Lindsay Buroker: Ice Cracker II

The captain closed his eyes for a long moment, then told his men, “Lower your weapons.”

“Sir?” a nervous corporal squeaked, his wide eyes toward Sicarius.

“You heard me,” the captain said. “Lower your weapons and step aside from the hatch.”

Amaranthe swallowed, emotion choking her throat. With this many witnesses, there was no way the captain’s superiors would fail to learn he had let Sicarius go.

She waved for him to sheath his weapons, and slowly, very slowly, they started for the hatch. For Sicarius to walk past armed soldiers, leaving them at his back, must have gone against every instinct ingrained in him, but he did. He and Amaranthe made it to the captain without incident.

“Thank you,” she murmured as they passed.

“Thank you .” He looked at her, at Sicarius, and back at her. “Just don’t make me regret giving up…” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” she said.

Snow sifted from the heavens. A pile rested atop the trolley stop sign. Amaranthe’s watch promised they were in time for the last run of the night. The flame in a nearby streetlamp sputtered and hissed.

She watched Sicarius survey their surroundings. Even with the streets empty and the city silent, he remained vigilant. He had not spoken since the fight in the boiler room, and she wondered what he thought of the night. Even his “heroics” had ruined a man’s career. Perhaps he never would escape his past. Still, they had helped the city, and she had to believe word would get back to the emperor one way or another.

To lighten his mood, or perhaps hers, she waited until his back was to her, then swept the snow off the sign and patted it into a tidy ball. She chucked it, grinning at the thought of a satisfying splat.

Just before it hit, Sicarius blurred into motion. She was barely conscious of him evading the projectile before a snowball splattered against her chest.

“I asked for that, didn’t I?” she groaned, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Cocky to think I could surprise you.”

Sicarius strolled over and leaned against the post next to her. “You do know that whether you outrun, outfight, or out-snowball-throw your men is irrelevant, correct?”

Amaranthe tilted her head toward him, eyebrows raised.

“That you concoct, and lead the way into, crazy schemes that not only succeed but make us look like better men than we are…that is why we follow you.”

She dropped her chin and brushed the snow off her sweater in order to hide the flush creeping into her cheeks. Hugging him for the compliment probably would not be professional, so she merely said, “Crazy, huh?”

“Utterly.”

The trolley chugged into view, a plow at the head churning snow off the track.

“As far as the obstacle course is concerned,” Sicarius added as it slowed for their stop, “strength exercises and footwork drills would help more than endurance training.”

“Oh? Perhaps tomorrow afternoon we could-”

“Start at dawn.”

She groaned again. “I asked for that, didn’t I?”