Amaranthe gripped his arm and tilted her head to indicate they should move away from the edge to discuss. As clearly as she heard the speaker’s voice, it was a foregone conclusion that overexcited whispers might float down to the floor as well.
Sespian was scowling at Sicarius, too, and he scooted back with them. “I forbid you to employ your assassination techniques here.”
Good. She’d known Sespian wouldn’t be interested in mass murder as a solution either, but she hadn’t known that he’d stand up to Sicarius.
Two against one odds didn’t bother Sicarius. He merely said, “Those people represent the head of Forge. If they don’t walk out of this room, their plans die with them. Without their support, General Ravido will be-”
“No.” Sespian chopped downward with his hand.
Amaranthe winced, fearing the word would carry.
Sespian caught himself and lowered his voice. “Don’t you understand, assassin? If you must become a monster to defeat your enemies, then, even if you win, you lose.”
Sicarius’s gaze didn’t waver under Sespian’s criticism. “When leading human beings, virtue must be backed by steel, or someone will take advantage of you.” He thrust his hand toward the chamber.
Amaranthe hoped Sicarius wasn’t implying that Forge getting this far was due to some failing of Sespian’s. He’d had less than a year of truly being in power, and the inception of this plot seemed to be at least a decade old, if not more.
“Or, worse,” Sicarius continued, “you’ll end up with a dagger in your back. You needn’t bloody your own hands, Sire. This is why I was created.”
Amaranthe winced at his word choice. Created. As if he were some machine that had been assembled simply to kill.
Sespian unclenched his jaw to say, “I would never employ someone like you. Employing someone else to bloody their hands on your behalf is even more deplorable than doing it yourself.”
Amaranthe rubbed her face. They were supposed to be bonding, not sniping at each other. And this wasn’t the time or place for either act. She lifted her hand, patting the air in a placating gesture, but neither man was looking at her. Books was still listening to the oration below, but Basilard and Yara were eyeing Sicarius and Sespian uneasily. Yara pointed at the two men, met Amaranthe’s eyes, and lifted a finger to her lips.
“I know,” Amaranthe mouthed.
“We don’t need to resort to murder anyway,” Sespian said. “Now we know who’s involved and what they’re planning. We can outmaneuver them at their own game. We can-”
“What I want to know,” a man demanded from below, his voice echoing in the chamber, “is what you plan to do if Sespian Savarsin strolls back into the capital. Just because you’ve had him declared dead doesn’t mean that he is. Nobody’s found a body yet, have they?”
At the mention of the emperor’s name, Sespian and Sicarius released each other from their intense stares. Both men scooted back to the edge in time to hear Ms. Worgavic’s response.
“If he is still alive, it won’t matter for long. He is not the son of Raumesys.”
Sespian sucked in a startled breath, and he wasn’t the only one. Papers rustled, and murmurs broke out below.
“We have it from a reputable source,” Worgavic said, “and our people in the Imperial Barracks are collecting evidence as we speak. If Sespian appears in the capital again, we will publish everything.”
Reputable source? It was all Amaranthe could do not to sputter the words. Who would consider a tortured outlaw a reputable source?
Though she was afraid to look at Sicarius, and draw Sespian’s attention before facts had been stated, Amaranthe watched him out of the corner of her eye. He had grown corpse still. She flexed her fingers, ready to grab him if he decided to leap off the ledge and streak into the room, slaying people left and right to keep the rest of the secret from coming out.
“Who is his father then?” the man who’d brought it up asked.
“Yeah, who?” Sespian squeaked, his eyes so wide the whites gleamed around the irises.
Books looked at Amaranthe. Not only did his eyes lack surprise, but he glanced toward Sicarius. Numbly, Amaranthe wondered how long Books had known.
“His mother is from the Castlecrest line,” the man below continued. “If the father is warrior caste, Sespian might yet have a claim as good as Ravido’s.”
For whatever reason, Ms. Worgavic was hesitating. She must not know Sicarius’s lineage and couldn’t say for certain that her colleague’s point was moot. Or maybe she worried that Sicarius would somehow find out that she’d spread his secret to the world and come for revenge.
Ms. Worgavic’s back was toward the elevated shelf, and Amaranthe saw the moment when her old teacher firmed her spine and decided. Sicarius rose to a crouch. Amaranthe gripped his forearm.
“Don’t,” she whispered low enough that Sespian wouldn’t hear. “Not like this. He’ll never understand.”
Understand or forgive, she thought.
Ms. Worgavic spoke. “The father is-”
One of the massive double doors flew open. It smashed into the rock wall with so much force that it sounded like a gun being shot.
A blonde-haired woman ran inside with one of her shoes missing and the rest of her clothing saturated and clinging to her body.
“Oh, dear,” Books murmured.
Amaranthe winced. “Is that-”
“Our escaped prisoner,” Books said, “yes.”
“Go, go,” Amaranthe whispered, hustling the men toward the vent. If a general alarm hadn’t been issued yet, it would be soon. She didn’t know how many of those servants outside the door had weapons, but she doubted the Forge people had traveled down without numerous well-trained bodyguards.
Thanks to the low ceiling and awkward tightness of their hiding spot, the time it took the team to shuffle one-after-the-other into the vent seemed like hours. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but, as she maneuvered closer, Amaranthe heard all too much of Brynia’s rapid relaying of events. Before she reached the vent, shouts for guards and warnings of intruders echoed through the tunnels.
“Hurrying would be good,” Books whispered to whoever was ahead of him.
In the dim lighting, Amaranthe had lost track of the ordering. When Books’s feet disappeared ahead of her, she dove into the vent without hesitation. Going down was much faster than going up, and she slid more often than she crawled, suffering bumps and bruises from the rough rock walls.
Only after dropping ten or twenty feet did Amaranthe, with a sick feeling in her stomach, think to worry that Sicarius might not have followed her. She tried to peek over her shoulder, but she couldn’t see anything behind her, not when she was sliding, headfirst down a steep slope. Concerned that he’d chosen to go against her and Sespian’s wishes, and taken the other route off the shelf, Amaranthe scarcely noticed when the vent ended. She tumbled out in a pile, crashing into someone’s legs.
Basilard hoisted her to her feet. Clangs, like someone striking a massive gong, reverberated through the tunnels.
“Out the way we came?” Akstyr pointed in the direction of the underground pool. No one had raced down their tunnel, weapons waving, yet.
“Yes, be prepared to fight.” Amaranthe glanced around. Sicarius hadn’t come out of the vent yet.
“Where’s Maldynado?” Yara asked.
Akstyr was already running toward the exit with Basilard and Sespian charging after him. Yara, fists planted on her hips, had the stubborn immobility of a statue.
“Akstyr,” Amaranthe called, as loudly as she dared-shouting and telling Forge exactly where their intruders were probably wasn’t a good idea. “Where’s-”
“Back here.” Maldynado ran down the tunnel toward them from the opposite direction.
“How were you standing guard for us from back there?” Yara demanded.
“Not now.” Amaranthe tore her gaze from the vent-if Sicarius hadn’t appeared yet, he wasn’t going to-and waved for everyone to follow Akstyr.