The Emperor's Edge (6 page)

She remembered a piece of advice from a marketing class.
Start out asking potential customers questions they have to answer with yes. Consistency is your ally. People are more likely to say yes to a sale after a string of positive responses. Just don’t let them start out saying no.

She cleared her throat. “I’m Amaranthe Lokdon. You are Sicarius, correct?”

“You know who I am.”

“Are you as good as they say?”

“You asked for me by name. Frequently.”

Amaranthe tried to decide if his words implied suspicion. His tone never fluctuated. Like his face, his voice betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She smiled.

“You have work to propose. Do so.”

So much for the get-them-to-say-yes strategy.

“Very well,” Amaranthe said. “I need to move some machinery across the border to buyers in Kendor. Since sharing technology with outsiders is illegal, I anticipate trouble from the soldiers who inspect the ports. I’ve tried bribes before with little luck. I need someone who can handle them, in whatever way deemed best, should they try to block the shipment. I’ve heard you’re not squeamish about such things.”

Sicarius stared at her, eyes hard and unwavering. Amaranthe forced herself to meet his gaze, lest he suspect her of dishonesty.

“I decline,” Sicarius said.

“What? Why?”

“You are lying,” he said and passed her, heading for the stairs.

Desperation dawned—this was her only chance!—but she kept herself from reaching for the stiletto. There was no way someone with his experience would fail to anticipate a stab in the back at this moment.

She noticed something that made her freeze: a small smudge of red dirt on the back of his boot. Not dirt, finely crushed brick, and there was only one place in Stumps where one might walk in that. She knew the stuff intimately because she wiped it off her shoes every morning after a run. Then she remembered his damp hair. By the time Sicarius reached the bottom and glided into the darkness, she had a new plan.

“I may be a liar,” she muttered to herself, “but I know where you spend your evenings.”

T
he next night found Amaranthe hunkered in the shadows between two snowy hills overlooking the lake trail. Beyond the banks, elevated fire pits illuminated men sawing blocks of ice out of the frozen water. Their clinks and clanks carried to the shore. Since their harvest season was short, they would work through the night, but Amaranthe did not think she needed to worry about the men. As long as things didn’t get too noisy, they were too far out to notice an assassination on the trail.

Just as she started to rise, a trio of soldiers jogged around the bend. They wore black fatigues, boots, and heavy rucksacks with muskets and swords strapped to their backs.

She crouched low again, hugging the shadows.

Fort Urgot stood sentinel a couple miles north of the city, and it wasn’t uncommon to see soldiers training after dark during the short winter days. If they saw her, they would stop to ask her about the repeating crossbow strapped to her back. Carrying weapons wasn’t illegal, but using them outside of practice or a duel was, and this wasn’t a likely spot for either.

The soldiers jogged into a tunnel carved through a granite outcropping.

Once she was sure they were gone, Amaranthe skidded down the slope and over a mound of crusty snow left by the steam plows. Sand coated the icy trail, offering traction for her boots. Everyone from soldiers to enforcers to athletes training for the rings used the twenty-mile lake route, and the city maintained it year around.

She trotted into the tunnel, the crossbow bumping against her back. A gas lamp on the wall illuminated the interior. This was the only covered spot on the trail, and no ice obscured the surface. She knelt and ran a gloved finger across the packed red earth.

The bracelet the emperor had given her slipped from beneath her parka sleeve. He had suggested she wear it for luck. She could use luck, but she was wearing it—and had etched her name on the plaque—so whoever found her body could identify it.

“All right, girl,” she whispered to herself. “No thinking like that.”

She lifted her hand and examined the red dust on the finger of the glove. Yes, it was exactly like the smudge on Sicarius’s boot.

The thought sent a jolt of anxiety through her body. If he showed up tonight, she was supposed to kill him.

Not ‘supposed to,’ Amaranthe, youwill kill him.

She grimaced. She wasn’t a killer, not even close. She had never even fatally wounded a criminal in the line of duty. Yet, she was planning to intentionally shoot a crossbow quarrel into someone’s chest, in cold blood. Without a doubt, Sicarius deserved it, but…

“Why couldn’t he have been an ass to me last night?” Amaranthe muttered.

