steamboat,” the sergeant called back. “We haven’t found a cursed thing down here, but something poisoned those men.”

Amaranthe swore to herself. If Sicarius had learned about the below-deck storage compartment in a few seconds, it wouldn’t take the enforcers much longer.

“Slagging Sicarius, that’s who,” the grumpy enforcer said.

“Probably so, but why?” the sergeant responded.

Sicarius had been right. He didn’t have to do anything to get blamed for nearby mayhem. Would people ever be able to get past that?

“He needs a reason?” Grumpy asked.

“To crawl around beneath a stage, I’d say so. Get going, Private. Finish up and tell me what those blueprints say.”

“Yes, Sarge.”

More grunts sounded as the enforcers toted the dead man away. Sicarius had probably taken down everyone except the sergeant during the conversation. That was good, Amaranthe supposed, but when a half squad of enforcers failed to come out from underneath the stage, someone was going to figure out what was going on. She and Sicarius needed to find a way to move those weapons fast, before anyone got a look at that schematic. Or, maybe she should have attacked those two men, to keep them from leaving the dining hall.

She poked her head through the trapdoor. Too late. They were gone. She doubted she could have knocked them out with Sicarius’s quick efficiency anyway. More likely, someone would have gotten a shout out, and she’d have given away her position sooner rather than later.

“What a nice relaxing trip upriver this has turned out to be,” Amaranthe muttered.

Someone touched her shoulder.

“Got them all?” she whispered, trusting it’d be Sicarius—an enforcer would have clubbed her shoulder. Or head.

“They’re all tied in the back,” Sicarius said.

“I don’t suppose you’ve found any other ways out of here?”

“Not unless the storage area can be accessed from elsewhere. None of us crawled below to check.”

“Let’s do that because we may have visitors soon.” Amaranthe summarized the conversation she’d overheard. “If we’re going to move those weapons, it’ll have to be now.”

Sicarius led her through the maze of gear and boxes, including a jaunt along the back wall, where he’d wedged four enforcers into a nook between large crates that brushed the stage’s wooden support beams. One man lacked a uniform jacket—it’d been removed and cut into strips for gags and bonds. Nice of him to donate material for everyone.

As one, the enforcers’ eyes widened when Sicarius entered their view. They exchanged worried glances with each other. After nearly a year with him, Amaranthe forgot how unnerving those knives and emotionless stares could be.

Sicarius moved past the enforcers without comment. The grate lay on the other side of the stage, so he’d probably only come this way to let the men know he was still in the area—and escape attempts would not be wise.

Someone had disturbed the crate Sicarius had moved on top of the floor entrance, revealing a few inches of the grate. Yellow light seeped up between the iron bars.

“Did they see that?” Amaranthe whispered. “Or was the crate bumped when you attacked someone?”

“A man was in the area. He nudged the crate but hadn’t noticed the glow yet.” As he spoke, Sicarius stood as much as he could in the low space and, blond hair brushing the beams above, lifted the crate aside, not letting it bump or scrape on the floor such that the enforcers might hear. Judging by the way the tendons in his hands stood out and his thigh muscles bunched against the fabric of his trousers, it was heavy. It occurred to her that with Sespian away from Forge’s clutches, he had little reason to continue to work to thwart the organization, yet he’d been as helpful as ever since rescuing her, if not more so. The weapons probably mattered little to him, so long as his son wasn’t likely to be caught by them. Once again, she wondered if Sicarius hoped to earn Sespian’s trust by helping him regain the throne.

“I may not have said it,” Amaranthe whispered, “but I appreciate your continued willingness to work against Forge with me.”

Sicarius produced the grate key and slipped it into the lock.

“You haven’t mentioned.... Well, what are your goals now? Do you want to see Sespian on the throne again?”

“No.”

Amaranthe stared at him. She hadn’t expected such a definitive answer. “You don’t?”

“If he wants it, I’ll protect him, but I’m not... flawless. He’ll be a target as long as he’s emperor.”

He sounded grim, so Amaranthe said lightly, “You’re not flawless? What flaws do you think you have?”

“A need for sleep. I can’t watch over him every moment of the day.” Sicarius opened the grate and lowered his legs into the shallow hold.

“Wait,” Amaranthe said before he could disappear below. “Why are you still working with us against Forge?” If not for Sespian’s sake, might it be for hers?

Sicarius met her eyes. “Whether he wants the throne or not, he would wish a satisfactory outcome for the empire. He would not classify a Forge-backed figurehead as such.”

“So it is for Sespian’s sake.” Amaranthe told herself not to feel stung—she knew he cared about her too—but she was tempted to point out that she’d had to talk Sespian into coming back up the river with them. That wasn’t fair though. Sespian would have returned to the capital of his own volition eventually. Sicarius was right—Sespian did still feel obligated to protect his people. “I think you’re right,” she said. “If you help set things right in his eyes, he will eventually appreciate it.”

Sicarius nodded once and slithered into the cargo hold.

“Be careful,” Amaranthe said, remembering that he’d be moving about right next to those weapons.

“Yes,” came Sicarius’s simple agreement.

Amaranthe grabbed a lantern and her knife and went to check on the enforcers. She trusted Sicarius to tie a good knot, but the odds were against them when it came to keeping trained men immobilized indefinitely.

Indeed, when she returned to their prisoner nook, she found one fellow with a sharp shard of wood clenched between his teeth. Bent over his wrists, he was working the edge back and forth across his bonds. Amaranthe didn’t think he’d escape that way, but she removed it from his mouth regardless.

One of the other men snarled something at her through his gag. She wouldn’t have recognized the word if she hadn’t heard it from enforcers so often. “Traitor.”

Amaranthe held back a wince. She knew better, and she hoped the rest of the world would one day too. A part of her was tempted to explain the weapons and how she and Sicarius were trying to help, but she didn’t want to leave the entrance unguarded for long. She left without responding and circled back to check on the dining hall.

A thrum ran through the decking. The engines starting up? Great. There’d be more people coming back on board as the steamboat prepared for departure, and it’d be even harder to move the weapons undetected.

Amaranthe headed back to the grate. Sicarius was pulling himself out of the cubby.

“No other exits,” he said, “but there’s a thin bulkhead that way.” He pointed toward one side of the dining hall.

“Engineering is in that direction, isn’t it?”

Sicarius nodded. “With a blow lamp, one might punch a hole through and slip out that way.”

“Except that we don’t have a blow lamp. And engineering isn’t going to be unmanned.”

“I’d rather make a stand in there than in here.” Sicarius eyed the confines of the wooden stage. “Sespian and the others would have an easier time finding us as well.”

“All right,” Amaranthe said. “Do you want to stay here and guard the men while I see if I can find a—”

“Sarge!” came a cry from the dining hall.

Footsteps thundered in the aftermath of the shout, many footsteps belonging to many people.

“See if they’re in there,” a second man called, this one with an older, more authoritative voice. “Surround the stage.”

Amaranthe deflated. Someone must have found the enforcers on the roof. Or located the schematics. Or both. It was too late to fetch any tools or move the weapons.

Sicarius bolted past her, knives in each hand. Amaranthe feared they’d lost the opportunity to merely gag and tie people. They’d have to defend themselves—and access to those weapons—any way they could now. Trusting Sicarius to guard the entrance, she rushed about, extinguishing lanterns. No need to make it easy for those on the outside to see inside. She swung by the enforcers to check on them one more time—the last thing they needed was enemies attacking at their rear as well as their front—but no one had succeeded in freeing himself yet. She blew out the last lantern, one of several the men had brought down for their search. Darkness descended upon the back half of the stage.

Another thrum ran through the deck, this time followed by the sensation of movement. The River Dancer was leaving dock. Amaranthe hoped her men had made it back on board in time. If they hadn’t... She shook her head, refusing to accept the notion. She and Sicarius needed help.

CHAPTER 9

Late in the afternoon, Evrial and Maldynado crested a hill and found themselves overlooking a port town nestled in a riverside hollow. Two wooden docks thrust into the waterway, one empty and one...

Evrial winced. The River Dancer was there, but the dock crew was untying the ropes tethering it to land. Plumes of smoke rose from the twin stacks.

“Come on,” she barked to Maldynado.

“We’ll never catch it,” he said.

Evrial chopped her hand downward. They had to try. Amaranthe and the others had to know about the magical contraband and the threat it represented to the capital. Her jog turned into a sprint as she raced down the road heading into town. Though hungry, cold, and tired from the day’s trek, she willed her legs to new speed. She took deep breaths to fuel her muscles, inhaling the scent of damp leaves and wood-burning fireplaces as she passed log cabins and brick houses on the outskirts of town. At one point during the sprint, it occurred to her to wonder when she’d come to care so much about warning outlaws of danger. She growled and told herself it was Stumps and all of its citizens that concerned her.

A steam whistle blew, the screech drowning out the sounds of machinery and hammer blows coming from factories sharing the waterfront with the docks.

“That means they’re departing, you know,” Maldynado called.

He was keeping pace with Evrial and didn’t sound winded in the least. Was she slowing him down? It stung her ego to think so, but he did have six inches on her, and there was no denying his fitness. “Can you... catch them? I’ll... give you the journal. You can... run ahead.”

He thumped her on the shoulder. “Nah, we’re sticking together. We’ll catch them in the next port if we have to.”

“Next port is... Sunders City. More than... three days... by foot.”

The road widened as they entered town proper, and Maldynado pulled up to run by her side. “I’m sure we can acquire alternate transportation if we need to.”

Evrial glowered at him. “We’re not—” her toe caught in a rut, and she had to flail for balance before finishing, “—stealing anything.”

“Better watch the road,” Maldynado said cheerily.

A few pedestrians paused to watch as he and Evrial sprinted past, but nobody called out or tried to stop them. Back home, Evrial would have found such a fast-moving pair suspicious and given chase. She hoped the enforcers here weren’t as well-trained—or paranoid.

Another whistle blew. With buildings on either side of the road, Evrial could no longer see the river—or whether the steamboat remained at the dock. She sprinted around a pair of donkey carts loaded with wood and into a four-way intersection. A glance to the left revealed the waterfront. Without waiting to see if Maldynado was still with her, she took off, barreling past candle shops and general mercantile stores. When she reached the cobblestone street fronting the river, she raced straight to the second dock. She was halfway to the end before her footsteps faltered. The steamboat’s stern paddlewheel churned water fifty meters upriver.

Chest heaving as she sucked in air, Evrial slowed to a stop. Her wounded shoulder screamed at her, annoyed at all the vigorous exertion, and probably at the fact that she briefly considered sprinting up the bank and trying to catch the boat north of the town. A few stout trees that had survived loggers’ axes perched along the edge, their bare branches stretching over the water. But the steamboat was already pulling away from the banks and into the center of the river.

