Deadly Games (46 page)

Amaranthe blew out a slow breath. What could
she say to that? “I’ve noticed...every culture has a different
notion of what the afterlife entails, which makes me think nobody’s
all that certain. Maybe your best bet is to find fulfillment here,
in this life.”

Basilard raised a single eyebrow.
You
think I can find fulfillment with Sicarius?

Amaranthe smirked. “Perhaps not
him
specifically, but if you can get him on your side, he’s pretty
useful for helping achieve goals.”

Basilard stroked his chin, and she left him
like that. Considering her words, she hoped, and not dismissing
them as the ravings of a Turgonian heathen.

Amaranthe headed for the doorway, but
Maldynado stopped her with, “Don’t go far, boss. We’ve got to get
you into
your
outfit and do something with your hair.”

“My outfit?” She cringed and wished she had
not mentioned that she was meeting Deret that evening. She only
intended to tell him her team’s side of the story, but Maldynado
believed that, because this discussion was taking place in the
Imperial Gardens and involved a picnic basket, it should be treated
as a tryst.

“I picked out something tasteful for you,”
Maldynado said.

“Tasteful?” Books said. “You? That’s
doubtful.”

“You doubt
my
fashion sense?”
Maldynado asked. “You who, most days, wear the same rumpled clothes
as you slept in? And who...”

Amaranthe left them to bicker. Maybe she
could sneak out of camp before Maldynado finished with Basilard and
Books.

When she hopped out of the rail car, she
turned and almost stepped on Sicarius’s toes. He stood by the door,
his back to the rusty metal siding.

“Something you wish to discuss?” Amaranthe
could not imagine him eavesdropping on a conversation about
clothing.

“We should move the camp tonight. If Basilard
is recognized and interrogated, he could lead the imperial guard
right to us.”

Always the positive-thinking pragmatist.

“We
have
been here for a while,”
Amaranthe said. “We can move tomorrow.”

“Tonight would be better.”

“I don’t believe Basilard would give us up,
even if he were taken prisoner. Besides, tonight everyone’s
busy.”

“Busy,” Sicarius said.

“Sorry, but after the last week, I think a
few days of relaxing and recuperating are in order. You’re welcome
to do so, too.”

“Relax.”

“Yes, it’s something most humans need to do.
It involves getting one’s mind off one’s troubles, putting away
one’s extensive knife collection, and not stalking about in a
hyper-alert state all the time.”

“Sounds like a way to get killed,” Sicarius
said.

Amaranthe pointed toward the rail car
doorway. “Maldynado and Akstyr do it at brothels all the time, and
nobody’s bothered to stick daggers in their backs yet.” She
realized how that might be construed and winced. “Not that you need
to visit brothels to relax. I mean, unless that’s what you prefer,
because it’s not my business if you do, but you could, uhm, take a
nice moonlit stroll on the beach.” Oh, sure, like any man would
choose that option. “Or play Tiles or gamble a bit, or, uh...” Dear
ancestors, she could not imagine what he might do for fun or
relaxation. Practice throwing knives? “Well, you should do
something you’d like to do tonight, as the rest of us are, and
we’ll worry about moving in the morning.”

Sicarius, as usual, regarded her with the
blandness of a particularly featureless rock, then walked away.

* * * * *

The dress Maldynado had chosen wasn’t
entirely appalling. The V-neck and sleeveless nature left more skin
showing than Amaranthe was wont to do, but it
was
summer.
Though the sun floated low over the horizon, it still beat against
her shoulders, and the faint breeze felt good whispering across her
bare arms. She enjoyed the rustle of the silk swishing about her
legs, too. She never could have afforded such a garment on her
enforcer salary. No doubt Maldynado had wheedled it from some
businesswoman for free.

For once, she wore her hair down, though a
braid on either side of her temples pulled the locks away from her
eyes. Pleasant evening at the Imperial Gardens or not, one had to
be prepared should one need to defend oneself. She could kick off
the sandals if she needed to run away—or drive a heel into
someone’s crabapples.

Amaranthe chuckled sadly at herself. “Turn
down the boiler, girl. Relax.”