The man had been a thousand miles from friendly, but he hadn’t hurt her, threatened her, or even sniffed disdainfully at her. This would have been easier if he had.

“Maybe it’s not supposed to be easy,” she said, adjusting her crossbow and walking out of the tunnel on the other side. “Maybe my chance for promotion is meant to be a great test. Maybe Hollowcrest isn’t doing anything nefarious to the emperor, and I’m not a fool for doing his bidding. And maybe, I shouldn’t be talking to myself.”

Shaking her head, Amaranthe climbed off the trail, following one of dozens of narrow foot paths packed into the snow. If it was possible Sicarius was in town to assassinate the emperor, she would not be doing the world a disservice to kill him tonight. She had to believe that.

Her path ran parallel to the main trail, leading up a hill overlooking the tunnel. The elevated position offered a clear line to someone exiting.

Beyond the hill, apple trees rose, icicles draping skeletal branches, but she stopped before she reached them. Several snow-blanketed bushes dotted the top of the incline, offering good cover. Someone running out of the lit tunnel would already have trouble seeing into the dark, and the shrubbery would doubly hide her.

Amaranthe knelt down and carved a level shelf into the snow. After tugging off her gloves, she slid a slender metal case out of her pocket, from which she removed five poisoned crossbow quarrels. She laid them out, an inch apart, perfectly parallel. Five quarrels; five seconds; five chances.

There was little point in laying out enough for a second round. In the time reloading would take, Sicarius would either run back into the tunnel—she doubted it—or close the distance and tackle her. In truth, she suspected the first quarrel would be the only real chance she had.

With that grim thought, she loaded the five quarrels into the top of the magazine. She pulled the lever to draw back the string and lock the first into place. Then she wriggled into a prone firing position, her elbows supported by the ground and the crossbow in her hands. She sighted down the shaft to the trail and the tunnel exit. Her finger found the trigger. She was ready.

Now she just had to wait for him to come. If he did.

This was a hunch, and she knew it. That he had been here, she was sure of, but that he would return was more of a question. Even if he was a runner, there was no guarantee he came out every night. She might not get her chance to…

What, Amaranthe?

Do something she didn’t really want to do? Kill a man? Not honorably in battle, but while hiding behind a bush. Without allowing him the opportunity to speak to the magistrate, without giving him a chance to defend himself. Murder.

Cold seeped through her parka and into her stomach. Amaranthe dropped her forehead onto the stock of the crossbow. She couldn’t do this.

Someone grabbed her hair.

Her head was yanked back, her torso torn from the ground. An arm snaked around her neck.

Sicarius.

He jerked her head to the side. Amaranthe threw her arm up in an attempt to grab his, knowing it would be too late.

He paused.

Her neck twisted nearly to snapping, Amaranthe froze. She could not breathe. Tears of pain stabbed her eyes. Her instincts screamed for her to struggle, try to escape. But if she fought, he might finish the motion.

Then he dropped her.

Amaranthe took the fall on her forearms, head turning to keep from smashing her face into the ground. Pain sprang from her neck, lancing into her skull and down her spine.

A moment passed. Snow chilled her cheek. Slowly, very slowly, she rose to hands and knees and turned toward him.

First, she saw the black boots. Next came the pants of the same hue. As she sat up—no tilting her head back just now, thank you—she saw the black shirt, and finally the blond head.

“Who sent you?” Sicarius asked.

Amaranthe considered carefully before answering. If he simply meant to scare her into providing information, he could have started with a knife against her throat. No, he had almost broken her neck. He had intended to kill her but stopped mid-motion. Why? And would he continue where he had left off if she answered incorrectly?

“Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest.” Given the previous demonstration of how he could see through lies, the truth seemed a safer choice. Besides, she found herself reluctant to die to protect Hollowcrest’s anonymity.

“Why?”

“To kill you.”

“That I gathered. Why did he send
you
? What did you do to anger him?”

“I… Uhm, what?”

“It was a suicide mission. You must have suspected.”

Amaranthe started to shake her head, but stopped at the pain. “No, that doesn’t make sense. If Hollowcrest wanted me dead, he could have arranged it without ever bothering to meet me. He could have paid someone to assassinate me at work or at home.”

“Why pay someone when he knew I’d do it for free?”