“Cursed ancestors,” Evrial growled.

Maldynado tapped her shoulder.

“What?” she snarled.

Maldynado drew back. “Drat.”

“What?” This time, Evrial wrenched her gaze from the steamboat and looked at Maldynado.

“I thought we’d reached a new stage in our relationship, one where you don’t snarl and growl at me.”

“That wasn’t at you. It was at the world in general. You were just nearby.”

“Ah, but I’m a helpful part of the world. As evinced by the fact that I’m drawing your attention to these lovely enforcer boats tied up at the next dock.” Maldynado pointed to a pair of sleek black vessel identical to the ones that had attacked their steamboat on the way downriver.

“We’re definitely not stealing those.”

“Steal? We could simply borrow one and leave it tied up on the bank somewhere once we catch up with the steamboat.”

“Borrow without asking?”

“You don’t think the local enforcers would actually let us take one, do you?” Maldynado asked.

“No, and that’s why it’s stealing, you dolt.”

Maldynado sighed. “How quickly the ladies forget their whispered terms of endearment from the night before. Listen, it’s for the greater good, right? If we don’t catch up and warn the others before the troupe unloads its cargo and disappears into Stumps...”

Evrial held a finger to his lips and nodded toward the waterfront. A pair of enforcers was walking up the street, frowning in her and Maldynado’s direction. “Someone may have noticed our mad sprint through town and found it suspicious.”

“Let’s take a walk then, shall we?” Maldynado bowed, then strode down the dock.

Evrial hurried after him. They reached the head of the dock before the enforcers and turned north, toward a handful of factories and warehouses.

“Are they following us?” Maldynado murmured.

Evrial risked a glance. “They stopped at the second dock. They’re discussing something.”

“Us?”

“They did look this way.” She glanced again. “No, we’re fine. They turned down the dock, probably to check their boats.”

“If anything is locked, they’ll have the keys. This might be a good time to proposition them about borrowing one of their lovely conveyances.”

Evrial grabbed Maldynado’s arm and tugged him into a weed-choked alley between a warehouse and a factory. “We’re not beating up any enforcers. Any more enforcers anyway.” She leaned against a cedar-shingled wall and pushed a hand through her hair. “A few weeks ago, I was an enforcer. I can’t believe I’m now getting in fights with them and... contemplating stealing a fifty-thousand-ranmya boat. Do you have any idea how much trouble those two would be in if they lost a boat on their watch? You can’t exactly deduct that from an enforcer’s pay. We don’t make that much in two years.” Aware that her words were coming out rapidly, and with a hysterical edge, she forced herself to take a deep breath.

“Listen, Evrial.” Maldynado leaned against the wall opposite of hers. “If you don’t want to help, that’s fine, but I need to get back on that steamboat. It’s not just about the magical whatchamacallits. Those enforcers knew about Akstyr and they knew about me, so that means they know the rest of the team is on board too. They’ll be looking for them. And it’s at least partially my fault.”

“Lokdon has Sicarius. They’ll be fine. We can walk or catch a train and meet up with them in Stumps.”

“Maybe,” Maldynado said, “but what if it’s not in time to keep the whatever-they-ares from slipping away into the city where they can be used against the emperor—er, us?”

Evrial jabbed a finger toward his chest. “You don’t even know who you’re backing, and you expect me to go along with your people, just because?” Evrial pinned Maldynado with her exasperated glare. None of this was his fault, but he was the only one there to yell at.

“I don’t know because I haven’t talked with Books, as I prefer to avoid his lengthy babbles about history and politics and such. But I trust Amaranthe. I’m sure she’s got a scheme all worked out that’s for the good of the empire. You need to talk to Books though, to figure out if you’re staying with us. I know, I get that.”

“It’s hard to talk to people who are heading upriver while you’re stuck in a trash-littered alley that stinks of... what is that smell?”

“Tobacco.” Maldynado pointed to the brick wall above Evrial’s head. In red paint, letters over a side door spelled Darkencrest Cigars: Deliveries. He peeked inside a dusty window. “Looks like the workers are off today, though I see a cart of cleaning supplies, so there might be one fellow about. Maybe we can convince him to take a break while we set up a diversion in here, something that would draw the enforcers over to investigate. Then we can sneak out the back and invite ourselves onto one of their boats. Yes, I could see Amaranthe approving of that plan.”

“We’re not blowing up a factory,” Evrial said.

Maldynado tilted his head. “Who said anything about explosions?”

“When Lokdon and I were stuck in that cabin together, she used cleaning supplies to blow a door off its hinges. I assumed it was a team tendency.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t know how to do that. I’m surprised the boss did. Knowing about chemicals and useless trivia is more of a Booksie trait.” Maldynado tried the door, found it unlocked, and eased it open. He stuck his head inside. “The janitor may have taken a break anyway. I don’t see anyone.”

Evrial didn’t move. She was still balking at the idea of stealing an enforcer boat, though she had to admit, she was beginning to see how Amaranthe had ended up with a bounty on her head. One decision to pursue justice outside of the realm of the law, and getting back on the righteous railway could become a daunting feat. “What sort of diversion do you have in mind?”

“Nothing major,” Maldynado said, poised on the threshold. “There’s certainly no reason to blow up a building. A small fire should suffice.”

“Maldynado!”

“What?” He smiled innocently. “Let’s look around and see what inspirations come to us.” He disappeared into the dim interior.

Evrial groaned. When she followed him into the building, she had a feeling she’d regret it, but someone had to keep him from burning down the town.

* * * * *

Amaranthe’s legs and back ached from crouching in the darkness for so long. She wanted to sit down, but didn’t dare. Every few minutes, the enforcers made another attempt to gain entrance. Blood spattered the floorboards in front of the trapdoor. Sicarius hadn’t killed anyone, but he’d injured enough enforcers to deter them from barreling inside. Amaranthe had made attempts at negotiating, but it seemed men who’d just carried out dead comrades weren’t in the right state of mind to consider the words of outlaws. Despite her efforts at informing them otherwise, the enforcers were determined to believe that Sicarius had killed their comrades and had sought the magical devices all along, for his own nefarious uses.

The scent of smoke wafted to her nose. Since Sicarius had thrown a knife, pinning an enforcer’s shoulder to the nearby wall, the men had been careful to stay out of sight, but Amaranthe guessed at least fifteen were out there, plotting his demise. And hers too, since she was crouching in the darkness next to him.

“It was so nice of the captain to pick up all these reinforcements along with sugar, rice, and persimmons,” Amaranthe muttered. She wondered if the cement had made it on board, and her men for that matter. The vibrations of the paddlewheel hummed through the boat, and she suspected Port Medar had long passed out of view.

“They’re going to try and smoke us out again,” Sicarius said. “Be ready.”

No hint of worry crept into his voice. Not the way it did when dealing with the ancient technology. Amaranthe wished she could view the enforcers as calmly. Though he might be the superior warrior, they could win through sheer numbers.

“Ready.” She waved a short sword she’d taken from their prisoners’ gear pile, though in the darkness, Sicarius probably couldn’t see the gesture.

“It may be a distraction,” he added.

“I wish Books and the others would show up with a distraction of their own,” Amaranthe said, though she hated that she’d put herself and Sicarius into a situation where they needed rescuing. Oh, Sicarius could probably escape, even if it meant dodging a dozen crossbow quarrels from enforcers poised around the dining hall, and she might be able to slip out in the wake of his destruction, but what then? They’d be unlikely to find a hiding place on the boat, so they’d have to dive overboard, leaving the rockets. Either the enforcers would break them out of ignorance or the artifacts would continue upriver to those who had ordered them for their own nefarious purposes. Neither alternative appealed.

“Is it questionable that I’m considering sinking the steamboat as our only option?” Amaranthe said.

“Yes,” Sicarius said.

“Would you like to recommend a better option?”

“Escape overboard. We can run upriver ahead of the boat and steal the weapons when the crew is less prepared.”

He might be able to manage that. Amaranthe questioned her own ability to outrun the boat—perhaps during the day she could, but she’d have to sleep, while the tireless steam-powered paddlewheel would keep churning all night. And what of the rest of the team? “You’d go without the others? Without Sespian?”

Sicarius hesitated. “They’d realize where we’d gone and follow our example.”

Movement stirred near the curtain. Something glinted. A can arched toward the trapdoor opening, smoke streaming from a fuse. Sicarius’s knife arm shot out. His blade deflected the projectile, knocking it aside before it crossed through the opening. Crossbows twanged, but he whipped his arm back out of sight before the bolts struck.

The can skidded into a corner, popped, and a sickly greenish smoke flooded the air. A sulfuric odor assailed Amaranthe’s nostrils. She lifted her shirt over her mouth and nose, glad the smoke grenade hadn’t landed inside with them. Even so, a gray-green haze filled the air, obscuring visibility, and its stench teased her gag reflex. Enforcers would be able to get within a few feet without being seen, though she couldn’t imagine them trying, knowing Sicarius waited within.

“Distraction?” Amaranthe whispered.

“Check the area,” Sicarius said. “They may be attempting to cut a hole elsewhere so they can bypass us and retrieve their men.”

“They think their men are dead.” As Amaranthe had found during her attempted chats. When the enforcers hadn’t responded to her pleas to work together and destroy the deadly rockets, she’d attempted hostage negotiation. They’d refused to believe Sicarius took hostages.

She left to check the rest of the area anyway. Even if they believed their men dead, the enforcers would love to sneak around from behind and take her and Sicarius by surprise. Nobody wanted to face him head-on.

As Amaranthe felt her way through the meandering aisles of crates, she thought about lighting a lantern, but she didn’t want to brighten the area, lest it make Sicarius more visible to the enforcers.

Steel screeched back at the trapdoor. She paused. Maybe they were attacking en masse and risking his skill after all. A new thought crept into her mind. What if that smoke held a sedating agent? What if breathing it in would make Sicarius vulnerable to attacks? She almost went back. But, no, he was capable of handling anything the enforcers hurled at him. If the smoke did hold more of a threat than tearing one’s eyes, he’d know it and adapt. He could probably hold his breath for an entire battle.

Amaranthe kept going, trying to keep a map of the under-stage area in her head as she navigated the darkness. The clangs of metal and grunts of effort—and pain—over by the trapdoor guided her. She thought about checking first on the weapons, but they’d pushed the crate back over the grate earlier to block the glow, and she didn’t see any hint of light ahead. Instead she veered toward the front wall and paused to listen. That’d be the easiest place for the enforcers to access since the stage’s other side and back abutted bulkheads.

Amaranthe heard orders being barked, and occasionally something would clunk against the stage. The words were hard to make out. She climbed over a pile of padded leather equipment, navigating as close to the wall as possible.

