Lindsay Buroker - Blood and Betrayal

Seeing them face-to-face gave Maldynado a start. For one thing, he hadn’t realized they were the same height. Sicarius always seemed taller than his six feet while Sespian, lacking the ever-present glare and body full of lean ropy muscle, seemed smaller. What really struck him though was the similarity of the determined, mulish expressions they each sported. Huh.

Sicarius flipped the knife and extended it, hilt first, to Sespian.

“What do I do with that?” Sespian looked at it, as if he thought he was supposed to examine it for some secret about the otherworldly technology.

“Take it,” Sicarius said.

Sespian grasped the hilt, though he simply held it out, brow furrowed in askance.

“I have often found its properties useful,” Sicarius said. “You may find the same.”

Standing a few feet away, Maldynado could only gape. Sicarius was giving up his knife? His favorite knife? He didn’t even let Amaranthe use that.

If Sespian knew the magnitude of the gift he’d been given, he didn’t show it. In fact, he continued to hold it out, as if he were thinking of rejecting the gift.

Sicarius spoke again without giving him a chance. “Maldynado and the others will accompany you to pick up the money. I’ve delayed long enough.” He glanced toward the southern sky again, then started past Maldynado, apparently intending to head off in that direction immediately. He didn’t even have any supplies beyond the knives he wore and whatever was in his rucksack.

Sicarius halted beside Maldynado long enough to say, for his ears alone, “Make yourself indispensable, so he chooses to keep the team around. If I return with Lokdon and find you’ve lost the emperor… ” Sicarius’s eyes had never been fuller of threat when he said, “ Don’t lose him.”

It hadn’t taken more than five seconds inside the enemy aircraft to convince Amaranthe Lokdon that falling out of her team’s perfectly good dirigible and being captured had been a very bad idea. The cold, unadorned black walls lacked charm, but, more than that, the cavernous corridors branched and branched again, forming an asymmetric layout that made her feel like a field mouse being dragged into the bowels of a fox’s den. Even if she escaped, she might never find her way out. The proportions were odd, too, with high ceilings above narrow, confining corridors. In a spot where they climbed stairs, she found herself tripping over the steeply spaced treads. She remembered Sicarius’s claim that this technology had come from a non-human race. For the first time, she truly believed it.

The white-haired man walking behind Amaranthe, prodding her whenever her step slowed, added to her unease. At first, she had hoped her first guess wrong and that this wasn’t Pike, the old emperor’s Master Interrogator, but one of his men had addressed him by name. And rank. Apparently, he’d kept the “Major,” even though he’d been booted from the army for raping recruits. No doubt Emperor Raumesys and Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest had found those sadistic tendencies useful and encouraged the ex-officer to further develop them.

Had Major Pike been the only one accompanying Amaranthe, she might have tried to surprise him and escape, but a dozen other men marched ahead of and behind, hemming her in. Having her wrists tied behind her back didn’t encourage athletic feats either.

“Should I feel flattered that so many people came out to capture me?” Amaranthe asked over her shoulder. Since talking had always been her best way of gathering information, stirring up a conversation might be to her advantage. If nothing else, she wanted to know what had happened to Sicarius and the others. If this aircraft had succeeded in shooting down the dirigible, they could be wounded. Or worse.

Something hard pounded her between her shoulder blades. The pain, when compared to some of the injuries she’d received in the last twenty-four hours, was minimal, but the blow did cause her to stumble and bump into the men walking in front of her.

“Sorry,” Amaranthe said when one glared back at her. “Uneven flooring.”

The man’s over-the-shoulder glare continued for a long moment, and, as Amaranthe righted herself and resumed walking, she scrutinized him, trying to decide where he might have been recruited from. He had short hair, a clean-shaven face, and an athletic build, as did the other men escorting her. Soldier, her mind proclaimed, though she had no proof. They wore civilian clothing-factory-sewn wool trousers, sturdy cotton vests and dusters, and a variety of workman’s boots. None of the garments suggested uniformity, though her guards did have a tendency to walk in step with each other.

“Are you General Ravido’s men?” Amaranthe asked. She didn’t expect anybody to answer, especially not with the boss five feet away, but maybe she could surprise an eye flicker out of them, something that might confirm her guess.

Before that happened, Pike grabbed her elbow. Amaranthe expected another blow to land between her shoulder blades, and braced herself, but he yanked her back instead, then propelled her face-first into the wall. If she’d had her hands free, she might have caught herself, but without that recourse she smashed into the unyielding black alloy. Pain burst through her cheekbone. She bit her tongue, and blood flooded her mouth.

Amaranthe tried to pull away, but Pike leaned into her back.

The grip remained on her elbow, but knuckles or something else hard dug into a tender point near her kidney. She sucked in a pained gasp of air. Her first instinct was to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go. She tried to lift her leg for a backward kick, but his own legs trapped hers, forcing her knees against the wall.

Hot, fast breaths whispered across her swelling cheek. Had the effort taxed Pike? No, despite his age, rock hard muscles pressed against Amaranthe’s back. He was fit. He was just… excited. She swallowed and tried not to dwell on that idea, but his face came in close, beard stubble scraping at her skin. Fresh fear arose in her heart. All along, she’d been concerned for herself, but she hadn’t figured pain would be applied so soon. Surely, they should reach a nicely appointed torture chamber first?

“Too much talking?” Amaranthe asked, trying to sound brave, or at least unimpressed by the attack.

“Talking is allowed,” Pike said, his voice raspy from some old throat injury. Or maybe the promise of tormenting someone had excited him into hoarseness. “But only to answer questions. One question specifically.”

Again, Amaranthe tried to push away from the wall, but she couldn’t find the leverage. A detached part of her mind, the part avoiding thinking about Pike’s unpleasant closeness, analyzed the cool smoothness of that wall. It wasn’t porous like stone or brick, but it didn’t feel like metal either. It felt like the same material as Sicarius’s dagger.

Thinking of him reminded her that she should only have to endure Pike’s torment temporarily. Assuming her team had survived that crash-and surely they were too tough to die that way-they’d come looking for her. They’d find a way into this black behemoth, stick Pike full of daggers, and help her escape. She just had to survive until then. Then again, maybe her certainty was unfounded. The emperor needed help, and Sicarius… He’d admitted to caring for her, but Sespian was his son. Protecting him would have to be his priority. And, with Amaranthe gone, he’d likely take charge of the group. It was possible nobody would come for her. She tried to firm her resolve before the new thoughts could bring despair. If the team didn’t come, she’d simply have to escape on her own.

Pike mashed her harder against the wall, apparently expecting a response.