Lindsay Buroker - Forged in Blood I

Fortunately for him, she was too professional to mock a potential ally.

“Good evening, Lord Mancrest.” Amaranthe waved at the cage. “You haven’t been pestering me of late, so I’ll assume there’s some other woman you’ve irked so greatly that she felt compelled to lock you up.” Maybe that wasn’t that professional after all.

“I greatly irked my father ,” Deret said.

“Ah.” Amaranthe wanted the details, but they could wait until later, when they were somewhere without armed soldiers roaming about on the floor above. “Are you agreeably serving out your paternally-induced prison sentence?” she asked, thinking Mancrest might be grateful enough to share all of the goings on in the city if she freed him from his cell. “Or would you like to be let out?”

“Trust me, nothing about this is agreeable.”

“I don’t suppose there are keys nearby?” Amaranthe glanced around, though her fingers were already dipping into her knapsack for the lock-picking kit.

“My father has them.”

“Too bad. I believe your father just left with Ms. Worgavic.” She said it casually, but watched his face through her lashes to see if he knew anything about the affair.

Mancrest straightened, clunking his head on the cage’s overhead bars. “You know that woman?” He squinted at her, his listless apathy fading.

“Yes.” Amaranthe reserved further explanation for later. If she had information he desired, maybe she could offer a trade. She couldn’t count on Mancrest simply telling her all she wanted to know. They hadn’t parted enemies last summer, but the last time she’d spoken to him had involved an awkward apology for abandoning him in the middle of their date in the Imperial Gardens. She’d left out the fact that she’d run off to smooch with Sicarius in the hedge maze, but he was bright enough to piece together the puzzle. “Do you know her?” she asked.

“Her name, but little else.”

“She’s one of Ravido’s allies, among other things.” Amaranthe slipped her picking tools into the padlock.

“Hm,” Mancrest said, not giving away much.

“Are you down here because you’re not a supporter of Ravido’s?” Amaranthe asked, fishing for information, not unlike she was fishing for the tumblers. The padlock, she noticed, was identical to the one that had secured the storm grate. Had the senior Mancrest been responsible for increasing security around the newspaper office? To keep people from learning about the extra publications being printed?

“I’m down here because I refused to be strong-armed into printing lies in the Gazette .” Mancrest gripped the bars. “Amaranthe, the emperor… is he truly dead?”

“Nah,” came Maldynado’s voice from behind her. “He’s probably out carousing with Akstyr by now, learning about magic, about growing up in the streets, and about how not to attract women.”

“Aren’t you guarding our prisoners?” Amaranthe asked without glancing at him. She kept her focus on the lock.

“I had to come see if you were chatting with who I thought you were chatting with, so I tied them to each other.” Maldynado leaned against the cage bars. “So, Deret, how’d you manage to get yourself locked up in your own building?”

“It’s my father’s building,” Mancrest grumbled. “How is it you’re not locked up somewhere yet? You’re the outlaw here, after all.”

“Yes, but a dashing outlaw with perfectly proportioned features. One doesn’t incarcerate perfect proportions.”

“One does if one’s earned a decent bounty. I suppose yours doesn’t qualify. Your scruffy Akstyr has an impressive one these days though. Were you aware that the gangs want him?” Mancrest had shifted his attention to Amaranthe. Was he making an offering she might find useful in hopes of opening up an exchange of information? If so, they wanted the same things. Good.

“We’re aware of it,” she said. “He should be safe for the moment. And, yes, Sespian is alive and safe too. He’s with-” She caught herself, realizing Mancrest’s interest in helping might shrivel up at the mention of Sicarius.

“Your assassin,” he guessed, his tone flat.

“Yes.” She waited, wondering if he’d heard about the father-son relationship yet. Perhaps not, since he’d referred to Sespian as the emperor. Had Forge not spilled that information yet? If not, why not? If Ms. Worgavic had made her way back to the capital, others in the organization would have too.

Mancrest didn’t say anything else. Amaranthe snapped the lock open and let the gate swing wide.

Thumps sounded near the door. At first, she thought they’d been made by the men Maldynado was supposed to be watching, but Mancrest blurted, “The stairs. Someone’s coming.”

“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, “lock the door, please.”

He was already moving. “No lock,” he called back, but a heavy scraping sound nearly drowned out the words as he moved a crate in front of the door.

“They’ll know something is going on in here as soon as they can’t get in.” Mancrest hopped out of the cage, winced when his weight came down on his bad leg, and growled as he reached for his swordstick.

Amaranthe didn’t point out that they already knew something was going on, due to the two missing men.

More thumps sounded, someone pounding at the door.

“What’s the plan?” Maldynado asked.

Amaranthe thought of the walled up doorway in the storm water tunnel. “Back door?”

“We’re below street level,” Mancrest said. “That door and a trapdoor in the ceiling are the only exits we have.” He waved toward the sound of Maldynado dragging another heavy crate.

“The only exits you have now .” Amaranthe winked. She didn’t feel as confident as that wink suggested, but she led Mancrest through the shadows of old crates and rusty equipment. Warrior-caste men seemed to appreciate bravado anyway. As she walked, she kept an eye out for anything that might be useful for knocking down brick obstacles.

When they neared the back wall-the one that ought to line up with the storm tunnel-she found boxes stacked to within a foot or two of the ceiling. She grimaced as she lifted her lantern to survey the shadows. They might not have time for her plan.

“What are we looking for?” Mancrest asked.

Amaranthe was about to say nothing, but her light played across the wall above a box of reference books, and it revealed a different shade of brick, more of a dull red instead of the gray that comprised the rest of the basement. A relatively recent addition.

“Help me clear away these boxes.” Amaranthe set down her lantern and clambered atop one of the piles.

“Do men always obey your orders?”

“Only when they’re curious to see what the result of following those orders will be.” Amaranthe heaved a box to the floor. Dust flew into the air, and Mancrest jumped back, coughing. Her fastidious streak cringed at the idea of making a mess, but the thumps on the door convinced her she didn’t have time for an orderly rearranging. “There’s nothing important in these boxes, is there?” She shoved another one to the floor. “Nothing you’ll be upset about losing?”

“If the boxes are buried down here, I guess not.” Shaking his head, Mancrest started moving aside the pile of boxes next to hers.

“And this wall? Would you be upset about losing it?”

Mancrest paused. “What?” He stared at the bricks-with some of the boxes out of the way, the outline of the walled-in doorway was coming into view. “Oh.” For a moment, he looked like he might object, but then he clenched his jaw and said, “No, curse him. I don’t care what happens to this building. Not after he locked me up down here.”