“Someone get a blasted cannon! If they’re not going to come out, we’ll tear that stage apart piece by piece.”

“...hit our own men.”

“...dead anyway.”

“...don’t know that!”

Amaranthe tried to decide if the frenetic shouts were authentic or cover for some more threatening action. She pressed her ear to the wall. Soft rasps vibrated through the wood.

Amaranthe jerked back. “Knew it.”

The rasps came from her right, from the side of the stage opposite Sicarius and the trapdoor. Sword in hand, she patted her way in that direction as quickly as possible. Her knee clunked against something hard. She bit back a curse and slowed down. No need to announce to the enforcers that someone was coming...

The blocky shapes of crates loomed ahead of her, and she picked her way around them. At first, she thought her eyes had adjusted more fully to the darkness and she was finally able to see slightly, but she’d been in the dark for an hour or more. No, almost imperceptibly, the light level had increased.

Amaranthe stood as fully as she could, her upper back and head pressed to the top of the stage. Peering over crates, she tried to pinpoint the direction of the light source. Though faint, it had a familiar yellowish tinge. Her stomach sank. Someone had uncovered the grate. Their prisoners must have escaped their bonds.

She glanced at the dark wall where the enforcers were trying to cut through, then back toward the grate. “It’ll take them a while to saw out a hole,” she muttered and headed for the glow. She thought about yelling a warning to Sicarius, but if the enforcers had freed themselves, it’d be better to sneak up and catch them by surprise. Bloody ancestors, she hoped it was just one and not all four.

Still clenching the sword, Amaranthe crept closer, easing around the crates, careful to step toe first and test each floorboard before placing her weight behind it. The light brightened, but she didn’t come across anyone. She thought about circling around to the far side, but decided to take a peek at the grate first. How much was exposed? Did the enforcers know what lay below?

Amaranthe peered around a corner. Five feet away, yellow light seeped through the grate. The entire width was exposed, the crate pushed to one side. Bright after the hour in the darkness, the illumination made her squint. It took a moment for her to realize that it wasn’t shining through the bars of the grate. The entire grate hung open.

She stared at it in confusion. As far as she knew, Sicarius had the only key. Why would he have opened it? Or left the trapdoor to do so? He wouldn’t have. The enforcers must have evaded the magic somehow and picked the lock.

A shadow moved beneath the opening. Someone was already down there. Amaranthe had the presence of mind to keep her string of curses silent. She wanted to check the area around the grate, to see if other enforcers lurked in the darkness, poised to protect their investigating comrade, but she dared not delay, not when a single slip could kill everybody on the boat.

Amaranthe hustled forward. She glimpsed brown hair beneath a gray enforcer cap and lifted her sword, intending to clunk the man with the hilt. Something moved to her left.

She spun, adjusting her grip and thrusting her blade out in front. A man surged out of the shadows between two crates. Something glinted in his hand. She lifted the sword, throwing her second hand onto the hilt to brace it. The man’s eyes bulged, but he’d seen the weapon too late. He impaled himself on it, his scream belting Amaranthe’s ears.

He still tried to plunge his own weapon down, to finish off Amaranthe with his dying breath. She dropped to the floor, rolling away from the grate, and pulling the sword after her, or trying. The man’s momentum had forced the blade deep.

A knife thunked into the wooden deck, inches from her ear. She jerked away, but something new slammed into her. Another enforcer.

The back of her head banged into a crate hard enough to stun her. She let go of the stuck sword and scrabbled for the dagger at her waist. The rage-filled face of one of the snarling prisoners filled her view, and he pinned her with his weight. He raised a dagger of his own, and she saw her death in his eyes.

Hands grasped him under the armpits, yanking him off of her.

“Sicarius,” Amaranthe breathed, then lunged for her sword, fearing they’d have another two enforcers to face. This time she succeeded in yanking it free. She spun around, ready to fight more, but the enforcer facing her had a familiar face.

“It’s not always Sicarius, you know,” Sespian said with a sad sigh.

“Amaranthe, are you all right?” came Books’s voice from the storage area. He climbed out, grunting at the tight quarters and banging his head on the top of the stage. “Oof, am I all right?”

“Not usually,” Akstyr said, crawling out after Books. They were all wearing enforcer uniforms. A cap mashed down Akstyr’s hair, but Amaranthe doubted anyone would believe him a law keeper, not with that brand on his hand and the ever-present sneer on his lips. Then again, the outfits had gotten them this far.

“Is Basilard with you?” Amaranthe asked.

“He’s guarding the new entrance,” Books said.

For a moment, Amaranthe could only stare as the men crowded into the space around her. New... entrance? Finally, realization trickled into her mind. They must have cut a hole in that bulkhead Sicarius had mentioned and come through from engineering. She’d get the details later. “Good to see you. What about Maldynado and Yara? Any sign of them?”

“Nothing,” Books said. “Sorry.”

“All right. We have work to do. Sicarius is guarding the entrance over there.” Amaranthe flung a hand in his direction. “Akstyr, we might need you to hurl some Science about. There are two more enforcers in here—” she pointed toward the back wall, though they’d probably moved by now, “—maybe tied, maybe not.” She eyed the two men who’d attacked her. Sespian had disarmed her second foe without killing him, but the first... She swallowed. It’d been too much to hope that they could destroy the weapons and escape without killing anyone. She shoved the thought to the side for later. “Sespian and Books, come with me. The ones outside may have cut their way in by now.”

Reminded of the fact, Amaranthe rushed toward the front of the stage.

“Also,” she added over her shoulder, “thank you for coming. Excellent timing.”

“You’re welcome.” How Books managed to beam when his six-and-a-half-foot frame was bent into a three-foot-high space, she didn’t know, but he looked pleased with himself. “It’s not often we get to save her,” he whispered to Sespian. “Sicarius usually handles that.”

“I don’t need rescuing that often,” Amaranthe said.

“Is that why she moons after him?” Sespian asked.

“Most likely,” Books said before Amaranthe could manage a flushed protest. “If I rescued her every week, she might have started mooning over me instead.”

“I don’t need rescuing every week,” Amaranthe protested again, though the notion of all the men thinking she mooned after Sicarius bothered her more than the rescuing bit.

“Bi-monthly?” Books suggested.

“All right, I’ll give you that. Though—” she glanced back at Sespian, “—sometimes I’m the one rescuing other people on the team.”

Books offered an agreeable nod.

They’d reached the front wall, and she picked her way along, searching for what she expected to be a gaping hole by now. She hoped the enforcers weren’t already streaming inside, but feared her delay had given them the time they needed. Had she known her own team was inside the cargo area, she would have left the escaped prisoners for them to deal with.

In the dim area, spotting the light ahead wasn’t difficult. As Amaranthe had expected, it seeped through a jagged hole in the front wall. A hole with a head sticking through it. With his face tilted up, the man sawed a serrated blade back and forth, trying to widen the new entrance. Amaranthe hoped the partial progress meant nobody had made his way inside yet, though the opening appeared wide enough that a small or medium-sized man could have wriggled through it.

A soft clunk came from behind, Books or Sespian bumping something. Amaranthe winced, fearing the noise would give away their approach. The enforcer kept sawing, perhaps not hearing anything over the rasp of wood, but she didn’t want to take another chance. Leaving the others behind, she surged ahead. The darkness allowed her to approach unseen.

Focused on his work, the enforcer didn’t notice her approach. She rushed toward him, thinking to tear the saw from his hands and shove him back outside, but spotted a dark figure at the last moment. Tucked between two crates, another enforcer stood guard across from the hole.

He spotted her as soon as she entered the light. He raised a short sword. Amaranthe whipped out her dagger and flung it toward the beam his hair brushed against. He jerked back, clunking his head on the low ceiling. Amaranthe dove in beneath his sword, grabbing his wrist to slam his knuckles into a crate even as she smashed the heel of her hand into his chin with her other hand. The blow drove his head back into the ceiling yet again, and his sword clattered to the floor. She silently apologized for the headache he’d endure in the morning, but it was better than the fate his comrade had met. She dragged him into the open, wrenching his arm behind his back. He tried to fight back, swinging at her face with his free hand, but his knuckles clunked against another beam. In the tight space, her smaller size gave her an advantage. When he tried to stand to achieve better leverage, she drove her elbow into the back of his knee. He dropped to the deck and scrambled toward the hole, apparently having had enough.

While she’d been busy with the guard, Books had handled the man in the hole. He’d torn the saw away and had a fistful of the enforcer’s hair. “Thank you for attempting to join our small but elite group, but you’ve been uninvited.” Books shoved the sawyer back through the hole.

“Small but elite?” Sespian asked mildly.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said. “Haven’t you seen our fliers?”

“Shoot them!” someone hollered from the other side.

“You’ll hit your own man,” Amaranthe yelled back. “Get out,” she told her prisoner, poking her dagger into his back.

He couldn’t claw his way out fast enough. His head smacked the wall one more time before he escaped through the hole. He’d barely cleared it before a barrage of crossbow bolts zinged through the opening.

Amaranthe and the others had anticipated it and weren’t in the line of fire, but she gulped at the array of quarrels that sank into a crate. Through the hole, she glimpsed uniformed men reloading their crossbows and moving around, trying to find angles that might allow them to hit their targets. Amaranthe guided her men by touch, pushing them back several feet so those random shots wouldn’t find flesh.

“What now?” Sespian whispered.

“We guard the entrance.” Amaranthe patted about, found a crate, and heaved it in front of the hole. That wouldn’t deter the enforcers for long, but it would make it harder for them to fire inside. “I’ll handle it. Why don’t you two check on Akstyr, see if he’s subdued the other men? Then... what’s your plan for the cement, Books?” She didn’t know how long the new hole from engineering would remain undiscovered—Basilard might already be fighting to defend it—but she questioned whether they’d be able to, under any circumstances, tote the weapons out now. All it would take was one stray crossbow bolt...

“We dragged as many bags of cement in with us as we could before someone asked why enforcers were helping unload the cargo,” Books said.

“Dragged them in where?” Amaranthe asked.

Books thumped his boot against the deck. “Down with the rockets. We grabbed some tools too. If we can cut through to one of the water tanks in the boiler room, we might be able to mix the cement right down there.”

“Might?”

“It was a hastily composed plan,” Books admitted.

“It’s a good compact space. We can set the cement right in there.” Sespian thumped on a crate. “There’s plenty of wood around here to make a mold.”

“And then what?” Amaranthe asked. “The weapons are still—”

A series of thunks interrupted her. Another barrage of crossbow quarrels.

“Stop firing,” someone barked. “They’ve blocked the entrance. Get more smoke bombs.”

“That’s not enough, Sergeant. We need to light the stage on fire, smoke ’em out.”

“That’ll light the entire steamboat on fire, you idiot.”

