Deadly Games (4 page)

Sicarius had disappeared as soon as they
neared the boneyard, and Amaranthe weaved through the aisles toward
their hideout alone. Unfamiliar coughs and voices echoed from
different parts of the field, a reminder that more groups than hers
called this place a home, however temporarily. Cigar stubs, some
filled with tobacco and some with more potent leaves, littered the
bricks. Bloodstains were nearly as frequent. The boneyard had the
benefit of not being visited often by enforcers, but that also made
it a place Amaranthe would not have chosen to visit alone at
night.

She turned down a dead end and stumbled.
Maldynado lounged in a chair he had scavenged from one of the
passenger cars. His face was tilted toward the sun, his eyes were
closed, his hands were clasped behind his head, and he
was…naked.

“Maldynado,” Amaranthe groaned.

“Oh, hullo, boss.” He neither rose nor
adjusted his position to hide anything; he simply sprawled there,
like a cat in a sunbeam.

“What are you doing?”

“Vacationing.”

Amaranthe pulled a towel out of her satchel
and draped it across his waist as she walked past. “I see you’ve
set yourself an ambitious itinerary.”

“You said to relax. I’m relaxing.” He
scratched an armpit. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Profound and philosophical thoughts?”

“Naturally,” Maldynado said. “For instance, I
figure we should have a team uniform.”

“A uniform?”

“Clothes that make us look like a stylish and
cohesive unit of elite combat professionals.”

“Something like what Sicarius wears?”
Amaranthe asked.

“He’s far too monochromatic and plain to be
considered stylish.”

“I see. Well, let me know what you come up
with.” She peered into the cars she and her team had claimed, a set
of three that were less rusted than most. They framed a dead end
and created a private camp spot. “Anyone else about?”

“Akstyr’s off somewhere being secretive and
magicky, and Books left at dawn, excited about spending a day at
the library—that is pathetic, by the way.”

“Basilard’s not around?”

“Haven’t seen him since last night.”

“I hope he shows up today. I want to take
everybody in and investigate Barlovoc Stadium. Something’s going
on, maybe something important.”

“Important enough to interrupt our
vacation?”

“Absolutely,” Amaranthe said. “This has the
potential to attract attention high up. This could be the one.”

“Uh huh, when you’re done rubbing your hands
together and plotting gleefully, think about what you’re going to
wear for your date tonight.”

“My what?”

Sicarius chose that moment to finish scouting
and walk into camp.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Maldynado
said. “Lord Mancrest. I’ve been trying to get you to meet him for
weeks, but you keep saying, ‘wait until we have some time off.’
Well, you gave us time off.”

“All right, but not tonight. This is more
important than—”

“I already set it up,” Maldynado said.

Sicarius’s expression was cool as he drew
near, but she did not know if it was due to the conversation topic
or Maldynado’s lack of attire.

“I told him you were free and that you’d meet
him tonight,” Maldynado said. “He said he’ll take you out to a nice
dinner. His family has money, so you should mine that vein for all
it’s worth. When was the last time you had something fancy? Get the
priciest cut of meat.”

“Maldynado...”

“He’s a gentlemen. Probably won’t even expect
you to warm his sheets afterward. Unless you want to, of course. I
don’t think you’ve blanket wrestled with anybody for as long as
I’ve known you, so you must have some urges that are aching to be
sated.”

“Maldynado!” Amaranthe should not have
blushed, but she was all too conscious of Sicarius standing a few
paces away.

“Wear something nice,” Maldynado said. “He’s
expecting you at
The Gazette
building at six.”

“I’m not... Did you say
The Gazette
?”
Amaranthe wanted to object, since she’d already been planning a
night of snooping, but the chance to go into the city’s largest
newspaper office and chat up the boss
was
appealing. At the
least, she could find out if the journalists had heard about
anything fishy going on at Barlovoc Stadium. Developing a
relationship with Mancrest could prove useful long-term as well. If
she could convince him her team was working for the good of the
empire, perhaps he would publish something nice—like the truth.
“All right. I can send you fellows ahead and come to the grounds
afterward. No self-respecting snoop sneaks in before midnight
anyway.”

“Excellent.”