“You didn’t though.” Amaranthe stood so she could look at his face. “Why not?”

He did not answer, but his gaze flickered downward for a moment, resting briefly on her wrist. She lifted it for a better look, and the gold bracelet caught the light of a gas lamp on the trail below. Had it done so when she tried to grab his arm to stop him? It was the only thing she could imagine. But why would a name bracelet keep him from killing her? Surely, he couldn’t know it had belonged to the emperor. The golden threads created a handsome pattern, but there were no imperial symbols slipped into the weave. Even if Sicarius did somehow recognize it in the darkness, why would the emperor’s bracelet stop him? This man had been a burr in the empire’s paw during the years since Emperor Raumesys died. And young Sespian was the one who had placed the bounty on his head.

“Hollowcrest thought you might be in town to kill the emperor,” Amaranthe said.

“I am not.”

He could be lying to her. Who would admit to such a plot?

“How’d you find me?” she asked, trying to keep him talking while she puzzled through the situation.

“I’ve been following you.”

“Oh.”

Of course. After she lied to him, he must have been suspicious. She had allowed his lack of emotion to lull her into believing he lacked interest as well. She sighed. As an enforcer, she should have been prepared for that.
Stupid, Amaranthe. Very stupid. People die for mistakes like this.

“I do run the lake though,” Sicarius said.

For the first time, she detected a hint of something in his voice. Curiosity? He was wondering how she guessed perhaps. Given the situation, Amaranthe could hardly feel triumphant at her deduction. Was it truly possible Hollowcrest had planned for her demise? Assumed her death at this man’s hands? And, if so, why? As an enforcer, she had done everything her superiors ever asked—more!

“What now?” she asked.

Again, he glanced at her wrist. It
was
the bracelet that had stopped him—she was sure of it.

“You leave me alone; I leave you alone.” Sicarius turned and headed back to the trail, keeping her in his peripheral vision.

“Wait,” Amaranthe blurted. “I think the emperor…”

He stopped.

She hesitated. If the emperor had nothing to do with why Sicarius was letting her live, this next statement could be considered treasonous. Dare she let an assassin know Sespian might be an easier target than ever right now? But if Sicarius cared for some reason, he could be an ally.

“The emperor is in trouble,” Amaranthe said.

Sicarius turned around. “How so?”

Amaranthe rubbed her neck. “I believe Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest is controlling Sespian by unnatural means.” She had little to base theories on, but she had found that comment Hollowcrest made about fixing the emperor’s tea insidious. Belatedly, she thought it odd he had risked giving the order in front of her.
Maybe he wasn’t expecting me to live to tell anyone.
Yes, now that Sicarius had started her mind down that path, she had a hard time veering.

Sicarius closed the distance between them. Amaranthe fought the urge to skitter backward.

“Such as?” he asked.

“I think he’s putting something in Sespian’s tea. Maybe it’s not all that deleterious, but maybe it’s the reason…” She lifted a hand, palm up. “Emperor Sespian is enthusiastic about art and science, but no major policy changes have come down since he reached his majority and assumed power last year. Until I met him, I didn’t think anything of it—we’ve had seven-hundred years of conquering warrior emperors—but now that I’ve seen what a peaceful, gentle fellow he is, I can’t imagine him following in his father’s footsteps.” She had a hard time even imagining Sespian holding a sword. “I didn’t dare refuse Hollowcrest’s mission to, ah, kill you, but I had hoped for a chance to find out more about Sespian and the tea when I reported back.”

“You won’t live long enough to report back if you choose to return.”

Amaranthe frowned. “How can you be so sure he wants me dead?”

“Hollowcrest knows me, knows my capabilities. He also knows a pretty smile wouldn’t distract me.”

Maybe it was good she had avoided the seduction scenario then. “Look, maybe it’s suicidal, but I have to go back and get an explanation. I can’t just walk away from…from
my life
. If Hollowcrest wants me dead, where could I even hide that would be beyond his reach?” She gulped. Only now were the full ramifications spinning through her mind. “And if I can get back into the Imperial Barracks, maybe I’ll have an opportunity to find out more about the emperor’s situation. I can tell you what I learn if…” She raised her eyebrows. “Can you help me?”