Forged in Blood I (17 page)

I know the settlement of which you speak
, Basilard signed.
There are permanent log dwellings. Perhaps someone has moved in. Such as a Nurian wizard.

Sicarius thought about jogging out to investigate, but it would take a few hours, roundtrip, and he still needed to talk to Amaranthe and share that letter with her. And the pastry. He admitted it irked him slightly that she’d been too busy to talk privately to him, but he wouldn’t want to push Sespian aside for something that might be insignificant.

Mancrest may know if someone is over there
, Basilard added.

Sicarius didn’t let any reaction onto his face at the mention of the name, but Basilard gave him a sidelong look anyway.

He is a handsome man. Do you fear he will…

Basilard’s hands faltered, hanging in midair as Sicarius gave him his most quelling glare. He did not wish to discuss the possibility of a relationship between Deret and Amaranthe. That would
not
happen.

Basilard diffidently finished with, …
print news of your relationship to Sespian if he learns the truth?

“He is not the one most likely to do that,” Sicarius said.

Have you seen Books’s documents? What he proposes in this new government?

“No.” Sicarius didn’t know what Basilard’s topic shift implied, but, after one last look toward the lake, he headed toward the city.

Basilard walked beside him.
Among other things, he suggests an elected official take the role of emperor. Rulers that go in and out of office every few years. Though the Turgonian empire has problems as it is, at least in the eyes of the rest of the world, I know that if Sespian returns as emperor, I have a chance at having an advocate for my people’s concerns. An unknown has no reason to help me. I do not know if I’d wish to fight for this.

So, Basilard was thinking of leaving the team if they couldn’t get Sespian onto the throne. Why divulge this to him? Maybe he thought Sicarius had some insight into Sespian’s thoughts. Or maybe Basilard simply thought they had bonded in the tree and should now be divulging secrets. Right.

“Understood,” Sicarius said, because Basilard’s continuing glances meant he expected an answer. The answer seemed to satisfy him.

• • •

Though daylight had come, it had not yet permeated the darkness in the factory. On his way in, Sicarius had spotted Maldynado taking a turn at watch on the rooftop, but everyone inside seemed to be sleeping. Basilard had gone straight to his bedroll. A few occupied blankets lay on the cement floor near a back wall covered with pipes. Stacks of books edged a couple of them—Books and Akstyr’s areas. Sicarius recalled a mention of private offices upstairs, so he glided past the snorers without rousing anyone, heading for the nearest set of metal steps.

On the wall near the base of the staircase, a recently used mop hung from a peg, a bucket upturned to dry beneath it. He wished Amaranthe had been sleeping instead of cleaning, but the damp implements didn’t surprise him.

The stairs led to a wide landing and catwalks allowing access to giant vats and two- and three-story-high machinery. On the left, there were three offices with windows and closed doors. In a less olfactory-dense environment, he might have been able to identify which room belonged to which team member before entering, but the pungent odor of syrupy molasses, mingled with hints of sugar beets and alcohol, dominated the air, even weeks after the factory had closed for work. Fortunately, the last office offered another clue: a clean window. Trusting it marked the spot Amaranthe had claimed, he strode toward it.

Sicarius entered soundlessly—if she’d managed to achieve sleep, he did not wish to disturb it. Her blanket was stretched on the floor behind an old metal desk. She wasn’t lying on the blanket; rather she was hunched in a ball on one end, leaning against a rickety filing cabinet. Though her eyes were closed, distressed mumbles came from her lips. Her hands twitched, clasping and unclasping the blanket.

Sicarius closed the door and considered whether to wake her or simply leave the letter and the pastry on the desk. Had her sleep appeared restful, he would have done the later, but perhaps she’d appreciate an escape from whatever nightmare haunted her.

