Lindsay Buroker: Beneath the Surface

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.

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.”