Blood and Betrayal (25 page)

Books lifted a finger, as if to object, but he lowered it again. He looked around, a faintly perplexed expression on his face. “As unlikely as it seems, I believe Maldynado has a point.”

“You needn’t sound so surprised,” Maldynado said.

“Typically, the only thing pointed about you is your sword.”

“Swords.” Maldynado winked, never able to resist ribbing Books.

Books rolled his eyes.

“Markworth and Lake Seventy-three are accessible via a river that flows into this waterway,” Sespian said without so much as an eyelid flicker at Maldynado’s innuendo.

Maybe it went over the kid’s head; he probably didn’t get out of the Imperial Barracks much. When all this was over, Maldynado ought to take him under his arm and show him how to have a good time.

“There
are
all those islands down there, owned by the wealthy and warrior caste,” Sespian added. “Perhaps one of them is the meeting place.”

“Sure,” Maldynado said, “I’ve been there. The family has a little island in the middle.”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?” Maldynado asked.

“Could it be that obvious?” Sespian mused. “Did your brother invite his Forge allies to enjoy the family manor while they scheme plots that will, among other things, put him on the throne?”

Maldynado shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t get an invitation.”

Clangs sounded outside, boots on one of the exterior staircases. Guards on patrol, Maldynado guessed, the noise reminding him that someone might come looking for Sicarius’s knife soon.

“Are we going to set a trap?” he asked. “I only bring it up because it might be inconvenient if we’re still standing here, chatting about our plans, when a bunch of guards burst in on us.”

Sespian sighed. “I am reluctant to abandon my plan to remain in hiding, with Mari unaware of my presence, but I suppose your assassin has taken that option from me.” He frowned down at the knife.

Maldynado hoped Sicarius hadn’t been planning to ask the emperor for a pardon or any other favors. Trying to be helpful—or at least cheer the kid up—Maldynado patted Sespian on the shoulder and said, “Our plans go awry all the time, Sire. Amaranthe always finds a way, through explosions, scheming, and battles with mechanical monsters, to make things work out in the end.”

“She’s not here.” Sespian eyed the hand on his shoulder.

“Er, that’s true.” Maldynado lowered his hand. “But you have us. We’re excellent at two out of three of those things.” He wasn’t going to make any claims about scheming, because that hadn’t turned out well for him thus far.

Books was shaking his head. Perhaps Maldynado needed to work on his skills at cheering people up.

Sespian said nothing. His eyes were bleak.

S
omeone came into the room during the middle of one of Pike’s torture sessions, and, after they exchanged a few words spoken too softly for Amaranthe to make out, he slathered some salve on her body and walked out. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful for the reprieve or not. The cold, gelatinous paste provided some relief as it permeated her wounds, but she was still stuck on the table with the pins driven through her limbs. Blood trickled from the gouges as well as from other wounds Pike had missed with his rushed application.

This had been his second visit of the day, and he’d seemed agitated, rushing through his “work” and trying harder than ever to pull the answer to that one question from her. The aircraft had been on the ground for days, if Amaranthe guessed right, so she couldn’t imagine what fire ants might be crawling over his toes just then.

Sicarius’s face floated through her thoughts. What if he
had
left Sespian behind to come for her, and what if he
had
found a way to track the craft? It seemed unlikely, but she dreamed that he’d caught up with them anyway and that Pike was worried because he knew it.

The lighting had winked out when Pike left, pitching Amaranthe into blackness, but a door whispered open and a slash of brightness flowed in from the corridor. A tiny butterfly of hope fluttered in her breast. Sicarius?

Amaranthe craned her neck, trying to see the entrance.

“Amaranthe?” a soft voice whispered. Retta.

The hope-butterfly didn’t stop fluttering. People whispered when they didn’t want to be discovered, and people didn’t want to be discovered when they were doing something of which others would disapprove. Like maybe, just maybe, helping a prisoner escape…

“Still alive,” Amaranthe croaked.

Footfalls sounded. The lighting level rose. Retta gasped, and her footsteps faltered. “You look… I can’t imagine how you… ”

Ah, yes, Retta hadn’t seen Amaranthe outside of the crate since the first day.

“You should have seen me before he put on the salve,” Amaranthe said.

