Lindsay Buroker - Blood and Betrayal

Amaranthe forced her aching jaw to move so she could ask, “What question might that be?”

“What,” Pike murmured, as if they were embracing lovers engaged in a tete-a-tete, “is the emperor to Sicarius?”

Though the question surprised her, Amaranthe kept herself from reacting outwardly. No amount of torture would make her give up Sicarius’s secret, but it would be better for her if Pike didn’t figure out there was a secret to be had. She found it encouraging that Pike wanted information on Sicarius and the emperor; that had to mean they’d survived the crash and eluded capture. She hoped the others had too.

“What are you talking about?” Amaranthe asked.

“After a year of simply reacting to Forge’s plans, last week, he slew as many of the members as he could reach. Days later, he risked his life, leading your team to kidnap the emperor. Why?”

Sicarius led the team? Amaranthe kept the thought to herself. Barely. The taste of blood in her mouth reminded her that arguing with the man had repercussions. If he thought she was some underling and Sicarius was in charge, things might go easier on her.

Fingers gripped the back of her head, nails digging into her scalp. Amaranthe had barely registered that pain when Pike rammed her face against the wall again. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. Blood flowed from her nose.

“You will find,” Pike said, “that prompt and truthful answers result in less discomfort.” He lowered his voice to a whisper to add, “Though I do not mind employing copious amounts of… discomfort to coerce information from you.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Amaranthe muttered.

“Sicarius must have found out that the emperor wasn’t meant to make it back to the capital. For some reason, this prompted him to take aggressive action. What I want to know is why.”

Amaranthe felt her eyes widen, and she was glad the wall was the only thing looking at her face. All along, she’d suspected Forge had been planning to get rid of Sespian, a fact that had been confirmed when Books explained that the deadly neck implants were never intended to come out. What she hadn’t known was that they planned to act so soon. They must not need Sespian on the throne any more. They had a replacement ready. Ravido. Maybe that weapons shipment had been delivered so the general and his loyal soldiers could march into the city, take the Imperial Barracks, and declare the Marblecrests the new rulers of Turgonia. It wouldn’t be that easy-there were others who could legitimately bid for the throne, but it’d be hard to mount a campaign if Ravido and his men were already ensconced. And if Forge was a part of things, throwing its support behind him…

Emperor’s warts, what if all of her musings had already happened? What if, while she had been out of the city, Ravido had already been making his move? What if he already had the Barracks?

“You hesitate,” Pike murmured, “even though I hold you helpless. Are you foolish or loyal?”

“Both, probably,” Amaranthe said. “Look, the emperor sent us a note offering a hundred thousand ranmyas if we got him away from you. As far as I know, that’s all Sicarius was interested in.”

“Sicarius has never been motivated by money.”

“That might have been true when you knew him, but it’s been a while, hasn’t it? People change, even assassins. He doesn’t have anyone paying for his room and board any more. Maybe he’s tired of all the people hunting him and wants to escape our long, snow-smothered winters. Maybe he’s fixing to retire in some tropical paradise devoid of bounty hunters.”

There, that might give Pike something new to muse upon.

Hoping she had him distracted, Amaranthe tried to step away from the wall, to alleviate the pain of having her face ground into it. Pike’s hand, still tangled in her hair, dropped. The movement ripped strands of hair free, but that was the least of her concerns. His fingers wrapped around her neck. Panic surged through her limbs, urging her to fight. But, with soldiers everywhere, she couldn’t possibly escape. Besides, she told herself, trying to will calm into her body, Pike wouldn’t kill her there. He’d stopped to pick her up for a reason. Logical though her thoughts may be, they failed to keep her heartbeat steady and unconcerned.

The strong, calloused fingers tightened around her neck. With his lips to her ear, Pike whispered, “I sense fear beneath your evasiveness. You know why Sicarius is protecting the emperor, and you will tell me.”

As the team hiked away from the lake, the trail turned into a road and the wetlands faded, replaced by farms and ranches. Sheep nipping at grass and weeds near the fences didn’t bother to lift their heads to acknowledge the passing of the emperor over all of Turgonia.

Maldynado hoped any people they encountered would be just as busy with their inner thoughts. Sespian, he imagined, wanted to stay incognito. He didn’t have a costume beyond torn clothes, an unshaven face, and dirty nails, but he was being careful to walk between Basilard and Books, with Akstyr ahead of him and Yara lagging behind. Somehow Maldynado had ended up leading the yawning and beleaguered team toward the Goldar River and Sunders City. It was a little thing, but it made him uneasy. He did not want the responsibility of leading. As he’d learned long ago in life, people who let themselves be put in charge got blamed when things went wrong. Unfortunately, he’d let Sicarius do just that, and now he had to keep track of Sespian.

Maldynado eyed the rustic houses and outbuildings on either side of the road. If he remembered the area correctly-he hadn’t been through town since those childhood trips to Lake Seventy-three-the main bridge across the river and into the city core lay only a few miles away. The group would reach Sespian’s money stash by nightfall, and then what? He’d have no more reason to stay with the team. Not unless someone convinced him they were indispensable.

Every time they passed people walking in the opposite direction, Maldynado hoped they’d turn into a covey of highwaymen who would leap out and give him a chance to protect the emperor. Unfortunately, the pedestrians walking, cycling, and riding past on mule-drawn carts only regarded the team with wariness. Even if any of them had highwayman aspirations, they’d probably prove smart enough to leave this group alone. Though tired, grimy, and missing half of their gear, the men-Yara included-had the tempered-in-blood look of war veterans. These days, even Books managed to look moderately dangerous when he rested his hand on the hilt of a weapon.

Sespian lacked the mercenary visage, but his face did earn a few second glances from passersby. That was a cause for concern.

“Sire,” Maldynado said, struck by inspiration, “would you like me to go into the city first and acquire a costume for you? Even though you’re a touch scraggily at the moment, your face is on the ranmya bills. People might recognize you and report you to local Forge minions.” Maldynado had no idea if Sunders City had local Forge minions, but it sounded good.

“Hm.” Sespian stepped around a pothole in the muddy road and kicked aside a few soggy brown leaves. They might have left the wetlands, but no one would call this part of the satrapy dry. Plenty of moss carpeted the stumps in the farmers’ fields. “You did say you’re the group shopper, didn’t you?”

“When it comes to clothing, yes. Fashion consciousness is one of my gifts, and I always stay abreast of the latest trends. I can make sure people are so busy admiring your outfit that they won’t notice your face.” Maldynado paused, not certain that had been a good selling point.

“Sire,” Books said, “I strongly, no, vehemently suggest you don’t let Maldynado purchase clothing for you.”