Having his face pressed into the floormuffled his response.
“Pardon?” Amaranthe stepped inside, closingthe door behind her. “Sicarius, would you mind letting him up,please?”
Sicarius yanked him to his feet, keepingMancrest’s arms pinned behind his back. A pained grimace twistedMancrest’s face, and his spectacles dangled from one ear.
Amaranthe waved for Sicarius to loosen thehold. He did not.
“I apologize for being tardy at your proposedmeeting place,” Amaranthe said, “but there appeared to be a squadof soldiers lurking inside. What do you suppose they were doingthere?”
Mancrest glowered and said nothing.
“Maldynado seems to think you’re an honorablefellow,” Amaranthe said, “and even knowing that you arranged tohave me captured, or killed I suppose, he still thinks I shouldtalk to you.” Actually, according to Maldynado’s candle selection,he thought they should do more than talk.
“I am honorable,” Mancrest said, voicestrained as he fought to stifle grimaces of pain that flashedacross his face. “That’s why I tried to arrange your capture.”
Sicarius stood a couple of inches shorterthan Mancrest, but Amaranthe had no trouble meeting his eyes overthe bigger man’s shoulder. “Let go,” she mouthed.
At first he did not, but she held his gazefor a long moment, and he finally searched Mancrest for otherweapons and released him. Mancrest took a couple of careful stepsaway from them, trying to hide his limp, but the stiffness of hismovements gave it away. He positioned himself so his back was nolonger to Sicarius.
Amaranthe assembled his sword stick andextended it toward him. Mancrest considered it-and her-for severallong seconds before accepting it. He rested the tip on the floor,though he did not lean on it.
Despite what must be a permanent injury, heappeared fit. The rolled-up sleeves of his creamy shirt revealedmuscular forearms. As Maldynado had promised, Mancrest had ahandsome face, though what might have been pain lines creased hiseyes and the corners of his mouth, making him appear a few yearsolder than he probably was.
“I guess it’s good I didn’t dress up for youthen.” She hefted the bags. “Hungry? Mind if I find someplates?”
“Depends.” Mancrest was spending more timewatching Sicarius than her. “Will three be dining or just two?”
“Ah, I believe my provisions were gatheredwith a pair in mind.” She gave an apologetic shrug to Sicarius.“Maldynado did the shopping.”
Sicarius wore his usualguess-my-thoughts-if-you-can mask, though she sensed he did notapprove. Of dinner or the entire situation? She did not know.
“Where shall I set up?” she askedMancrest.
Masculine leather chairs and sofas, a desk,and a gaming table occupied the main room, but nothing looked likea dining area. A half a dozen doors marked the brick and woodwalls, none of them with any enlightening ornamentation thatproclaimed, “Kitchen this way.”
Mancrest jerked his head toward one in theback. “In there.”
At least he was cooperating. That was a goodstart, right?
Amaranthe headed for the door. As she passedthrough, she noticed she had picked up a shadow.
“I don’t think he’s going to try anythingright now,” she whispered to Sicarius who was already taking up apost against the wall beside a long dining table made from a singlethick slab of wood. “He must be curious about what I have to say.He’s a journalist, after all.”
Mancrest stepped through the door, veeringthe opposite direction from Sicarius.
“May I get you a drink?” he asked, pointedlynot looking at Sicarius or including him in the offer.
Amaranthe pulled out the wine bottle. “Just acorkscrew.”
Mancrest examined the bottle. Checking thelabel to see if it met with his refined warrior-caste palette? No,she realized. He was seeing if the seal had been broken.
“Nothing’s poisoned. If we wanted you dead,that would have happened by now.” She did not nod toward Sicarius;she didn’t figure she had to.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure your assassin could havearranged that,” Mancrest said, “but I figured you might have alesser punishment in mind and have arranged for some gut-wrenchingvomiting or emergency movements from the other end.”
“You must have courted some vindictivewomen,” Amaranthe said.
Mancrest grunted, set the wine bottle down,and headed for a door that presumably led to a kitchen.
“Plates, too,” Amaranthe suggested.
Sicarius detached himself from the wall tofollow.
Mancrest paused and stared at him. “Unlessyou know where I left my corkscrew, I don’t need your help.”
Sicarius followed him into the kitchenanyway, probably thinking Mancrest might have a pistol or two onthe premises. If she ever did go out with a man fornon-work-related reasons, she would have to figure out a way toleave Sicarius home. Of course, if he’d ever deign to take her outfor non-work-related reasons, that would suffice as well.
Amaranthe laid out Maldynado’s food choices,trying to arrange the bread and pastries in such a way that onemight not immediately notice their battered state. Given what thesegroceries had gone through to arrive here, she was happy nothingwas poisoned with varnish.
She had forgotten Maldynado stashed anewspaper in a bag, too, and she glanced over it. Mancrest did havean article on the front page. Apparently the winners of each of theevents in the Imperial Games would be invited to dinner with theemperor.
“Wish I could enter,” she muttered. With allthe training the team did, she was more fit than she had ever been.Though she had never been tall enough to have a chance at thesprints, where the long-legged women excelled, she had won medalsfor the middle- and long-distance races as a junior. Unfortunately,any race she ran these days would end with enforcers taking herinto custody-or worse.
A crash sounded in the other room-a bigone.
Amaranthe lunged around the table, a visionof Sicarius mashing Mancrest with a meat cleaver stampeding intoher head. She shoved the swinging door open. A drawer lay on thefloor beside a butcher-block island; cutlery and silverwarescattered the travertine tiles. One wicked serrated knife hadsomehow struck a cabinet door with such force that it protrudedfrom the wood, handle still quivering.
Sicarius had Mancrest bent over the island,his cheek smashed into the butcher block, his arm chicken-wingedbehind his back, fingers jerked up so high he could have braidedhis own hair, were it long enough. Maldynado would have had aninnuendo-laden comment about the men’s positioning. Amaranthe onlypropped her hands on her hips and said, “Problem?”
“No,” Sicarius said.
“Yes!” Mancrest cried. “I was just trying toget silverware out.”
“Is it possible you’re being a touch jumpy?”Amaranthe asked Sicarius.
He kicked something on the floor behind theisland. An ivory-handled pistol skidded across the tiles and bumpedagainst the fallen drawer.
Amaranthe picked it up. The hammer wascocked. She lifted the frizzen, and powder poured out of thepan.
“I forgot it was there,” Mancrest said, voicemuffled by the fact his cheek was still mashed against the butcherblock.
“Really?” Amaranthe asked, prepared to givehim the benefit of the doubt.
Mancrest hesitated. “No.”
Given the situation, his honesty surprisedher, however belated.
“Care to tell us where the rest of the loadedfirearms in your flat are?” she asked.
“Not really,” Mancrest said.
“Then I guess Sicarius will have to followyou around all night, hovering over your shoulder while you eat.Breathing down your neck. Sharing your salad. Hogging yourcroutons.”
That might have drawn a snort from Sicariushad they been alone, but with someone else present, he gave nohints of emotion, and she could not guess what he was thinking.Probably that he did not want to be there. Perhaps that he wouldlike to finish grinding Mancrest’s face into the island.
“Do you actually think I’m going to sit downand dine with you?” Mancrest asked.