“I should’ve told Ms. Worgavic before she left. If she knew—”

“She knows,” Amaranthe said. “Any chance my battered state is inspiring you to let me go?”

“I figured out a way to help.”

Help. That wasn’t the same as letting go, and Amaranthe feared Retta’s version of help might not match her own. “Oh?” she asked.

Retta stepped up to the table. She eyed the claw pincers extending their pins into Amaranthe’s limbs. “This contraption was created to load cargo.”

“How lovely that you’ve found an alternative use for it.”

Retta winced. “I didn’t want to… I wasn’t thinking of… I mean, I never wanted to torture anyone.” She glanced at Amaranthe’s body, swallowed, and jerked her gaze back to Amaranthe’s face. It must be easier to look at. Pike hadn’t done as much work up there.

Amaranthe kept herself from saying anything judgmental. “Why not end it then?” she asked. “You know how to operate it. Let me up. That’s all you need to do. I’ll find a way out on my own. We’re still on the ground, aren’t we?”

“We are. The meetings haven’t started yet. We arrived early because those attending have to trek over two days’ worth of rugged terrain. The area around the lake was too populated to risk coming down closer in the
Ortarh Ortak
. We landed in a swamp. I don’t know if it’d be a favor, letting you out there, in your condition… ”

“I’ll take my chances,” Amaranthe said.

“I’ve already told you that I can’t go against Ms. Worgavic unless you share your secrets… ”

Amaranthe struggled to keep her patience. “What help
are
you offering then?”

Retta touched her pocket. “In my obsession with this ancient technology, I’d forgotten I had some Kyattese tools.” She withdrew a brooch. A bronze backing gripped an opaque, agate fixture that pulsed softly.

Amaranthe had a feeling she wasn’t going to appreciate this “help.”

“It’s a therapy stone,” Retta said.

Amaranthe’s lips peeled back. Oh, she
knew
she wasn’t going to appreciate this.

“I got it on one of the outer Kyatt Islands. They have people who train in psychology and the mental sciences to learn how to help those with emotional issues. In some cases, the therapists use tools to dive into a person’s thoughts and to see the world as they see it, the better to help them.” Retta tapped something on the back and laid the pulsing brooch on Amaranthe’s forehead.

Amaranthe turned her head, hoping to knock it off, but warmth spread through the bronze backing and the device stuck to her skin. Reflexively, she tried to lift a hand, to tear it away, but the pins held her fast. All she earned was a fresh stab of agony for the minute movement she managed.

“Isn’t therapy
voluntary
in Kyatt?” Amaranthe asked. “I don’t consent to this.”

Retta’s smile was sad rather than triumphant. “Someone’s out there. The ship can sense it. Pike thinks it’s the assassin. I think it’s some curious native who saw us land, but… I heard him talking. He’ll kill you before letting Sicarius see what he’s done to you. He’s afraid. I need you to live, Amaranthe. You said you’d distract the wagon drover so I can get off.”

Not like this, Amaranthe wanted to scream, but Retta laid her hand on top of the brooch, and a strange warmth filled her. She knew she had to save her energy to defend herself.

A glow pulsed between Retta’s fingers, washing her face in unearthly light. “I will save your life by getting the information myself.”

Between one eye blink and the next, Amaranthe was looking at the world both through her own eyes and through Retta’s. She could see Retta hovering above her, but she could also see herself, pinned on the table, naked and bruised, eyes sunken, lips cracked and swollen, flesh peeled bare of her body in multiple spots, hair a knotted tangle. If she looked that bad
after
the salve, she would have hated to have seen herself before.

Your minds are one
, came a whisper in her head.

The brooch? That was creepy. How sentient was this—

A flood of memories slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave. Her body stiffened, almost as if she were receiving physical blows. Amaranthe braced herself to block whatever invasive tendrils snaked into her head, trying to tease Sicarius’s secrets out of her. Oddly, it wasn’t her own memories that assailed her but Retta’s.