Sicarius said nothing, but his gaze was less
friendly than his daggers. When she met his eyes, he jerked his
chin toward the old rail car that served as the group’s parlor. She
clambered inside after him.

The wide opening lacked the sliding door it
would have had during its service days, and Sicarius walked to the
far end, presumably wanting a private conversation. Crates,
battered lanterns, and a couple of old strategy games with missing
tiles comprised the furnishings. It would be silly to keep anything
valuable inside since vagrants roamed the boneyard. Amaranthe
missed the days of having a safe home to return to at night, one
where she could keep treasured belongings...like books and
dinnerware. When she had been an enforcer, she had never thought
she would think of her simple, one-room flat as a luxury.

Sicarius leaned against the far wall, arms
crossed over his chest. Sun slanting through holes highlighted
rusty rivets on the floor, her purloined broom and dustpan, and the
utter lack of humor on his face.

“Problem?” Amaranthe wondered if he might be
the teeniest bit jealous at the idea of Maldynado setting her up on
a “date.” She, of course, had only professional interest in this
man and would tell Sicarius that if he asked. She wished he
would
ask, since that would imply his admission about caring
meant caring in a romantic way. Well, romantic might not be the
exact word to use when describing Sicarius’s feelings, but
something of that nature anyway.

“Deret Mancrest wrote the story condemning us
as Sespian’s kidnappers,” Sicarius said. “Prior to that, he wrote
other articles about me and encouraged the emperor to siphon more
forces into capturing me so the army could put me in front of a
firing squad.”

“Oh.” Amaranthe sank down onto a crate. Not
jealousy after all. Sicarius just hated the man for condemning him
in writing. “So he’s the one who called you abhorrent and
degenerate and me an accomplice.”

“You remember the adjectives used to describe
me and not the author?”

“Well, I’m not warrior caste. All those
‘Crest’ names blend together in my mind.”

“It would be unwise to visit him,” Sicarius
said.

“If he’s a friend of Maldynado’s he—”

“He may have requested the meeting to arrange
a trap.”

“For you?” Amaranthe asked. “Wouldn’t he have
asked you out to dinner if that were the case?”

The sun did nothing to warm Sicarius’s dark
eyes. “You have a bounty on your head as well.”

“Yes, I know. But...” She stood and grabbed
the broom. “He may actually be exactly what we need. If he has a
years-long record of deriding you—in writing—and he could
be...converted, he could become an asset to us.” She swept as she
spoke, angling dust into a pile. “If we can convince him you
weren’t behind Sespian’s kidnapping, and you’ve worked for the good
of the empire on several occasions since then, his favorable
opinion of you would carry a lot of weight. With a single story, he
could make the entire city question all they’ve heard about you.”
She held the dustpan aloft and smiled. Yes, that sounded like a
good plan.

Sicarius stared, as unexpressive and unmoving
as marble.

“You know...” Amaranthe dumped her dust pile
outside and returned to face him. “It’s hard for me to maintain my
vigor and enthusiasm for leading you when you do nothing but stand
there and ooze disapproval at me.”

“Not at you,” he said.

“If your disapproval is aimed at Lord
Mancrest, he’s not here to receive it. And if you’re irked at
Maldynado... I think he’s only looking to receive a sunburn on his
nether regions right now.”

“I will go with you tonight.”

“Er, to the eating house?” She imagined him
wearing his black clothing and knife collection, looming over her
shoulder while she tried to woo this Lord Mancrest over dinner and
wine.

“To the newspaper building. To see if it’s a
trap.”

“Ah.” She supposed she could send him to the
stadium after they verified Mancrest was not up to anything
duplicitous. “Very well. We’ll take Maldynado, too.”

Sicarius strode to the doorway, hopped down,
and disappeared.

“No, no.” Amaranthe lifted a hand. “You
needn’t let me know you think my idea has promise. It’s been nearly
three months since the last time I almost got myself killed, so I’m
brimming with self-confidence. I don’t need bolstering.”

Wind whistled through the boneyard, stirring
dust and providing her only answer.

She finished tidying the rail car before
climbing out to find Maldynado had left—to put on clothes, she
hoped—and Basilard had returned. He sat in the vacated chair, arms
draped over his knees, while he stared at the earth. The sun
gleamed against his shaven head, highlighting the briar patch of
scar tissue marring his scalp.