“Then we need bigger cutting tools. There has to be something in engineering.”

Amaranthe grimaced. If the men hadn’t found the hole Basilard guarded yet, they would soon. “That plan will leave the weapons on board,” she continued. “Once the cement hardens, they’ll be on board forever.”

“We plucked a blow lamp out of engineering,” Books said. “I thought we might cut the hull away beneath the cement block once it hardens.”

“Cut the hull away? There’s nothing but water under there.”

“Yes, that’ll leave a hole in the bottom of the ship, through which the block can fall and find a resting spot in the mud at the bottom of the river.”

If Amaranthe hadn’t been holding weapons in both hands, she would have rubbed her face or massaged her temples. Or something. “You’re the one who’s lectured me about prudence, Books. That sounds... imprudent.”

“Our options are limited. As is our time—the cement will take some hours to harden.”

“Hours?” Amaranthe blurted. While the enforcers’ attacks hadn’t been effective thus far, she couldn’t believe they wouldn’t come up with an alternative given that much time.

“The sooner I get started—”

“Yes, yes, go,” Amaranthe said. “You’re right. What else can we do?”

Thumps and grunts sounded as Books groped his way back to the grate.

“I didn’t take as many engineering courses as I should have, given my architecture interests,” Sespian said, “but I’m fairly certain cutting a hole in the bottom of a ship will cause it to sink as well.”

Amaranthe sighed. “That’s my understanding of holes and boats too.”

“It’s amazing how many conveyances your team destroys for the good of the empire.” He sounded more amused than condemning. That was something at least.

“Yes, and unfortunately Maldynado isn’t here, so we can’t blame this one on him.”

A horn blasted somewhere. An alarm? A warning?

Amaranthe tilted her ear toward the blocked hole. Voices that had been plotting in hushed tones fell silent. Boots pattered against the deck—men running to look at something? She was tempted to push the crate aside and peek outside, but a voice stayed her hand.

“Mind that hole, Private,” a man said, not more than five feet away. “If they escape, it’ll be on you.”

“Yes, Corporal.”

A laugh rang out in the distance, from the doorway to the dining hall perhaps. “For once seeing the marines is good news.”

Amaranthe slumped, wishing she could sink into the floor and disappear. “The marines?”

“Perhaps,” Sespian said, “someone has come downstream to escort their important cargo to the capital.”

Whatever the case, Amaranthe feared a marine vessel would have the tools and manpower to disassemble the stage. Or utterly destroy it. And those hiding within.

CHAPTER 10

Inside the cigar factory, rows of tables stretched beneath a high, beamed ceiling. Outside, twilight approached, and the shadows grew long. Evrial stood near the door, wrinkling her nose at the sweet pungent aroma thickening the air, while Maldynado roamed through the spacious interior looking for... who knew what? What sort of distraction could they create that didn’t involve fires or explosives? When Maldynado paused to tick a finger against one of the stoves stationed in the corners of the room, Evrial scowled at him. He resumed his stroll.

He paused in front of a tall, narrow window overlooking the waterfront. “One enforcer is pushing a wheelbarrow of coal up the dock. I think the other is building fires in the furnaces.”

“The boat crews may simply have stopped to grab a meal and refuel. Those two were probably sent out to start up the engines. The rest of their squad could be out shortly.”

Evrial mentioned the squad to discourage Maldynado from the theft idea, but he brightened and said, “Good.”

“Good?”

“If they get the boilers heated up, it won’t take but a moment for us to abscond with a boat.” Maldynado winked. “Maybe we won’t need anything so dramatic as a fire.”

“Whatever you’re planning to do better be soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maldynado strolled away from the window, hands clasped behind his back, his boots stirring shreds of cigar paper and dried tobacco leaves on the floor. He paused to eye the cleaning-supply cart speculatively, but thankfully moved on, passing the long tables and heading to the front of the room. A desk full of books and newspapers rested on a raised platform.

“Hah.” Maldynado tapped a fat tome. “If our revolution doesn’t go as planned, here’s a back-up job for Books. He can be the lector who reads to the bored blokes rolling cigars all day.” Something on one of the newspapers must have caught his eye, for he picked it up and carried it to a window to read by the fading light.

Evrial walked toward the back of the building, passing crates of dried tobacco stamped with plantation logos from the southern satrap. Maybe if she found a suitable distraction, she could prevent him from doing something overly destructive.

Her foot struck an empty box, causing it to skid across the floor and stop in front of a mechanical contraption standing in the corner. Evrial eyed the machine. It had a vaguely humanoid shape, except that its cylindrical body rested on wheels instead of legs. A small boiler and furnace made up the torso, and the pair of “arms” extending from its shoulders had spatula-like hands, perhaps for lifting boxes. A harness crossed the body, and hooks dangled down its back, so she imagined it could pull cargo too. An ash bin and a box of coal also sat on the floor in the corner. She squinted at the operating instructions on the machine’s side.

“Handsome fellow,” Maldynado said, strolling up and rapping his knuckles on the metal form. “But you’re not already bored with me, are you?”

Evrial ignored the question and asked, “Do you think you can fire up this thing?”

“Naturally.”

“Before the enforcers finish firing up their boats and sail away?”

“Er.” Maldynado peeped out the window. “Probably?”

“Do it. I have an idea.”

“Another woman in my life who’s going to give me orders? How did I get signed up for that?” Maldynado’s flippant words—and mock-military salute—didn’t reach his face. He frowned at the newspaper, then stuffed it into his shirt before opening the door in the machine’s “chest” and picking up the coal shovel.

“Is that today’s paper?” Evrial headed for the cleaning cart. “Is there something I should know about in it?”

“Something the boss should know about.” Maldynado eyed the nearest window—and the enforcers on the dock outside of it—while he readied the firebox. “Satrap Governor, and potential heir to the throne, Lord Heroncrest has captured one of the railways into Stumps and is trying to transport in loyal troops. Lord General Flintcrest is coming up the river, apparently with similar aspirations. And my ambitious brother has officially declared martial law, locked down the city, and set up check points to inspect every boat, train, carriage, donkey cart, and children’s push wagon attempting to enter Stumps.”

“That’s...” Evrial couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t be an understatement. “I can’t believe how fast this is all happening. Sespian’s reputed death was only a couple of weeks ago.”

“Publicly speaking. Ravido and Forge have obviously been planning that death for a long time and had plenty of time to act.” Maldynado struck a flame in the firebox. “The speed with which Flintcrest and Heroncrest got all those troops together makes you wonder if they had some warning too. Or were already planning something.”

Evrial grabbed the cleaning cart and pushed it toward Maldynado’s corner. “If Lokdon and the others are still on that steamboat when it approaches Stumps...”

“Yup, an extra degree of trouble. Another reason to catch up to that boat and warn them that walking in across the fields might be best.” Maldynado straightened. “Fire’s lit. It’s a little boiler—should heat up quickly. What’s the plan here?” He eyed the matches in his hand, as if he was already considering arson as a backup plan.

Evrial hooked the cart up to the machine’s harness. “I thought we’d start this up, let it roll around, banging into things and making noise. The enforcers should hear it and come to investigate, especially since it’s getting dark and the factory is closed for the day. What do you think?”

Maldynado scratched his jaw. “That you’re new at this.”

“Sorry, I don’t have your gang’s experience for molesting enforcers. What’s the problem?”

“They’re not going to hear that way over there. These are brick walls.”

“I’ll look around for something noisier we can attach.” Evrial scowled at Maldynado’s dubious expression. “If you’re so sure this ideal will fail, why’re you still shoveling coal in there?”

“Well, I figured we could blow up the boiler. They’d hear that.”

Evrial threw up her hands and stalked to a row of cabinets lining the back wall. “How did you avoid becoming an outlaw earlier in life?”

“I was warrior-caste until recently, remember. Lords can get away with a lot.”

“Yes,” Evrial grumbled. “I attempted to arrest a perverted and criminal lord once and found out how little the law applies to those people. I hope Books’s new government plan involves an empire in which people are treated equally in the eyes of the law.”

“I doubt he’ll propose anything that radical. Not outright. Who would back him? Aside from us? We’re certainly an impressive bunch of individuals, but we’re no army.” Maldynado checked the window again. “There’s smoke coming from the vents on those boats. Better hurry with whatever addendum to the plan you’re making.”

Evrial dragged empty paint cans out of a cabinet and tied them onto the back of the laundry cart. Maldynado was wrong. This would make a racket, and those enforcers would feel compelled to investigate.

He ticked a gauge on the machine. “This beast’s ready to roll.”

Fingers flying as she tied the last can, Evrial said, “Done in a second. Make it go.”

“Right.” The gloom had deepened and Maldynado groped about the machine.

“There’s a lever to your right,” Evrial said, having read the instructions earlier.

Maldynado yanked it, and Evrial lifted her arms, the last can tied on. The machine clink-clanked forward, wheels rolling, and promptly ran into one of the tables.

“Oh, yes,” Maldynado said. “This is a brilliant plan.”

“We’ll just—”

The door creaked open, brightening the back of the factory. A squat woman with gray hair wrapped into a bun strode into the building before Evrial could do more than drop her hand to her waist—where her knife or sword would have hung if she hadn’t been dumped overboard.

“What is this?” the woman demanded, her voice so accented that it was hard to understand. “What you do to my cart? Why porter running? Why you here?”

“Pardon us, ma’am,” Maldynado said smoothly, stepping past Evrial and bowing deeply to the woman. “We—”

“Stay away, big man.” The woman grabbed a broom and swung it at Maldynado’s head with the practiced mien of one who has swatted many mice out of the kitchen.

Maldynado ducked and skittered back. At least he didn’t seem predisposed toward attacking old women, even in self-defense.

While they were busy, Evrial gave the machine a heave, trying to redirect it. It proved heavier than expected and kept bumping against the workstation.

“Ouch, listen, ma’am,” Maldynado tried again. “We’re just—”

Glass shattered. The broom going through the window, or perhaps the woman had hurled something at Maldynado’s head?

Evrial’s fingers bumped against a wheel. Ah, that was for steering. She rotated it, and the contraption spun in a new direction. She gave it another heave, and it clink-clanked around the corner and started down the long aisle by the windows. The cleaning supplies rattled in their cart, and the paint cans banged and clanged.

On the docks, someone had lit lanterns, so Evrial had no trouble making out the enforcers. The two men had climbed of their boats and were squinting toward the cigar factory.

“Don’t touch me. Molester!” Another window succumbed to the cleaning woman’s misdirected ire.

“Woman,” Maldynado growled, finally slipping past the flailing broom to grab her by the arms. “Stop—”

An eardrum-piercing shriek escaped the woman’s lips. That did it.