She was the quiet, pudgy girl in school, walking the halls of Mildawn with her chin down as she avoided eye contact and tried not to bump into anyone. Someone’s elbow caught her. She tripped and landed face-first on the waxed wooden floors. Her books sprawled before her. Nobody picked them up or offered her a hand. When she gathered her belongings and hustled away, cruel comments nipped at her heels. “What a klutz.” “She’s so homely.” “She thinks she’s so important because of her sister.” “Can you imagine her trying to start a business?” The voices dissolved into laughter, and the school halls disappeared, replaced by a rambling mansion on the Ridge. A lecturing woman in spectacles frowned down at her. “Your grades are abysmal. Why can’t you be more like your sister?” The mention of a sister came with thoughts of a beautiful woman with auburn hair, sparkling intelligent eyes, and skin bronzed by the sun. She appeared on a ship, then on a camel in the desert, then bartering in some exotic marketplace, and finally in a tent, sending messages back to other Forge founders, details of investments and banking institutions started up overseas. Worgavic. Ravencrest. Omich. Bertvikar. Myll. Founders? Yes, these people were the originals and included the sister, Suan, who corresponded through mail alone and who’d been overseas for more than a decade. She seemed to be a woman that few in the organization had actually met and that nobody had seen in years.

As abruptly as it had started, the sharing of memories ended. Amaranthe could almost hear her separation from Retta, like a piece of paper torn in half, leaving jagged, rough edges. She felt jagged and rough as well. What had happened? Amaranthe had expected to relive her own memories, especially those memories of Sicarius, not go for a trek in someone else’s head. Had the device backfired somehow? How much time had passed? Had Retta seen the same thing?

The younger woman pulled the brooch away and stared down at Amaranthe, lips parted in stunned silence. She seemed to realize she was gaping for she drew back and rearranged her face into a neutral expression.

“There.” Retta adjusted her clothing and straightened her shoulders. “That’s invasive, I’ll admit, but surely less deplorable than what Pike’s been doing.”

“Uhm, all right.” Amaranthe was starting to get the impression that Retta hadn’t been sharing the same memories as she had. Had she even sensed Amaranthe in there, skimming through her past, learning about the Forge founders? Ravencrest. Omich. Bertvikar. Suan. She repeated the names in her mind, willing them to stick. Other than Worgavic and Myll—that had to be Larocka Myll—they weren’t familiar and hadn’t been on Books’s list. If those were truly original founders, knowing them could be important. If only, she thought grimly, to hand them over to Sicarius. A week ago, she never would have considered it, but after spending time with Pike, she found herself wishing he’d simply succeeded in cutting off all the heads of the hydra.

“And more useful than I would have imagined.” Retta turned the brooch over in her hand, gazing at it with a touch of wonder. “I’d only read about it and wasn’t sure it’d work. I thought I’d have to fight you all the way, but I simply thought about what I wanted to learn, and it took me straight to your memories on the subject.”

Amaranthe grew aware of the icy cold of the table against her back. Or maybe that was her own blood running cold. “Did it?” she whispered.

“Marvelous invention. There’s much we could learn from the Kyattese.”

Amaranthe kept her mouth shut. Maybe Retta had learned nothing. Maybe she was simply hoping to trick Amaranthe into revealing what she hadn’t been able to find.

Retta slipped the brooch into a pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. She laid it on the table beside the pincer pinning Amaranthe’s thigh. “It’s a map to help you get off the ship. I… hope you’re able to walk. I don’t dare go with you or give you a weapon, not with Pike and his soldiers preparing to search the swamp. If you let him catch you, I won’t have any sway over him, not with Ms. Worgavic away. I may not be able to stop… ” Retta swallowed. “Just don’t get caught. I’ll make sure the ship’s defenses are shut down so you can escape. Once outside, you’ll be in swamp and marshlands. The nearest town is a two-day walk to the north. If you can make it, I’m sure you can talk someone into helping you.” She managed a quick smile. “You got me to. I’m sure you don’t appreciate it right now, but one day maybe it’ll mean something to you that I saved your life.”

All Amaranthe could think about during the monologue was whether or not Retta had truly found out about Sespian’s parentage. Retta wasn’t trying to tease out information or ask for verification. She seemed certain about what she’d discovered.

Retta moved to the foot of the table and fiddled with the controls there. She waved to the claw. “I’m going to delay the release until I’m safely out of the area. I don’t think you’d attack me, but your loyalty seems to be such that you might kill to keep that man’s secrets. After being in your head, I understand your reasons for doing things, mostly, but Amaranthe, you must see that the son of some common-born assassin doesn’t have the right to rule. He never did.”