“ Get back,” she told Books, reversing her momentum.
Before she’d gone more than two steps, light flashed and a boom rattled the stage. A concussive force pounded her, flinging her several feet. Her back slammed into something hard, blasting the air from her lungs. All around her, shards of wood flew into the air. A crash sounded, part of the stage structure collapsing. She tried to suck in a breath and roll to her hands and knees, but the blow had stunned her. Her rigid muscles wouldn’t relax, wouldn’t move.
Hands caught her shirt by the shoulders. Books dragged her backward. Amaranthe wanted to stay and defend the hole she’d assigned herself, but it was too late anyway. There were too many gaps to defend. Dark figures moved about in the smoke, and the marines tore away broken boards. They’d pick their way inside soon enough. Or simply throw more explosives.
By the time Books pulled her back to the grate, a second explosion had gone off, this one at the other end of the stage. Sicarius’s end.
Amaranthe found the wherewithal to rise up to her hands and knees. Something warm trickled into her eye. Blood. Smoke clogged the air, and her first attempt at speaking launched nothing but coughs. She threw her arm across her mouth, trying to stifle the sound. Telling the marines their exact location wasn’t a good plan.
“ Hurry,” Sespian whispered, his upper body sticking out of the entrance. “Join us down here. We’ll cover the grate, buy another minute.”
Without hesitation, Books climbed over the edge, jostling Sespian as he passed.
“ Sicarius,” Amaranthe rasped, her voice rougher than a saw blade. “Have you seen him?”
“ No, but he can take care of himself.”
Not if a grenade had taken him by surprise the way it had her.
“ Cut the hole in the hull.” Amaranthe smothered her mouth to still more coughs. The cursed smoke was everywhere. “I’ll get him.”
She crawled past the grate, but Sespian caught her calf, fingers tight and unrelenting.
“ Don’t get yourself killed,” he whispered. “This is our only way out.”
Amaranthe yanked her leg away. “I’m not leaving him.”
She could feel Sespian’s gaze upon her as she crawled away, moving as fast as her battered limbs would carry her. The smoke made her dizzy-or maybe she’d hit her head too many times-and she struggled to navigate the maze of gear, much of it charred and destroyed by the explosions. When she neared Sicarius’s side of the stage, she found a huge gaping hole in the top. She couldn’t believe marines weren’t leaping through it, but the hackings of the crowbars had stopped. The shouts outside had changed as well, no longer the calm back and forth of orders being given and acknowledged, but frenzied shouts of distress. And pain.
An inkling of Sicarius’s whereabouts came to her. Instead of continuing to the side entrance, she lifted her head past the smoking edges of the hole and peered into the dining hall. A sea of black and gray uniforms surged about, the crowd trying to pin something- someone — in a corner. She glimpsed short, blond hair.
“ Get him!” someone in the back cried. “Finally. This is our chance!”
“ Ten thousand ranmyas to the man who brings him down,” an officer cried from the doorway.
There had to be forty men in the room, and more waited outside, bearing crossbows.
“ Sicarius,” Amaranthe groaned to herself-nobody was looking her way, “ what are you doing?”
Buying you time, her mind answered. What else?
As good as he was, the situation appeared inescapable. Only the officers’ dead ancestors knew how many men they’d sacrifice for a chance to bring down Sicarius.
Though she knew he’d want her to get out of there, to make his distraction-she couldn’t bring herself to think of it as a sacrifice-worthwhile, Amaranthe looked for a way to help. Axes and crowbars littered the deck in front of the decimated stage, the tools cast aside in favor of swords. Little good they’d do her. Then she spotted something better. A bulky rucksack with numerous protrusions pressing against the fabric. Some of the explosives the marines had brought in?
Afraid the men at the door would spot her immediately if she crawled out of the top of the stage, she dropped back below and hustled to the side entrance. She burst out and scrambled around the corner. Using the discarded gear for cover, she dove for the rucksack and tore the flap open. Thick padding protected metal spheres and cans nestled within. She dug past several with fuses and grabbed two with pull-tab ignition mechanisms.
“ One’s by the stage!” someone yelled from the doorway.
“ Shoot her!”
Amaranthe yanked the tabs and threw the cans to the floor behind the mass of men. She flattened herself to the deck, anticipating fire. Crossbow bolts thudded into the front of the stage, one grazing her hair on its way past. The backpack offered little cover, and she had a sudden image of a bolt hitting one of the canisters, causing it to explode…
Her own explosions came first. The booms weren’t as ear-splitting as they’d been in the confines of the stage, but they served their purpose, hurling the back row of attackers to the deck. Smoke billowed into the air. It was as much cover as she’d get. Forgoing the long route, Amaranthe vaulted onto the stage, her injured back clenching in a protest of pain. Without any grace, she scrambled to the hole. Not until she dropped out of sight did she pause to grab her battered muscles and suck in a deep, bracing breath. Even then, her pause was short. She had to join the others and hope she’d given Sicarius the help he needed to escape the dining hall.
When she reached the grate, Sespian was still there, waiting for her. Relief washed across his face. He looked like he might have been thinking of running after her.
“ Are you…?” He grabbed her arm and helped her into the cubby.
The cramped space, its bottom lumpy with cement and cold with inches of water, was not the oasis she would have preferred to slide into, but at least she could lie on her back and rest for a second. Sespian dragged a dented and charred box over the entrance before closing the grate.
“ We’re through,” Books said, his voice strained.
Amaranthe forced herself to roll over. Basilard and Books lay on the far side of the wood-framed lumpy gray mass that encompassed the rockets. Water was entering through the charred, perforated line cut around the mess. The oblong cutout looked like it could drop away at any second, but the men had wedged boards beneath the edges in a couple of spots. Lying on his belly, Akstyr supported his end of the cutout from the side nearest Amaranthe and Sespian. Basilard lay shoulder-to-shoulder with Books on the far side. A wildness haunted Books’s eyes. He alone seemed to realize what might happen if just one of the rockets broke open when the load hit the bottom of the river.
Two security men in ship’s whites approached the railing as soon as the stolen enforcer boat approached. So much for sneaking aboard.
“ You better go up top and do the talking,” Maldynado said. “They might recognize me.”
“ No faith in your enforcer costume?” Evrial asked.
“ It’s just that my blindingly handsome face draws people’s eyes and sticks in their minds, no matter what I wear.”
“ Those are men. Somehow I doubt your face has the same effect.”
“ You’d be surprised.”
Evrial climbed onto the deck, her head filling with visions of men propositioning Maldynado. She supposed he was pretty enough that it happened.
Their craft bumped against the side of the steamboat. Maldynado matched the larger vessel’s speed-their propeller scarcely stirred the water in comparison to the giant paddlewheel. This close, droplets of water spattered everywhere. Evrial wiped moisture from her cheek, thinking of the last time she and Maldynado had been so close to a paddlewheel. It’d been while fighting piles of enforcers. This situation was far too similar for her liking.