“The enforcers are coming,” Evrial said, wondering if Maldynado would hear her over the continuing shrieks. “We have to go now if we’re going to get—”

“Right behind you.” Maldynado, still gripping the woman with both hands, jerked his chin toward the alley door.

Evrial hesitated, wondering if she should be concerned that he’d do something untoward to his screaming prisoner, but, no, she didn’t believe Maldynado had an old-lady-mauling streak in him. She raced out the door and into the alley. Instead of heading for the street, she crept around the waterfront side of the building, pushing through weeds and dead leaves. She would have been visible from the docks, but the enforcers were pounding up the road at that point. The shrieks from inside halted, though the clanks continued as the steam-machine clattered about, bumping into things.

When the enforcers disappeared around the front of the cigar factory, Evrial continued through the tall grass, hoping Maldynado would catch up. He better have gotten out before the enforcers charged in... All this had been his idea. She had no urge to steal a boat by herself. Or at all, for that matter.

She ducked under the first dock and, after making sure the enforcers truly had gone inside, hopped onto the second. Unfortunately, the noise had drawn curious pedestrians as well, and more than one eating house door stood open with people peering outside. Fortunately, they were looking toward the cigar factory, not the docks. Evrial ran to the end, glancing back to see if she could spot Maldynado and grimacing when she couldn’t. The shadows had deepened along the waterfront. Maybe the weeds were camouflaging him.

Smoke wafted from the vents of both boats. Evrial untied the first craft from the dock, hoping it would float away on its own. The enforcers ought to be able to catch up to it eventually, but not in time to use it to chase their other boat. As Evrial hopped onto the deck of the second craft, the shrieks resumed in the factory. Good. The woman wasn’t dead or unconscious—and she certainly hadn’t suffered any injuries to those powerful lungs.

Evrial climbed past weapons mounted on the deck and into the covered navigation cabin. She halted in the middle, frowning at all the levers and gauges. In her rural district, she’d never had occasion to pilot anything fancier than a rowboat, and she didn’t know where to start.

“Check the boiler,” she muttered and rotated toward the back half of the cabin. Even the boiler had a complicated-looking wall of gauges and displays. “Is that the pressure? Or that? Maldynado, blast you, where are you?”

What was she supposed to do if he didn’t show up?

Something struck the boat, tossing Evrial against the wall. “Emperor’s balls,” she growled and stuck her head out of the cabin, fearing the enforcers had already returned and launched some attack. It was the other boat, though, the one she’d untied. It scraped against hers as it floated past.

Up on the street, the enforcers jogged out of the factory. One promptly spotted Evrial—or perhaps the boat drifting away from its berth. He raised a hand and shouted, “Stop!”

“Emperor’s balls,” Evrial repeated, tempted to fling harsher expletives, except she was too busy lunging for the rope tying her boat to the dock. If she floated away, that’d give her time to figure out the controls, so long as she wasn’t swept downstream to crash into a log first.

The enforcers sprinted down the street toward the docks. There wasn’t going to be time to simply float away.

“Curse you, Maldynado. Where—”

Something bumped against the boat.

“Now what?” Evrial demanded. The other craft had drifted into the river. It couldn’t be that.

A dark form slithered over the side of the craft not three feet away from her. If Evrial had possessed a sword, she might have skewered it.

“Hullo, my lady,” Maldynado drawled, rolling onto the deck at her feet. “Thanks for waiting. Shall we get going?”

“Go!” Before he’d found his feet, Evrial shoved him into the cabin.

She hoped he had a better idea as to what to do in there than she had. Meanwhile, she finished untying the rope as the enforcers rounded the corner and ran onto the dock. Evrial tried to shove off with her boot, but the heavy craft scarcely moved an inch.

One of the enforcers stopped, raising a crossbow.

Evrial dove into the cabin with Maldynado. He sat in front of the wheel, whistling as his soggy clothes dripped puddles of water onto the floor.

“Some alacrity here would be good,” Evrial said. “Those enforcers are going to be on top of us any second.” A crossbow quarrel whistled into the cabin and into the glass viewport. A crack sounded as it shot straight through, leaving a fractured web in the glass. Evrial jumped away from the entrance. Why weren’t there any cursed weapons inside the cabin?

A surge coursed through the boat, and hope filled her. “Are we moving? Is that the propeller?” She grabbed the jamb and peered outside.

They were indeed pulling away from the dock, but only a few feet separated them from the end. One enforcer, the crossbowman who’d fallen behind to shoot, stopped to fire again. Meanwhile the other fellow reached the end of the dock and leaped off without hesitation. The quarrel skipped harmlessly off the cabin’s roof, but the leaping man had the momentum to reach the boat. They’d have to fight after all. Evrial almost stepped outside, hoping she could knock him away before he landed, but the other enforcer had the crossbow raised for another shot. He must have a quad-loader.

Maldynado brushed past her and flung something. A wooden life ring spun through the air and hammered the enforcer in the chest a heartbeat before he would have caught the edge of the boat. He grunted, and his arms flew out. He smacked into the side of the boat and bounced off. Maldynado disappeared back into the cabin, shoved a lever, and white water churned in the propeller’s wake. The enforcer came up, sputtering and cursing. The man left on the dock loosed a last crossbow quarrel, but it flew wide. Maldynado steered into the center of the river, and they were soon cutting through the current, heading upstream into the growing darkness.

“If you’re so inclined,” Maldynado said, as calm as a turtle basking on a log, “you could search for some dry clothes. Think there’s any chance we borrowed those men’s travel kits as well as their boat?”

“I’ll look,” Evrial said. “What took you so long?”

“That old lady was tougher than Sicarius’s nasty meat bars, and I had trouble escaping her. Finally had to stuff her in a cabinet. But the enforcers were bursting into the factory by then and saw me run out. Figured I better jump into the river rather than leading them straight back to you.” Maldynado plucked at his sodden shirt. “My wardrobe has taken a considerable beating on this adventure. I haven’t seen my hat since my first plunge into the river. That was a fine hat too.”

As he rambled on, Evrial poked about inside the cabin. A cupboard held clothes, food, and canteens. She laid out salami, crackers, and a block of goat geese for them to share, then flopped into the seat beside Maldynado.

“I’m trying to decide if I should be alarmed at how adept you are at stealing vehicles,” Evrial said.

“Adept? Didn’t you see that old lady nearly take my eye out with her broom?”

“Yes, but you thought quickly when that enforcer jumped after us. And you knew how to steer the boat away—have you been in one of these before?”

“Not this particular model, but I’ve driven steam launches. And all sorts of steam carriages and lorries for the boss. Some of them even survived the experience.” His eyes rolled upward as he considered something. “Yes, one at least. I think.”

Evrial cut slices of salami for each of them, letting Maldynado concentrate on piloting. The scattered house lamps on the properties above the banks didn’t do much to illuminate the darkening river. “Well, you have a knack. I wouldn’t have expected a warrior-caste man who didn’t join the military to be good at anything more than ordering servants around and perhaps sports dueling.”

“I’m skilled in at least one other area. As you now know firsthand.” Maldynado gave her a sidelong look that shouldn’t have been visible in the dark cabin, but her imagination filled it in without trouble, and she blushed.

Evrial’s first thought was to deny he had any such skill, but her own responses the night before had been too enthusiastic to make such a comment plausible now. “I’d already heard about that area. I understand that has little to do with your warrior-caste background and more to do with your previous… profession, prior to meeting Lokdon.”

“Er, what?” His smug tone vanished. “I mean, who told you about... what were you told?”

“Akstyr said you used to be a male prostitute.”

“Prostitute! I was an escort. I accompanied ladies and successful businesswomen to social events. That’s all.”

“I see,” Evrial said. “And these social events never involved after-hours entertainment?”

“Well, naturally, I’d escort women wherever they wished to go for the evening, but I didn’t get paid for events that happened, er, off-the-clock as it were. And I have standards. It wasn’t like I’d sleep with any old crone.”

“Hm,” Evrial said, trying to decide if she should feel honored or not that she’d met his standards.

Her laconic answer must have made him nervous, for he fiddled with the controls for a moment, then said, “Let’s worry about what we’re going to do when we catch up to the steamboat, shall we? I’m skeptical that we’ll be able to sneak up behind it, toss a rope, and climb aboard without anybody noticing.”

Evrial hesitated to voice her next suggestion, but they’d already tormented a cleaning woman and stolen a boat. Did it truly matter if they added another entry to their list of crimes? “Most of the clothes I found were uniforms.”

“Are you suggesting we impersonate enforcers?”

“You object?” Evrial asked.

“No, but I want to make it clear that your seal is stamped on this so I can righteously proclaim innocence later when I get blamed.”

“I won’t try to shift blame onto you.”

“You say that now, but in my experience, the woman never gets blamed. It’s always the poor sap standing nearby. Usually me.”

“You must spend time with shifty women.” Evrial smiled, knowing he was talking about Amaranthe.

“No argument there. Is there a hat in that cabinet? I don’t think my luxurious locks are regulation.”

Evrial snorted. “No, they’re not, but your hair is going to be the least of our concerns. How are we going to keep the enforcers we tangled with yesterday from recognizing us?”

“Maybe we can avoid them?”

“Or maybe they’ll be the first ones on deck to greet us,” Evrial said and sank back into her chair.

* * * * *

Full darkness had descended on the river by the time the steamboat came into sight. Evrial closed the furnace door and leaned the coal shovel against it. They wouldn’t need more fuel. Now, they’d need some luck.

“It’s awfully bright over there,” Maldynado said from the pilot’s seat. “Did they always have all the running lights and lanterns lit at full strength?”

“They probably did, and we just didn’t notice it from within.” Evrial silently admitted that the boat did seem brighter—and busier—than she remembered. Numerous white-uniformed officers and security guards occupied the decks along with several men in enforcer grays. She didn’t spot a single person in civilian clothing. “There are more enforcers on there than I realized.”

“Or they picked up some in town. There’s no way we’re going to be able to sneak aboard.” Maldynado tapped his uniformed chest. “Let’s hope our ruse works.”

Evrial searched the cupboards until she found a spyglass. She scanned the steamboat decks. “Nobody’s looking this way. That’s surprising.”

“We don’t have any lanterns lit. Unless they spot the smoke we’re venting, we should just look like a dark smudge on the water. Besides, we’re coming in from behind. The helmsman will be facing ahead.”

“Everybody is facing ahead,” Evrial said. “Except for a knot of people around... I think that’s the dining hall entrance.”

“Maybe the troupe is performing again, and there’s not room for everyone inside.”

“I don’t think so. The people outside the door are enforcers and security guards. There are a lot of big, alarmed gestures, and two men just jogged up with a bunch of crossbows. Someone’s running out of the room. He’s clutching a hand to his opposite arm.”