On the journey to Stumps, after they’d been forced to abandon the steamboat, the team had camped in the woods each night, many people shivering under shared blankets to stave off the late autumn cold. Amaranthe had refused to sleep with the group, not wanting to disturb anyone with her rough nights—or perhaps not wanting anyone to know she
had
rough nights. As if that were possible with everyone living in close quarters—she and Yara had been roommates on that boat before it sank. Sicarius, of course, had known. Requiring little sleep himself, he was often up at night anyway. He’d thought of going to her, offering a shoulder to lean on or whatever else she might wish, but whenever she’d seen him watching her, she’d been quick to proclaim herself fine. Fit to fight. Perhaps he’d focused too much on training in the last year, for she seemed to think that was all he ever had on his mind. He’d done little to show her otherwise, he admitted. He didn’t know how.

Sicarius set the items on the desk, intending to leave, but Amaranthe’s twitches and mutters grew more agitated, more pronounced. She gasped, blurting a clear, “Don’t! Please, not again. I—I can’t tell. I won’t.”

He padded to her corner. He doubted it was in his capacity to help her, but he would try.

“Amaranthe,” he murmured, touching her shoulder.

She cringed inward, tucking into a tighter ball, burying her head in her arms.

Though he knew she wasn’t experiencing the here and now, and the gesture didn’t signify fear of
him
, it stung anyway, having her shy away from him. Once it wouldn’t have mattered. Once he’d expected that response from everyone and had not cared whether he received it or not.

Sicarius sat down beside her, his shoulder to her back. Face to her knees, she only muttered, “No, no,” over and over.

“I suppose telling you it’s dawn and time to train would only evoke a similar response,” he said.

He didn’t expect the comment to pierce her dreams and was mulling over ways to wake her without distressing her further, but her head jerked up, eyelids springing open, her hand clutching her chest. Sitting with his arm against her back, he could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage.

“Train?” Amaranthe blinked, confusion crinkling her brow. Her eyes focused on him, and she gulped, lowering her hand.

“Not now,” Sicarius said. “Everyone is sleeping after the late night. You should go back to sleep too. A more restful version.”

Amaranthe winced. “Sorry, did you hear me?” She glanced at the door, as if fearing her outcries had been audible throughout the factory.

“Not until I came in.”

“Oh.” She drew away from his arm, eyeing his position on the edge of her blankets.

There was a time, Sicarius thought, sighing inwardly, when she would have been pleased to see him sitting so close with blankets spread out beneath them. She would have made self-deprecating jokes, or perhaps teased him playfully, all the while looking up at with him with hopeful eyes, wondering if perhaps he’d be interested in doing more than simply talking.

It was your choice never to act on those opportunities, Sicarius reminded himself. Now, she merely looked uncertain. And self-conscious.

Amaranthe scraped her hair away from her face, pushing locks behind her ears. The windows weren’t the only things she’d washed before bed—her face and hands were clean of the grime from the
Gazette
explosions. The scent of her almond bark and cherry blossom shampoo teased his nostrils. After the restless sleep, her garments were in disarray. Though few would categorize long underwear as sexy, his gaze snagged on the skin exposed between waistband and shirt. That was clean, too—he removed his gaze and kept his attention from deeper contemplations of that skin and surrounding… skin.

“You had news, right?” Amaranthe rubbed her eyes.

“Yes.”

She waited expectantly.

“I will deliver it in three hours.”

“What’s happening in three hours?” Amaranthe asked.

“I will deliver my news.”

She snorted. “I mean, what’s happening now and for the next three hours that will delay this delivery?”

“You’re going back to sleep.”

“Erg, I think I’ve had enough of that.”

“You require more than two hours to function optimally as team leader.” Yes, he told himself, keep saying things like that. That’s what’ll teach her to relax in your presence. “I will stand guard to ensure your sleep is restful.” There, maybe that was a little better?

“Oh, really?”

Good. She looked intrigued, despite his tactless way of letting her know he was concerned for her and wished her to find peaceful rest. There’d been so few times in his life when he’d attempted to appear inviting that he didn’t know how to manage it, but he lifted an arm, hoping it would be enough.

“Hm.” Amaranthe rearranged the blankets, shifted her body so they faced the same direction, and slid in under his arm. After a tentative glance at his face, she slipped her arms around his torso. Mostly. The dagger collection gave her trouble as she tried to avoid being poked by hilts. “Do you always climb into women’s beds with all your weapons bristling?”

