“Standing is an option, if you wish,”Amaranthe said. “Where are the other firearms? I’ll be morecomfortable eating and chatting with you, knowing it’s unlikelyyou’ll be able to shoot me between courses.”
“Parlor room desk drawer,” Mancrest said,“and in the latrine above the washout.”
“Thank you. I’ll…did you say latrine?”
“A man feels particularly vulnerable with histrousers around his ankles.” Mancrest tried to pull his arm free-afutile attempt. “Would you mind calling off your attack dog? Ican’t feel the blood in my fingers.”
Amaranthe nodded at Sicarius. “Want to gocheck on those firearms?”
He did not move.
“Or I could check,” she said. “Let himwriggle his fingers, will you?”
Amaranthe trotted through the rooms, wantingto find the weapons and come back to rescue Mancrest before lack ofcirculation lost him any digits. She found the pistols and returnedto the dining room. Mancrest sat in a seat-not the head of thetable-with Sicarius at his back, arms crossed over chest in one ofhis typical poses. Amaranthe handed Sicarius the pistols, which heunloaded, then tossed into a corner.
She slipped into an upholstered seat at thehead of the table, a throne of a chair that made her feel slight.The hand-carved feet resembled cougar paws and the rest of thedetailing also evoked a predatory feline feel. None of this man’sfurnishings had been produced in a factory or by anyone other thana master woodworker.
Mancrest, arms also crossed over his chest,glowered at her, and Amaranthe wondered how much force had beeninvolved in seating him.
A gold-and-silver corkscrew rested on thetable by the wine. She opened the bottle and poured twoglasses.
“Your dog isn’t drinking?” Mancrestasked.
Amaranthe fought to keep a scowl off herface. While she could understand Mancrest being irked withSicarius, her instinct was to come to his defense. She doubted thebarbs would bother him, but they bothered her. “Sicarius is mypartner in our endeavors. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t belittle,dehumanize, or otherwise deride him. Given the stories you’veprinted about him, I believe he’s showing admirable restraint innot killing you.”
“He’s a cowar-assassin, and I’ve done nothingbut print the truth.”
Hm, maybe that correction was a sign ofprogress. Or maybe he was gentlemanly enough not to purposelyirritate a woman.
“At least one of the stories you’ve printedis an untruth,” Amaranthe said. “We did not kidnap the emperor lastwinter. In fact, we saved his life.”
Mancrest snorted. “I interviewed witnessesthat say you were there and that Sicarius had an axe over theemperor’s head when the guards stormed in.”
“He was lifting the axe to cut the chainsbinding Emperor Sespian to a dispensary of molten ore, a situationset up by Larocka Myll and Arbitan Losk, the former heads of theForge organization. You’ve heard of them, I trust?”
Mancrest’s face grew as hard to read asSicarius’s. Since he was not scoffing, she decided to press on.
“Arbitan was a Nurian masquerading as aTurgonian businessman, and he was the creator of the monster thatwas killing people all over town last winter. That was little morethan a distraction, though, so he could plot against the emperor.And he almost succeeded. Sicarius saved Sespian’s life.”
Mancrest snorted. “Oh, please.”
Ah, there was the scoff.
“We also thwarted Forge’s attempt to pollutethe city water a couple of months ago,” Amaranthe said. “Thatepidemic you wrote about as well.”
“You’re claiming that, too?” Mancrestlaughed. “The entire army went up there. They handledthat.”
“They cleaned up after we did all the work,including killing a half a dozen makarovi that had butcheredeveryone in the dam.”
Amaranthe stood before Mancrest could voiceanother statement of disbelief. She untucked her blouse anddisplayed the scars on her abdomen. Showing unfamiliar men-orany men-her midsection was not something she did often, andthe wounds were not exactly unquestionable evidence that her storywas true, but she figured it might prove worth it. His eyebrowsflew up and his mouth sagged open. The reaction did not leave herwith the triumphant feeling she had expected; rather it remindedher that she would have ugly scars for life. Though she might befocused on her goals and was not usually one to worry about vanity,no woman wanted a man to be horrified when she showed some skin.She tucked her blouse back in.
“Of course, if my plan had been betterthought-out, I might not have been mauled, but fortunately I hadtalented people to dig me out of trouble.” She smiled at Sicariusand caught him staring at her abdomen.
He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes, and foronce she was glad she could not read his face. She could notimagine the long look being for anything other than pity or perhapsguilt over not having kept her from that fate, and she did not wanteither from him. Ancestors knew that whole debacle had been aresult of her questionable-at-best scheme, one he had tried to talkher out of, and she had nobody to blame but herself.
“Naturally, I don’t expect you to take myword as truth,” Amaranthe said, “for any of these events, but I’dlike to think The Gazette, should it be proved to be inerror, would print a retraction.” She gestured to the forgottenmeal and wine. “Shall we dine?”
“Huh?” Mancrest glanced back at Sicarius,then stared at her.
“Problem?” Amaranthe asked.
“I… When you started talking about thosestories, I assumed you were here to threaten me and force me toprint something more to your liking.” He checked on Sicarius again,who was doing a good imitation of furniture at the moment. “Or isthat activity still forthcoming?”
“No, I’d rather eat now if you don’t mind.I’ve had a busy night.” She tore a chunk of bread, admiring theflaky crust and soft interior-a tasty change from the rice-basedflatbread more common in the empire. A small tin held freshlysmashed peanut butter. It never warmed enough in their satrapy forpeanuts, so the import was a rare treat. She smeared some on thebread, and her mouth watered in anticipation. Though Maldynado hadnearly walked her into a trap, she could forgive him since hisshopping had proved so thoughtful. She lifted the piece of breadand offered the traditional before-meal salute, “A warrior’shealth.”
Mancrest had been watching her, and, aftershe took a few bites, he prepared a plate for himself.
Amaranthe lifted her bread toward Sicarius.Though she knew he would not accept the invitation, she would havefelt awkward eating without offering him something. He gave asingle minute head shake.
“You’re not what I expected,” Mancrestsaid.
“What’d you expect?”
“Given you’re a rogue enforcer and who youwork with now-” Mancrest jerked a thumb over his shoulder atSicarius, “-someone draconian and pugilistic.”
“You think Maldynado would spend time withsomeone like that?”
“If that someone had nice breasts, yes.”
Amaranthe chuckled. “Perhaps so. By the way,did Maldynado tell you who he wanted you to meet, or did youguess?
“Is he going to be in trouble if you find outhe did tell me?” Mancrest sipped from his glass of wine-he hadapparently decided it was safe to drink-and watched her over therim of the glass.
She had a feeling she was being tested. “Thatmight earn him an extra stair-running session.”
Two vertical lines formed between Mancrest’seyebrows. “Stair-running? Like exercise?”
“Yes.”
“If it’ll get him extra work, then maybe Ishould say yes.” Mancrest smiled for the first time that night.“But, no, he just said he knew a nice girl I should meet, someonewho was working too hard and needed to have more fun.” He raisedhis eyebrows. “I figured out the rest on my own. People havenoticed who he’s running with these days. His family is vocal inexpressing their disappointment and quick to point out that thisdemonstrates why he deserved to be disowned.”