“A bloody arm?” Maldynado asked.

“I can’t tell, but that’d be my guess.”

“Sounds like the work of the team.”

“You don’t think they’re trapped in the dining hall, do you?” Evrial asked.

“It’s hard to believe they’d let themselves be trapped. Unless...”

“They’re guarding magical weapons?” Evrial suggested.

“We better hurry up.” Maldynado urged their stolen boat to greater speed. “They may need help.”

“Wait. There are a lot of people looking out across the bow. I can’t see anything through the boat. Can you veer to the side before taking us in?”

Maldynado muttered something about “delays” and “increasing the odds of being spotted” under his breath, but he angled their craft away from the main channel. Dark trees rose ahead of the steamboat, signifying a bend in the river. Maybe she wouldn’t spot anything. Evrial surveyed the water with the spyglass anyway.

A boat came into sight. The black vessel had a similar style as that of the enforcer craft, but it was much larger with two decks instead of one and with far more guns mounted along those decks. People in uniforms, not enforcer grays but military blacks, stood ready at those weapons. Evrial did a quick head count and doubled it, figuring some of the men rode inside.

“Forty marines heading toward the steamboat,” she said.

“Forty?”

A second military boat appeared around the bend.

“Make that eighty,” Evrial said.

“Emperor’s warts, this is going to be a bloodbath.” Maldynado pushed his hair back from his forehead, not noticing that he knocked off his enforcer cap.

“For your friends?” Evrial thought of Sicarius’s deadly skills—and his unhesitating willingness to use them. “Or the marines?”

“I don’t know. Both probably.”

CHAPTER 11

The cracks of breaking boards and the squeals of nails torn free from wood assaulted Amaranthe’s ears. She hunkered next to the hole the enforcers had cut, ready to defend the entrance, though she feared there’d soon be too many holes to guard. The enforcers—or maybe it was the marines—were tearing into the stage with crowbars and axes. Light flowed through numerous punctures. They must have guessed Amaranthe and Sicarius didn’t have crossbows or a way to shoot projectiles, for they hacked away with impunity.

Someone tapped Amaranthe on the shoulder. “I have an update,” Books said from the darkness behind her.

“An update I’ll like or one I won’t?”

“We’ve built a framework, mixed the cement, slathered it all around the rockets.”

Slathered didn’t sound as good as totally buried.

“Enough, to smother the light and, I hope, add a layer of protection and make the weapons difficult to access in the future. But the cement won’t harden for...” Somewhere nearby, a board was torn free with a nerve-wrenching crack. “For more time than we have,” Books went on. “We did get a marine mix that’s capable of hardening underwater. I’m hoping that it’s set enough that even if we drop it...” Books might have shrugged, but Amaranthe couldn’t see the gesture in the gloom. “I’m also hoping that the impact of the weapons striking the bottom of the river won’t be hard enough to... I’m hoping for mud down there.”

That was a lot of hoping. What if all their effort resulted in them doing the very thing they’d been trying to stop others from doing? Detonating the weapons?

“If not, better the poison is unleashed here, between towns, than in the capital,” Books said.

Better not to unleash it at all, Amaranthe wanted to cry, then grab his shirt and shake a better plan out of him. Stay calm, she thought, reminding herself that she was in charge and people in charge weren’t supposed to lose their minds.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said. “I’ll... think of something.” Right. Sure, she would. No problem.

“Oh?” Books sounded encouraged. At least one of them was. “We’re heating up the blow lamp to cut a hole in the hull.”

“Good. Tell Sicarius. We’ll—”

Someone thrust a smoke bomb through a newly opened gap, and an acrid scent flooded the tight space. Cursing, Amaranthe yanked her shirt over her nose and crawled toward it. She intended to grab it and throw it back out, but she paused. It was a sphere, rather than the cylindrical cans the enforcers had been tossing in earlier. New weapons the marines had brought?

“Get back,” she told Books, reversing her momentum.

Before she’d gone more than two steps, light flashed and a boom rattled the stage. A concussive force pounded her, flinging her several feet. Her back slammed into something hard, blasting the air from her lungs. All around her, shards of wood flew into the air. A crash sounded, part of the stage structure collapsing. She tried to suck in a breath and roll to her hands and knees, but the blow had stunned her. Her rigid muscles wouldn’t relax, wouldn’t move.

Hands caught her shirt by the shoulders. Books dragged her backward. Amaranthe wanted to stay and defend the hole she’d assigned herself, but it was too late anyway. There were too many gaps to defend. Dark figures moved about in the smoke, and the marines tore away broken boards. They’d pick their way inside soon enough. Or simply throw more explosives.

By the time Books pulled her back to the grate, a second explosion had gone off, this one at the other end of the stage. Sicarius’s end.

Amaranthe found the wherewithal to rise up to her hands and knees. Something warm trickled into her eye. Blood. Smoke clogged the air, and her first attempt at speaking launched nothing but coughs. She threw her arm across her mouth, trying to stifle the sound. Telling the marines their exact location wasn’t a good plan.

“Hurry,” Sespian whispered, his upper body sticking out of the entrance. “Join us down here. We’ll cover the grate, buy another minute.”

Without hesitation, Books climbed over the edge, jostling Sespian as he passed.

“Sicarius,” Amaranthe rasped, her voice rougher than a saw blade. “Have you seen him?”

“No, but he can take care of himself.”

Not if a grenade had taken him by surprise the way it had her.

“Cut the hole in the hull.” Amaranthe smothered her mouth to still more coughs. The cursed smoke was everywhere. “I’ll get him.”

She crawled past the grate, but Sespian caught her calf, fingers tight and unrelenting.

“Don’t get yourself killed,” he whispered. “This is our only way out.”

Amaranthe yanked her leg away. “I’m not leaving him.”

She could feel Sespian’s gaze upon her as she crawled away, moving as fast as her battered limbs would carry her. The smoke made her dizzy—or maybe she’d hit her head too many times—and she struggled to navigate the maze of gear, much of it charred and destroyed by the explosions. When she neared Sicarius’s side of the stage, she found a huge gaping hole in the top. She couldn’t believe marines weren’t leaping through it, but the hackings of the crowbars had stopped. The shouts outside had changed as well, no longer the calm back and forth of orders being given and acknowledged, but frenzied shouts of distress. And pain.

An inkling of Sicarius’s whereabouts came to her. Instead of continuing to the side entrance, she lifted her head past the smoking edges of the hole and peered into the dining hall. A sea of black and gray uniforms surged about, the crowd trying to pin something—someone—in a corner. She glimpsed short, blond hair.

“Get him!” someone in the back cried. “Finally. This is our chance!”

“Ten thousand ranmyas to the man who brings him down,” an officer cried from the doorway.

There had to be forty men in the room, and more waited outside, bearing crossbows.

“Sicarius,” Amaranthe groaned to herself—nobody was looking her way, “what are you doing?”

Buying you time, her mind answered. What else?

As good as he was, the situation appeared inescapable. Only the officers’ dead ancestors knew how many men they’d sacrifice for a chance to bring down Sicarius.

Though she knew he’d want her to get out of there, to make his distraction—she couldn’t bring herself to think of it as a sacrifice—worthwhile, Amaranthe looked for a way to help. Axes and crowbars littered the deck in front of the decimated stage, the tools cast aside in favor of swords. Little good they’d do her. Then she spotted something better. A bulky rucksack with numerous protrusions pressing against the fabric. Some of the explosives the marines had brought in?

Afraid the men at the door would spot her immediately if she crawled out of the top of the stage, she dropped back below and hustled to the side entrance. She burst out and scrambled around the corner. Using the discarded gear for cover, she dove for the rucksack and tore the flap open. Thick padding protected metal spheres and cans nestled within. She dug past several with fuses and grabbed two with pull-tab ignition mechanisms.

“One’s by the stage!” someone yelled from the doorway.

“Shoot her!”

Amaranthe yanked the tabs and threw the cans to the floor behind the mass of men. She flattened herself to the deck, anticipating fire. Crossbow bolts thudded into the front of the stage, one grazing her hair on its way past. The backpack offered little cover, and she had a sudden image of a bolt hitting one of the canisters, causing it to explode...

Her own explosions came first. The booms weren’t as ear-splitting as they’d been in the confines of the stage, but they served their purpose, hurling the back row of attackers to the deck. Smoke billowed into the air. It was as much cover as she’d get. Forgoing the long route, Amaranthe vaulted onto the stage, her injured back clenching in a protest of pain. Without any grace, she scrambled to the hole. Not until she dropped out of sight did she pause to grab her battered muscles and suck in a deep, bracing breath. Even then, her pause was short. She had to join the others and hope she’d given Sicarius the help he needed to escape the dining hall.

When she reached the grate, Sespian was still there, waiting for her. Relief washed across his face. He looked like he might have been thinking of running after her.

“Are you...?” He grabbed her arm and helped her into the cubby.

The cramped space, its bottom lumpy with cement and cold with inches of water, was not the oasis she would have preferred to slide into, but at least she could lie on her back and rest for a second. Sespian dragged a dented and charred box over the entrance before closing the grate.

“We’re through,” Books said, his voice strained.

Amaranthe forced herself to roll over. Basilard and Books lay on the far side of the wood-framed lumpy gray mass that encompassed the rockets. Water was entering through the charred, perforated line cut around the mess. The oblong cutout looked like it could drop away at any second, but the men had wedged boards beneath the edges in a couple of spots. Lying on his belly, Akstyr supported his end of the cutout from the side nearest Amaranthe and Sespian. Basilard lay shoulder-to-shoulder with Books on the far side. A wildness haunted Books’s eyes. He alone seemed to realize what might happen if just one of the rockets broke open when the load hit the bottom of the river.

* * * * *

Two security men in ship’s whites approached the railing as soon as the stolen enforcer boat approached. So much for sneaking aboard.

“You better go up top and do the talking,” Maldynado said. “They might recognize me.”

“No faith in your enforcer costume?” Evrial asked.

“It’s just that my blindingly handsome face draws people’s eyes and sticks in their minds, no matter what I wear.”

“Those are men. Somehow I doubt your face has the same effect.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Evrial climbed onto the deck, her head filling with visions of men propositioning Maldynado. She supposed he was pretty enough that it happened.

Their craft bumped against the side of the steamboat. Maldynado matched the larger vessel’s speed—their propeller scarcely stirred the water in comparison to the giant paddlewheel. This close, droplets of water spattered everywhere. Evrial wiped moisture from her cheek, thinking of the last time she and Maldynado had been so close to a paddlewheel. It’d been while fighting piles of enforcers. This situation was far too similar for her liking.

The security men leaned over the railing. “What are you—”

Evrial tossed them a rope. “Tie us, will you? Those marines are taking up all the space up front.” Not to mention that she didn’t want to be noticed by said marines. At the moment, the steamboat blocked her and Maldynado from their view.