As she crunched along the park’s main gravel
pathway, she vowed to enjoy the summer evening. She inhaled the
floral scents that wafted from flower baskets hanging from
lampposts alongside the path. She passed a group of teenage boys
competing at draftball in a sandy arena while younger children
played hide-and-seek amongst the tall, dense shrubs of the
Emperor’s Maze.

Deret had suggested they meet at Lookout
Vista at the center of the park, but she spotted him before
reaching the base of the hill. He leaned against the waist-high lip
of a fountain. Above him, Vlem the Valiant held a sword aloft, and
a curtain of water streamed from the granite blade. Amaranthe
smirked, thinking of Maldynado’s concern about a statue being made
of him swimming up a squid’s hind-end. That wouldn’t likely make
center stage in an imperial park.

“Good evening, Ms. Lokdon.” Despite having
the sword stick in one hand, and a bulging canvas tote in the
other, Deret performed a graceful bow. He wore a sleeveless tunic
that accentuated muscular arms, which he managed to display nicely
during the greeting. “You are looking lovely this evening.”

The suave greeting was somewhat diminished
when the head-sized draftball from the boys’ game sailed into the
fountain, sending a splash of water into Deret’s face. He stepped
away and awkwardly rearranged his belongings so he could wipe his
spectacles with his shirt. A nervous boy trotted up to retrieve the
ball amongst numerous utterances of, “Sorry, my lord.”

“Good evening, Lord Mancrest,” Amaranthe said
to rescue the boy from any backlash, though Deret did no more than
give the lad a faintly peeved glance.

“Please, call me Deret. Now that you’ve had
me at your mercy a couple of times, I feel you’ve earned the right
to call me by my first name.” He winced. “That sounded arrogant,
didn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’m used to that from warrior-caste
types. I’ve been working with Maldynado for several months
now.”

“He’s...not exactly someone to whom I’d wish
to be compared.”

“Because he’s disowned?”

“Because he’s
Maldynado
.”

“Ah.” Good answer.

“May I call you Amaranthe?” Deret looped the
tote over his opposite wrist, eliciting a clinking of glassware
within. He gripped his sword stick with the same hand and offered
Amaranthe his free arm.

“Yes, though you’ve been particularly
troublesome, and I’m not sure
you’ve
fully earned the right
yet.” She smiled to let him know she was joking and accepted his
arm. Sadly, she could not remember the last time a man had offered
her his arm. Though she appreciated the gesture, a twinge of guilt
ran through her, as if she were betraying Sicarius. But this was
just a dinner related to work. A chance to further their cause.
Besides, it was not as if Sicarius had given her reason to hope
anything might happen between them.

“You’re most kind.” Deret guided her toward
the path leading up the hill to Lookout Vista. “I’m glad you came.
I wasn’t certain you would after you read the article in
The
Gazette
. I’m sorry it said so little about you and so much
about the bravery of those on the
Saberfist
. I could only
report what I witnessed with my eyes. I know you and your team were
down there and may have been the ones responsible for destroying
that strange ship, and the kraken as well, but...”

“It’s fine,” Amaranthe said. “You mentioned
us, and you didn’t imply we were behind everything.” It was nothing
short of their most visible triumph yet.

“Still,” Deret said, “I’d like to hear your
story and about everything that happened. Maybe we could do an
interview for the paper.”

“I’d be happy to tell you about it, but
perhaps it’d be better for us—and your health—if you didn’t come
out too openly in favor of my team.”

“My health?” He frowned.

“You’ve heard of a group called Forge?”

Deret’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

“We’ve irked them a couple of times, and it
sounds like they had an interest in this venue, too.” They had
reached the crown of the hill, offering a view of the lake beyond
the trees and warehouses, and she nodded toward the sunset-streaked
water to indicate the laboratory vessel. It had sunken back to the
bottom as soon as the athletes were pulled out. She had thought the
Saberfist
might want to salvage it, but the marines had
seemed happy to have it disappear. It would be hard to continue
denying the existence of magic with a ship full of evidence to the
contrary. She wondered what Sespian thought of the whole event.

“I’m not one to run from a threat.” Deret
thumped his sword stick into the gravel path and grimaced at it.
“Or hobble from a threat either.”