“Problem?” Amaranthe asked, thinking he
appeared glummer than usual.

He flinched when she spoke, and she wondered
what he had been thinking about. He only shook his head.

Amaranthe dragged a crate over so she could
sit beside him. “I’m glad you’re here. You know that vacation I
promised? We may need to work this week after all.”

He did not react, did not even twitch a
shoulder.

“Do you mind going with Books and Akstyr to
do some nocturnal investigating tonight?”

This time Basilard did shrug. If it had been
Akstyr, who had just turned eighteen, she might have understood the
moody response, but Basilard usually gave people more respect and
showed interest when she discussed missions.

“I’ve heard that talking about problems makes
one feel better. I can keep confidences if you want to divulge any
dark secrets.” Amaranthe smiled, intending it as a joke, but
Basilard studied her through narrowed eyes, as if he knew of the
secrets in her life she had failed to keep. Or perhaps the ones she
had kept and shouldn’t have. Could he have found out about
Sicarius’s past in Mangdoria?

She shifted from foot to foot until she
realized that made her look guilty. She forced herself to stop and
clasped her hands behind her back.

You wouldn’t understand
, Basilard
signed.

She let out a slow breath. That did not sound
like something that had to do with revenge or deep-set anger.

“Maybe not,” Amaranthe said, “but the nice
thing about talking to other people is they don’t have to do
anything for you to feel better. They might just nod and grunt a
few times. The feeling better part comes from speaking of the
burdens you’ve been holding inside, things that weigh upon your
soul.” Hm, that sounded preachy. She decided she wasn’t old enough
or wise enough to mother these men, so bowed her head and backed
away, intending to leave Basilard alone.

He stopped her and lifted a hand, swiping two
fingers toward his chest.

“I don’t know that sign yet,” she said.

“Soul,” he mouthed, and she understood since
she’d just used the word.
Turgonians believe in soul?

Amaranthe drew closer again. “Some do. The
old religion speaks of an eternal soul that lives on after you die.
All of our references to spirits and fallen ancestors come from
that. Though Mad Emperor Motash worked his entire life to declare
the old ways dead and atheism the only acceptable belief, er,
disbelief, many still believe in guidance from ghosts of the
past.”

When you die, your soul goes where?

“Agormak, the Spirit Realm, supposedly.
Although, through various ceremonies, dead ancestors can be called
upon for advice, and people have claimed to see them in our
realm.”

No hell?

“Not like your people believe in, no. Though
some say cowardly acts, especially suicide, destroy the soul,
rendering it unavailable for consultation. One wonders what those
priests were drinking when they sat around and thought up the
rules.”

Basilard’s eyes widened, and Amaranthe
winced. She forgot how much Mangdorians valued their religion and
used its tenets to guide their lives.

“I’m sure your people’s religion makes more
sense than ours,” she said by way of apology, but she worried she
was sticking her foot deeper into her mouth. A stricken expression
twisted Basilard’s face. Yes, she was quite sure her big toe was
brushing a tonsil. She coughed. “It’s possible I was mistaken when
I said talking to someone would make you feel better.”

He snorted. It might have been a semi-amused
snort. She hoped so.

Basilard considered her again, and she tried
not to squirm. His eyes were not narrowed this time, but
withholding Sicarius’s past crimes in Mangdoria gave her a reason
to feel guilty next to him, and she never forgot that.

Why The Emperor’s Edge?
he signed,
surprising her.

That surprise must have shown on her face,
for he clarified,
If you believe your soul safe, why risk your
life over and over, trying to impress the emperor? Is it just for a
pardon?

“It’s partially about clearing my name and
partially about...trying to give happiness to someone who means a
great deal to me. Also, it’s about wanting a place in the history
books. I used to think I could find that through being the first
female enforcer to reach... Well, that’s not going to happen now.
Maybe it was never going to happen as long as I was following
someone else’s path, but now I’ve got my own path, and I believe
again that I can make history.” She chuckled. “It’s all kinds of
hubris, I know, but that’s the imperial way. You either gain
immortality through having children or you earn it by becoming
someone history remembers. Despite Maldynado’s attempts to set me
up with a man, I have a feeling my odds of achieving the latter are
better right now.”