One of the men caught the damp rope, shrugged, and bent over a metal cleat. His comrade wasn’t so quick to accept the arrival of strangers.

“Who are you? Where’d you come from?”

“Town.” Evrial waved back downriver, chagrinned to realize she’d forgotten the name of the little port. “My captain said he saw some criminals stowing away as you left dock. We’re here to collect them, though...” Evrial gazed up at the deck—smoke was wafting out of the dining hall entrance. “You look like you need more help than we brought. Are they in there? Causing trouble?”

“Trouble.” The man tying the rope snorted. “You don’t know the—”

“You look familiar.” The second man scrutinized Evrial. “Take off your hat.”

Uh oh. Maybe this was one of the security men who’d investigated the cabin the “maids” had infiltrated. None of them had seen her face though, had they?

“Listen...” Evrial climbed up the railing, keeping her head down. “I don’t take orders from security grunts.” She swung her leg over. “I need to see the captain or the officer of the watch.”

Her feet had barely touched the deck when the suspicious man grabbed her arm. He reached for her hat. “I said—”

Evrial planted her weight, then threw her body into a straight punch to the man’s nose. She was two inches taller than he and, despite his wariness, caught him by surprise. He staggered back, almost tripping over his comrade. Evrial lunged after him, grabbed his uniform front, and sank low so she could spring up, using her momentum to hoist him over the railing. He landed on the enforcer boat and bounced into the water.

The second man dropped the rope he’d finished tying and reached for a baton hanging from his belt. Evrial kicked his hand away before he could unclip it. She stepped in, slipped a dagger from his sheath and pressed the blade to his throat.

“Join your colleague in his evening swim,” she said.

The man groaned. “You’re with those cursed outlaws, aren’t you?”

“Apparently.” Evrial leaned into the blade, threatening to draw blood.

“The marines will chop you all down like dead wood.” Spitting out that line was the extent of the man’s bravery, for he jumped over the side after that.

He twisted in the air, however, and landed on the enforcer boat. He yanked another knife out of a boot sheath and lunged into the cabin.

“Maldynado, look out!” Evrial barked, horrified that she’d done so poor a job of subduing the man.

She leaped over the railing, landing in a crouch on the deck. She took a running step toward the cabin, but halted, arms spinning for balance, when Maldynado appeared in the doorway. He held the stray security guard by the back of the neck. Blood streamed from the man’s nose, and he gaped at Evrial with crossed eyes.

“Lose something?” Maldynado asked.

The man stumbled, almost falling at Evrial’s feet. Maldynado tossed him over the side. The other security man had already fallen behind and was swimming toward a riverbank.

“I didn’t want to treat him poorly since he was kind enough to tie up our boat,” Evrial said.

“Ah, quite thoughtful of you.”

“Also, I’m not as unrecognizable as we’d hoped.”

Clangs came from the deck above. Men in black marine uniforms were jogging along the lower deck, their arms laden with weapons. They were scurrying about on the top deck as well, and even on the roof. A squad raced into the dining hall.

“I’m not certain we’re going to be able to get in to help the team,” Evrial said.

Maldynado opened his mouth, but a boom drowned out his response. It had come from the middle of the boat—the dining hall?

“Think that’s Lokdon blowing things up?” Evrial asked. “Or the marines trying to flush them out?”

“I don’t know, but we are going to help them.” Maldynado pushed past Evrial and headed for the railing.

“Wait.” Evrial grabbed his arm. A second boom roared. Someone was going to sink the boat at this rate. “What if they don’t need help? What if they need a way to escape?” She waved at their enforcer craft. “We have it.”

The rest of the marines on the lower deck veered into the dining hall, except for four men who split off and ran toward the rear of the steamboat, toward Maldynado and Evrial. Uh oh. Had they seen Evrial hurl the security guards over the side? Or maybe they recognized Maldynado’s face.

Each marine carried a rifle diagonally in front of his chest, and more weapons dangled from their belts. The men picked up speed as they closed on the enforcer boat.

“We have to go,” Evrial said. The well-trained marines would be harder to subdue than security officers.

Maldynado glanced from Evrial’s hand on his arm to the approaching marines. He looked like he wanted to leap onto the deck and charge those men. And they looked like they’d be ready.

He shook off Evrial’s hand and grabbed the bottom rung of the railing. The four men halted, the two in front dropping to one knee. All four lifted their rifles.

“Get down, you fool.” Evrial tried to yank Maldynado toward the protected navigation cabin, but he weighed more than a lorry full of pig iron.

Fortunately, he saw the danger and ducked out of sight in time. Four rifles fired, balls whistling through the air. One clanged against the metal railing, throwing a spark in the air.

Evrial sliced through the rope tying their craft to the steamboat. “Get us out of here.”

“Sicarius!” came a distant cry. “He’s back.”

“Get him!”

Maldynado hesitated.

Evrial shoved him in the back. “We can’t do them any good if we’re dead.”

Growling, Maldynado stomped down the steps and into the cabin. Evrial shoved the steamboat’s hull with her foot. The marines had reloaded and were racing toward them again. She scrambled into the cabin after Maldynado. She was no coward, but picking a fight with marines was never a good idea. Better to escape and regroup.

Their boat drifted toward the churning paddles.

“Maldynado,” Evrial said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “You didn’t cut off the engine did you?”

“No, I’m trying to figure out how to reverse us.”

The marines reached the railing. One flung a leg up, preparing to vault it. Evrial cursed. They’d have to fight the men after all. Assuming their little boat didn’t get smashed into bits by the paddlewheel.

“All men to the lower deck, mid-deck,” someone cried through a megaphone. “All available men report for the slaying of the most notorious criminal in the empire!”

That didn’t sound promising for Maldynado’s friends, but it made the four marines pause. They argued for a moment, then the one perched on the railing dropped back to the deck, and the team ran to the dining hall.

“Got it,” Maldynado said.

The power of the engine thrummed through the boat. It pulled away from the hull, though not without clipping the wheel. Wooden paddles drummed against the bow, battering the frame.

“Careful,” Evrial said, “you’ll wreck our boat.”

A paddle flew off the wheel and sailed into the river.

“Or theirs,” she added.

Two more booms sounded, one right after the other. “Somehow I doubt we’re that boat’s main problem,” Maldynado said as he steered them clear of the wheel.

He guided their craft into the center of the river, where they had a good view of the steamboat—and the two marine vessels secured to the port side. The men that had been running all over the decks had descended on the dining hall like ants on a dropped lamb skewer at a picnic. Evrial couldn’t help but feel daunted on Amaranthe’s behalf over the number of uniformed men. Even Sicarius couldn’t defend himself against that many.

“Those were Ravido’s men,” Maldynado said. He sounded numb. “I recognized the insignia. That’s his battalion, people he brought down especially for...”

Evrial avoided his eyes. Would Maldynado forgive her if his comrades didn’t make it? When she’d been the one to stop him from climbing aboard? She was surprised Amaranthe hadn’t given the order to jump overboard long ago. Just how deadly were those magical weapons?

Maldynado thumped his fist on his thigh. “I’m about five seconds from ramming this craft into one of those marine boats. Maybe both if I can manage it.”

“What would that do?” Evrial asked. “Besides irk a lot of marines with guns.”

“Cause a distraction. An explosion maybe. Give the others time to escape.”

“And would we survive this explosion?”

“We could jump out before the boat struck.” Maldynado’s hand left his thigh, inching toward the control panel.

“Give it a couple more minutes. I can’t believe Lokdon would get herself into a situation she couldn’t handle.”

“You can’t? Really?”

“Not with Sicarius with her. For all we know, this is all part of some plan of hers. If they jump overboard, they may appreciate an escape vessel rather than the charred, inoperable remains of an enforcer boat.”

Maldynado lowered his hand. “One more minute.”

CHAPTER 12

Amaranthe stared at the cement-encased weapons sitting on the cut out piece of hull. “We’ll go down with it,” she said in a fit of inspiration. Whether it was good inspiration or not, she didn’t know. “And try to slow it so it lands lightly.”

Books’s wild-eyed gaze latched onto hers. “Yes. It’ll be heavier than an anchor, but maybe if we’re all kicking against gravity, we can slow it.”

“Whatever,” Akstyr said.

Basilard stared at the oblong block, and Amaranthe could see the moment when he figured out what exactly concerned Books. He swallowed, then squared his shoulders and nodded at her.

Something squealed above them. The marines were back to tearing into the stage and searching for the team. She hoped that meant Sicarius had escaped.

Amaranthe gripped one corner of the cutout, her shoulder pressed against Akstyr’s. There was no room for Sespian to wriggle through and grab an edge, but he waited behind her like a sprinter ready for a race. She knew he’d dive in after them and help slow the load.

Before giving the order to move the planks and let the hull drop, Amaranthe met everyone’s eyes in turn. “I want to take this moment to tell you that I care about all of you, and my life would have been extremely bland and unfulfilling if I’d never met you.” That sounded like a doomsday salute, so she smiled and added, “Also, I’m terribly concerned about all of your mental states. I can’t imagine any sane person who would engage in such a ludicrous plan.”

That drew a round of snorts. Better than tears.

Amaranthe nodded once. “Drop it.”

At the same time, Books and Akstyr removed the planks supporting the cutout. Even with four people gripping the corners, the weight yanked at Amaranthe’s fingers, almost tearing free of her grip. Fighting the force would have been futile, and that wasn’t the goal anyway. She let it pull her through the hole.

Icy water swallowed her, frigid as it tunneled into her ears. The burden swept her downward rapidly. She twisted her body, turning upright, and kicked, using the powerful circular kick Sicarius had once taught her for holding a brick above her head.

Night had come to the river valley and no light filtered through the water, so she couldn’t see the others. She sensed them, though, through the cutout they all held. The descent slowed, and she knew everyone was kicking. They weren’t able to slow the heavy load as much as she’d hoped though, and they plunged ever deeper. The depth surprised her—she’d expected the bottom to be no more than twenty or thirty feet down. Pressure built in her sinuses, and pain arose behind her eardrums. She worried that she hadn’t inhaled a large enough gulp of air to last her for this plunge.

She was on the verge of trying to signal the others to let go when her foot slammed into the bottom, her boot sinking into deep mud. Her back bent under the weight of the cutout, and soon mud squished beneath her fingers as well. She couldn’t see a thing, but let go of the load, trusting the others to do the same.

When she pushed off the bottom, mud oozed over the lip of her boots and under her trousers, coating her leg with cold slickness. Her enthusiastic kicks were as much to try and rid herself of the gunk as to reach the surface. The pressure in her sinuses lessened. She hoped that meant the surface was close, because her lungs burned for air. Only the fear of coming up under the boat—or the churning paddlewheel—slowed her ascent. She kept kicking but held her arms above her head, fingers spread, ready to catch herself if she struck something.