“But if you have a facade of neutrality, or
even come out in favor of business in the capital, then you won’t
likely be targeted,
and
you’ll have an easier time getting
information from various enemy sources. Perhaps you could even
share some of that information.” She gave him her best winsome
smile.

“Ah, so you want your own personal spy at
The Gazette
?”

“Are you offering to work for me?” Her smile
broadened.

“Er, no. I mean...” He poked at the gravel
with his sword stick. “You’re good, you know that, right? Since the
day I met you, it’s been hard for me to think of you as an enemy to
the empire.”

“That’s because I’m
not
an enemy to
the empire.”

They reached the top of the hill where stone
benches waited for those wishing to watch the sunset. A meditation
pit and a pair of wrestling rings occupied the area too.

“No, it’s because you don’t seem like... You
know those sexy, dangerous women who you can tell just want to
manipulate you to their own ends? You don’t seem like that at
all.”

Amaranthe raised an eyebrow at him.

Deret stopped. “What?”

“You said I wasn’t sexy. I hope you weren’t
expecting a kiss tonight.”

“Oh! I didn’t mean, uhm...” His bronze skin
took on a suffused hue that matched the crimson warblooms in the
planters framing the benches. “I just meant you seem nice. And
wholesome.”

“
Wholesome?
” This time both of her
eyebrows flew up. “That’s what my father used to say about
broccoli.”

“Wholesome isn’t bad,” Deret said. “I
like
wholesome.”

“Hm.”

He set the tote on a bench, withdrew a
blanket, and spread it on the sand of the meditation pit. Deret was
avoiding her eyes, and his cheeks were redder than ever. He removed
a bottle of apple wine, glasses, a covered dish, and slices of
flatbread for dipping in oil.

He cleared his throat. “This kiss, was that
on your mind for tonight?”

“Uhm.” Amaranthe had only blurted it out as a
joke. She could easily see liking Deret, but more? Maybe that
wouldn’t be so bad. Being with someone who would take her on
picnics to parks and share laughs with her.... It was not as if she
could see Sicarius ever doing those things. Dear ancestors, she had
never even gotten a true smile out of him. “Let’s just see if we
can make it through the evening without you trying to turn me over
to some marines.”

“That sounds like a good start.”

Deret maneuvered himself onto the blanket
with a faint wince, and she sensed irritation in the stiff way he
set the sword stick aside. Though war wounds were common in the
battle-seeking empire, he was young to have to deal with a
permanent disability. He converted the wince into a smile and
lifted a hand, inviting her to join him.

She sat cross-legged beside him.

“So,” Deret said as he dug out a corkscrew,
“are you going to give me the full story of what happened down
there, or am I going to have to go into aggressive interviewer
mode?”

“Does an aggressive interview involve threats
and punches?”

“Usually only with prospects that are male
and criminal.” He poured two glasses of wine and handed her
one.

“And female criminals?”

“I have to bludgeon them into talking using
my wit.” He grinned, and she found herself responding in kind.
“But,” he went on, “I’m told it’s not—emperor’s warts!” He gaped at
something on the other side of Amaranthe.

Sicarius stood there, hands clasped behind
his back. Her first thought was that he had been running and
stopped by to check and make sure Deret wasn’t up to no good, but
he was freshly shaven and had also combed his hair, though tufts
still stuck out in spots, a result of him choosing to cut it on his
own...with a knife. He wore his typical fitted black with his shirt
neatly tucked in. No red dust from the lakeside running trail
smeared his soft boots. He was as tidy and presentable as ever, if
one ignored the throwing knives adorning his arm.

“Problem?” Amaranthe asked.

Deret had sloshed wine on his arm, and he
wiped it while he glowered at their intruder.

“Yes,” Sicarius said.

“Back at camp?” she asked.

“No.”

Amaranthe waited for him to explain his
presence. He simply stood there, watching them. He hadn’t decided
she needed a bodyguard, or, emperor forbid, a chaperone, had
he?

“What
is
the problem?” she asked.

“Besides his presence?” Deret muttered.

“I wish to speak with you,” Sicarius said,
ignoring Deret.
Wish?
Not “will” or “must?” That
was...polite for him. Yet, if it wasn’t an emergency, surely it
could wait.