A few Maldynado-esque comments floated into his mind, but Sicarius squashed them. He’d been spending far too much time in close proximity to that man this last year. He thought about explaining the soul construct and his trip to Fort Urgot, but he wanted her to sleep. Any talk of work would convince her it was time to start the day. “It would be amateurish of me to stand guard without them.”

“Of course. What was I thinking? I’ll just… make do.”

He took satisfaction in the upturning of her lips as she wriggled closer and let her eyelids droop closed. For once, it seemed she was too tired to worry about appearances. Or perhaps, all along, he should have been offering to stand guard from her bedside instead of outside her door.

Sicarius closed his own eyes, though he pursued meditation instead of sleep, the quiet, thought-free state of mind he’d learned to achieve from the same Nurian tutor who’d taught him defenses against the mental sciences. It allowed the body to regenerate as efficiently as a night’s sleep and in less time. During the meditation, he could also focus on healing wounds more quickly than nature would have accomplished on its own. It was the calming effect it brought to the mind that he appreciated most. The skill had allowed him to deal with his own nightmares in the aftermath of Pike’s… lessons.

Sicarius’s eyes popped open. Perhaps he could teach the practice to Amaranthe. With the way her mind raced about at all times, scheming up some plot even when she was in the midst of a training session, she would find it difficult to free it of thoughts and find tranquility, but if she could master even a modicum of the ability to meditate, she might be able to push the nightmares from her mind.

Later, he decided. She had nodded off, her head on his chest, her breathing gentle and even. He closed his eyes again, his mind empty, his senses focused inward, though he remained distantly aware of his surroundings. Something metal batted against the roof as the wind picked up. Someone walked across the catwalk, heading to the water closet. Men snored on the floor downstairs. Maldynado returned from his watch shift and, a short time later, engaged in coitus with Yara, an activity that continued for a tediously long time and made it difficult for Sicarius to remain in a meditative state. He was relieved when, near the end of the three hours, Amaranthe roused of her own accord. It was time to get the team to work—and share his news.

She smiled up at him, not yet lifting her head from his chest. “Thank you. You should come stand guard for me more often.”

“If you found it valuable,” Sicarius said, his chin drooped, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at her. Strange how much it pleased him that she’d slept quietly in his arms. He’d distanced himself from so much of the human experience over the years that he hadn’t realized he
could
be pleased by anything. He’d been denied pleasures in his youth and, after that, it’d seemed practical to abstain—a man with so many hunting him shouldn’t allow himself any predictable vices.

Thumps and groans reached his ears from the office next door—Maldynado and Yara, embarrassing rabbits all over the empire with their superior breeding instincts. Amaranthe blushed, apparently having no trouble identifying what the sounds indicated. Not for the first time that morning, Sicarius thought of the kiss they’d stolen in the smokestack of that steamboat. It’d been unprofessional, ill timed, and inappropriate. He wanted to do it again.

Amaranthe cleared her throat and sat up, drawing away from him. “I believe you mentioned news.”

“Yes.” Sicarius rose and plucked her gifts off the desk. He handed her the bag and held up the envelope. “This was delivered to a desk in a back office at Curi’s Bakery last night while I was waiting for your party to rendezvous with ours.”

Amaranthe started to reach for the letter, but something about the rumpled bag distracted her, and she opened it first. When she peered inside, her mouth fell open. “For
me
? You stole a pastry for
me
?”

“I
paid
for a pastry for you.” Albeit he didn’t know if he’d paid the right amount. He held the envelope out, offering her the chance to break the seal.

Amaranthe was busy staring into the bag. Her mouth continued to hang open, though it stretched into a wide grin. “
Thank
you.” She flung her arms around him, this time not worrying about whether knife hilts poked her in the ribs, then she pulled the pastry out of its bag.

Sicarius was still holding out the envelope, now somewhat crinkled after her embrace. Since she seemed unfathomably distracted, he slid out a dagger and broke the seal himself.

Ms. W. –