A horn blasted, its deep undulations coursing through the water. It wasn’t one short blast, but a series, an alarm being sounded. Because of... Sicarius? Or the giant hole cut in the hull of the steamboat? Had enough water poured in to affect the craft?

Amaranthe kicked harder. Where was the cursed surface?

* * * * *

Evrial could feel Maldynado glowering at her, a silent accusation hanging between them. Maybe she’d been wrong to delay him, but what could crashing the boat do? It was a third of the size of the marine vessels.

She made a show of watching the steamboat and cupping her hands over her ears to defend against the blasts from the horn. If anybody lived in the forest surrounding this stretch of the river valley, they had to be wondering about the ancestors-cursed noise. Lokdon and the others must have done something. Maldynado had been keeping pace with the steamboat, and he was forced to slow down. People were scrambling all over the lower deck, but Evrial couldn’t tell what they were doing. It looked like chaos.

“I’m taking us in closer,” Maldynado said, hand fastening onto a control lever.

“Wait.” Evrial lunged to her feet. She thought she’d seen something pop up in the water between them and the boat.

She squinted at the river’s surface. Though she and Maldynado were maneuvering in the dark, the steamboat’s running lights created shimmering yellow reflections on the black water. The wake from the churning paddlewheel broke up the surface, though, and she couldn’t be sure... Yes, there it was—there he was. Someone’s head. Another one popped up nearby.

Evrial extended her arm grandly toward the spot, as if she’d expected the team to arise thusly all along. “I believe those are the people we’ve been waiting for.”

“Well, I’ll be the emperor’s personal chamber pot polisher, that’s Basilard,” Maldynado said.

“I’m fairly certain the Imperial Barracks has plumbing these days.”

As Maldynado guided the boat closer, three more heads popped up, one with a mop of long hair dripping into her eyes and spreading around her shoulders. Amaranthe must have lost her hair tie. Evrial found herself particularly relieved to see her, maybe because she mattered most to Maldynado. Or maybe she herself was coming to care for the other woman. She didn’t see a blond head though. Had Sicarius not been with them?

When the team spotted the enforcer boat gliding toward them, they started swimming toward the closest bank.

“Oops,” Maldynado said. “They won’t know it’s us.”

Evrial raced onto the deck. “Wait!” she called as loudly as she dared. With the alarm still blasting from the steamboat, she didn’t think anyone on board would hear her, but at least some of those marines would be on watch, scanning the dark river and shoreline around them.

One of the men had a clumsy head-above-water crawl stroke, and he paused, apparently hearing her.

“It’s Sergeant Yara,” she called, “and Maldynado. We have a boat.”

The figure pushed a mop of hair out of his eyes. It must be Akstyr. He hurried and caught the others, though Amaranthe, a surprisingly good swimmer, made it to the shoreline before turning and realizing her men weren’t with her. Evrial lifted an arm and waved, figuring enforcers wouldn’t normally offer outlaws a friendly greeting.

Akstyr cupped his hand and shouted something to her. Amaranthe gave him a wave of acknowledgment, but she didn’t rush back into the water. She gazed upriver, toward the steamboat.

“Sicarius,” Evrial muttered. She had to be wondering about him.

Evrial didn’t feel a similar sense of concern—his loss wouldn’t disturb her—though she empathized with Amaranthe and hoped he turned up for her sake.

“Tell them to hurry,” Maldynado called up from the cabin. “There’s a marine with a spyglass looking this way.”

Evrial waved again, relaying the message. She didn’t know if Amaranthe heard, but she tore her gaze away from the steamboat and swam back out. Her men were already climbing aboard.

“We haven’t figured out how we’re going to get past them, have we?” Evrial asked Maldynado.

“Why do we have to pass them? Let’s go back to that port and find a lorry to borrow. That might be the best way to get back to town if the army’s searching all the main routes.”

“Good point.” Evrial decided not to say anything about stealing more vehicles; that fight could wait. She dropped an arm when Amaranthe approached, helping her over the edge.

“Thanks.” Before Amaranthe found her feet, she added, “Have you seen Sicarius?”

“If they had,” came a voice from the back of the boat, “it’d be a failing on his part.”

Sicarius stood there, dripping water, his short blond hair flattened to his head. Akstyr groaned and elbowed Basilard, muttering something about, “thought we might have gotten rid of him.”

Amaranthe nearly stumbled over her own men in her haste to reach him. She threw her arms around him with enough force that she could have knocked him overboard if he hadn’t been prepared. After a brief hesitation, Sicarius returned the hug.

Akstyr gaped. Books and Basilard shared shrugs—knowing shrugs, Evrial thought. Sespian sighed and turned his back on them. Evrial remembered his interest in Amaranthe and patted him on the shoulder as she descended the steps, joining Maldynado in the cabin again. He’d turned the craft around, and the dark river spread out before them.

“We have everybody?” Maldynado leaned back in his seat, twisting his neck to peer outside.

“Yes,” Evrial said. “I don’t know where Sicarius came from, but he’s there.”

“Oh, good.” Maldynado nudged a lever, and their craft accelerated.

“Because you’d miss him if he disappeared?” Evrial asked, surprised that Maldynado’s “good” had sounded sincere.

“He’s handy to have around.”

“Because of his skills.” The man’s bloody history notwithstanding, Evrial could see why the team would consider him a boon.

“Because he draws fire.” Maldynado winked. “Nobody bothers going after me and my two-fifty bounty when his million-ranmya head is in sight.” Maldynado raised his voice and called out the back, “So, was this worth all the excitement? Did we save the empire again?”

“We saved it,” Books said wearily. “For now. I need a nap. Or a vacation.”

Evrial gazed back toward the steamboat and those marine vessels. They were growing distant as Maldynado took their craft farther downriver, but she thought the River Dancer sat lower in the water. The others hadn’t done something that would sink it, had they? Maybe that was how they’d assured the weapons were nullified. If so, this adventure would anger someone upriver, someone who’d know for certain that Lokdon and the others were coming. She remembered Maldynado’s comment that those marines were Ravido’s men and feared there wouldn’t be many naps or vacations in the near future.

“You going to stick around?” Maldynado asked her. “Or are you still waiting to talk to Books?”

“At this point, I think the authorities are going to indelibly mark me as a part of your team. It wouldn’t be safe for me to leave even if I wanted to.”

“And do you want to leave?” Maldynado asked carefully.

Evrial mulled over the question, thinking of her myriad doubts during the last couple of days. “Would you miss me if I did?” she asked as an interim response.

“Yup.”

That single syllable, tossed out without need for consideration, affected her more than she would have expected. For the last couple of weeks, she’d been certain Maldynado would lose interest in her once they, as he called it, blanket wrestled. Yet here he was, saying he still wanted her around.

“I hope you’ll stay,” came Amaranthe’s voice from the companionway. She climbed down the steps and sat on the bottom one. “Between the Behemoth and the numbers Forge and Ravido command, we’re terribly outmatched. And who knows if they have more weapons like the ones we just dropped onto the river bottom?” Amaranthe shuddered, and it probably wasn’t her wet clothing giving her chills.

“What were the weapons exactly?” Evrial asked.

Amaranthe explained them, and Evrial’s jaw dropped lower and lower as she listened. Amaranthe and her men had to be crazy—and suicidal—to take on these people. But what was the alternative? To walk away and hand them control of the empire? And, if those Forge people could enact the monetary policies they’d discuss at their meeting, perhaps eventually control of the world?

“I’ll stay,” Evrial said.

“Good,” Amaranthe said.

Maldynado sniffed. “I’m going to pretend it’s my charms that are keeping her here and not some moral obligation to defend the world from harm.”

“Whatever sates the demands of your ego, Maldynado,” Amaranthe said fondly.

EPILOGUE

With a dramatic sigh, Maldynado shoved the empty enforcer boat away from the dark beach. Amaranthe tried to manage a smile for his theatrics, but it was too late and the day had been too long. Sicarius stood by her side, and she was tempted to lean against him, but the others stood nearby, too, and she’d already hugged him within everybody’s view. Even though her feelings weren’t a secret anymore, she felt compelled to maintain the professional colleagues-only appearance, at least until they finished with business in the capital.

“I’m freezing.” Akstyr stomped about, hands tucked beneath his armpits. “And wetter than an alley cat caught under the piss pot window.”

“Colorful imagery,” Books murmured.

“Why couldn’t we ride back to that town before getting rid of the boat?” Akstyr asked.

“Because those marines will give chase as soon as they’ve made sure the people on the River Dancer aren’t in danger of drowning.” Amaranthe wouldn’t be surprised if one of their vessels passed by sooner than that. The marines and enforcers might not have figured out what exactly had happened yet—and that her team had survived—but they’d know Sicarius had escaped. “With luck, it’ll be miles before that boat snags somewhere and ends up on the bank. The marines won’t know where we went ashore.”

“To stay warm, I suggest stripping out of our wet clothes and engaging in vigorous physical activity for a while.” Maldynado slid an arm around Yara’s waist.

Amaranthe waited for Yara to shove the arm away and remind him of her no-touching rule. She didn’t. Interesting.

“Let’s get off this beach and put a couple of miles between us and our mess,” Amaranthe said. “Then we can risk a fire.”

“Jogging will keep us sufficiently warmed,” Sicarius said.

“Ever the pragmatist.” Amaranthe decided it was dark enough that nobody would notice her giving him a playful swat on the back. “Lead the way, please.”

Sicarius brushed past her, his hand finding a more personal area to swat than hers had. She grinned—and blushed.

The rest of the team followed in Sicarius’s wake with Amaranthe and Sespian bringing up the rear. She glanced at him a few times, but he didn’t say anything as they traipsed after the others, not for the first ten minutes anyway.

“I didn’t expect that of him,” Sespian finally said.

Thinking of Sicarius’s swat, Amaranthe blurted a mortified, “Huh?”

“I didn’t think he’d risk himself like that,” Sespian said. “Did he know he could win, do you think? Or was he ready to sacrifice himself for us?”

Amaranthe exhaled in relief. If nothing else good came out of this diversion, at least it might have altered Sespian’s image of his father, something that all the talking in the world wouldn’t have done. As she’d seen for herself. “I don’t know what his estimate of the odds was, but I do believe he’d sacrifice himself for you.”

“That’s... strange.”

“Dealings with him often are,” Amaranthe said, “but it’s worth cultivating a relationship with him.”

“In case you ever need an angry band of warriors distracted so you can escape?”

“Yes, or a pastry shoved up your nose,” Amaranthe murmured to herself with another smile.

THE END