Lindsay Buroker
Beneath the Surface
CHAPTER 1
Sergeant Evrial Yara jogged past crew and passengers bundled in coats, their backs to the cold wind whipping down the Goldar River. A wan afternoon sun poked through the clouds, dappling riverbanks littered with soggy orange and brown leaves, but its rays did little to warm the air. Winter was on its way. Coal smudged the skyline to the north, promising a town waited somewhere ahead. Evrial didn’t know if the River Dancer was due to stop there or not. If it were…
“ You could get off there,” she muttered to herself. A week ago, she never would have considered abandoning Sespian Savarsin, the young emperor who was being plotted against from all sides. That was before the truth had come out. “You don’t owe him anything. He’s not the proper heir.”
Realizing she’d spoken aloud, however softly, Evrial glanced left and right. Though she was earning curious looks from the people she passed, she guessed it was for her repeated laps of the lower deck rather than any muttered words.
Evrial grimaced as her gaze landed on the knot of jugglers practicing on the aft deck. Every time she passed them, they decided to make her a part of their exercises, tossing batons and clubs to each other over her head.
A pair of the young men smiled when they saw her coming again. One was juggling a trio of razor-edged knives, and he nodded to his comrade, indicating the other fellow should move closer to the wall so she’d be forced to jog between them as she made the turn. What was it about her that always drew the attention of idiots?
Without slowing her gait, Evrial skewered the blade juggler with a glare. “If you two sludge-licking toads so much as wave those knives in my direction, I’ll rip your apples off, stuff them like taxidermy ostriches, then hand-deliver them to your boss with the suggestion that they be incorporated into future juggling practices.”
That threat was a mouthful, especially given that she was breathing hard from her jog, but it was worth it. The brats shrank away from her path, muttering apologies as she passed. One’s face took on an impressively pale shade, given the bronze coloring of his skin. Evrial supposed being born into a long line of blacksmiths, where the men and women were all over six feet tall, came with occasional perks. Her shoulders were broad enough to swing a hammer, her back was strong enough to move an anvil, and her hands… well, she fancied making good on her threat wouldn’t tax them overly much.
“ Ah, Sergeant Yara,” a familiar baritone called from a doorway. “I thought I recognized one of your classy threats.”
Maldynado Montichelu, formerly Maldynado Marblecrest, stepped onto the open deck, smiling and spreading his arms wide, as if he expected Evrial to jog into his embrace. His broad-brimmed black hat-an accessory made completely ridiculous by the addition of a giant plumed pink feather-couldn’t throw enough shadows to hide the chiseled features of his face. His high, well-defined cheekbones, strong square jaw, and liquid brown eyes that always crinkled with humor combined to create a visage that made women of all ages swoon. Evrial kept reminding herself that she wasn’t the type to fall for that sort-after all, that sort had never fallen for her — but he kept smiling warmly at her. It was all very disarming, so she reacted the only way she knew how when he fell into step beside her, giving her a pat on the back.
She snarled. “We’ve gone over the no-touching rule numerous times, have we not?”
Unlike the jugglers, Maldynado wasn’t quelled by her tone or her snarl. His smile grew wider, and he said, “Indeed so, but it’s been a few days since you mentioned it. I thought you might have changed your mind and decided to succumb to my charms in the interim.”
“ Aren’t you and your charms supposed to be hiding in your cabin with the rest of your team?” Evrial left his side, ostensibly to run around a pair of acrobats practicing throws and airborne somersaults, but mostly to put space between her and Maldynado. It discomforted her that she occasionally found herself wondering what it’d be like to let his hands linger and where they might roam if given permission to explore. Her face heated, and she ruthlessly shoved the thought away. Though he might have shown her he wasn’t as foppish and dumb as he pretended, she knew he was only flirting with her because she resisted his advances, not out of any desire or true feelings. For one who so easily seduced women, she must represent a challenge.
Maldynado caught back up with her on the other side of a team of actors practicing the battle scene from some old tale. “The ice circus folks only visit the capital once a year; I doubt they’re familiar with the handsome face gracing my wanted posters.”
Evrial shot him an exasperated look. She might have figured out that he was more than a fop, but he certainly made it easy to forget. “The crew and some of the other passengers may be more frequent visitors. Though I suppose those well-to-do enough to afford steamboat tickets aren’t likely to feel inclined to risk themselves wrestling someone with such a meager bounty.”
“ Meager.” Maldynado sniffed.
“ It’s still only two hundred fifty ranmyas, isn’t it?”
“ Well, yes, but I’m convinced the printer made a mistake and left off some zeroes. I’m sure if you brought me in, you’d find the reward more like twenty-five thousand ranmyas.”
“ Careful, you’ll tempt me to turn you in.”
Evrial spotted someone walking down an outside stairway up ahead, a woman with locks of gray hair escaping a hood she clasped about her face. She glanced left and right, then darted into a doorway leading to the kitchen. Evrial slowed down, a discordant twang plucking at her enforcer senses. Only the crew used that door, and the woman had not been wearing one of the ubiquitous white uniforms.
“ Turn me in?” Maldynado asked. “Before we’ve shared a night of passionate sheet tussling? You may find my skills are worth more to you than coin. Perhaps you’d wish to blackmail me into servicing your every whim, a sacrifice I’d be willing to make to avoid being arrested, of course.”
“ Why must you be such an insufferable lout so much of the time?” Evrial headed for the kitchen door.
“ It comes naturally, I suppose. Did you recognize that woman?” Maldynado was trailing along beside her.
Evrial was almost surprised he’d noticed the woman, though she shouldn’t be. She’d just been admitting to herself that he had half a brain under his soft curly brown hair. At least, it looked soft. She’d never touched it.
Focus, Evi, she told herself with a mental growl. “I couldn’t see her face, but she was acting suspiciously, don’t you think?”
“ Indeed so. Her gaze went right past me without pausing to linger on my fine attributes. Very suspicious.”
“ Would you stop that, already? It’s annoying.” Evrial eased the kitchen door open. The smells of baking pheasants, simmering soups, and sauteing vegetables wafted out.
“ Sorry.” Surprisingly, he sounded like he was. “It’s a habit.”
“ Break it.”
“ Yes, ma’am. I’ll attempt to do so.”
“ Yes, Sergeant is the proper way to address me.”
Inside the kitchen, pots clanged, utensils rattled, and heavy knifes thudded against chopping blocks. Evrial eyed the tight aisles, searching for civilian clothing amongst the numerous white uniforms. Compact and efficient for river travel, the kitchen offered few hiding spots. A swinging door on the opposite end caught her eye.
“ Will there be a point when I may call you Evrial?” Maldynado asked as he peeked over her shoulder.
“ Not unless I lose my job.”
Which, Evrial feared, was a possibility. She’d been in trouble with her employer and her family when she’d taken off to meet Amaranthe Lokdon and her team of mercenaries. All she’d wanted to do was make sure the emperor was safe, but somehow she’d ended up embroiled in a kidnapping scheme and an assault on an underground lair full of business people plotting against the throne. All that might have been tolerable if not for the shocking news revealed at the end, that Emperor Sespian Savarsin wasn’t the rightful emperor at all, but the son of the deceased Princess Marathi and the former court assassin, a man who, as far as anyone knew, had absolutely no royal blood and no right to have a son on the throne.