Maldynado strolled behind them, a pistol pointed at a pair of men in army fatigues. One of the prisoners walked with a pronounced limp and had his arm slung over the other.
After the group passed the streetlight, Sicarius stepped out of the shadows, falling into place at Amaranthe’s side. Deret flinched, fumbling his grip on his swordstick. It clattered to the street, and the group paused while he muttering curses and retrieved it. Normally Sicarius thought little of it when his appearance startled people, other than that they should be more aware of their surroundings, but he admitted a modicum of satisfaction at the aristocrat’s stumble.
Amaranthe merely arched an eyebrow at him, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. Perhaps she did. That often seemed to be the case.
The group had not entirely moved out of the streetlamp’s influence, and Sicarius made a point of examining her soot-stained clothing, dirty hands, and the numerous strands of hair that had escaped her usually perfect bun. When compared to Mancrest, whose ripped garments were coated in blood as well as soot, she appeared only moderately disheveled, but the group had clearly seen action.
Sicarius heard the soft footsteps and rustling clothing of Books and the others a couple of seconds before Amaranthe’s gaze shifted in that direction. At first, she simply nodded toward them as they approached, but her eyes widened when Akstyr came into the light, revealing the freshly hacked locks atop his head.
This time, the eyebrow she arched at Sicarius rose even higher. “Trouble?”
“No.” The mild altercation at the Barracks hardly qualified as thus. Sicarius brushed some of the soot off the pale fur trim of her hood. “You?”
Amaranthe smiled. “No.”
Books looked back and forth between them, shook his head, and walked back into the alley, muttering, “Crazy. Both of them.”
Deeming the alley a more suitable place to catch up, Sicarius also strode in that direction.
“No, no,” Maldynado said, “I can keep taking care of these blokes. No need for anyone to offer to help.”
“Has he been complaining again?” Yara asked Amaranthe.
“No more than usual.”
“That much?”
“I’m not as enamored with this group now that there are two women,” Maldynado announced to no one in particular. “Too much girl talk.”
“Girl talk?” Books asked. “You’re the only one who blathers on about hair, hats, and fashion. The last chat I overheard between Amaranthe and Sergeant Yara involved plans for acquiring troops and munitions.”
“I fail to see your point,” Maldynado said blandly.
They’d reached the alley, and Amaranthe cleared her throat and waved toward the shadows, shadows she probably saw as potentially threatening, though, of course Sicarius had checked the entire area and continued to listen for the approach of others. “Perhaps,” she said, “we can head to our new hideout for further discussion.”
“I didn’t know outlaws discussed hair, hats, and fashion in their hideouts,” Mancrest said. “I’d always been under the impression that more nefarious topics were covered.”
Sicarius didn’t miss the smile Amaranthe gave him. It wasn’t flirtatious, but it was a reminder that both she and Sespian appreciated humor, something that he had a poor grasp on.
“This group talks about a wide variety of subjects, from what I’ve seen,” Sespian said from the wall he leaned against. He’d remained in the alley instead of going out with the group, and Mancrest noticed him for the first time.
“I… is that…?” Mancrest squinted. The darkness masked Sespian’s features, and the two had probably never met in person. “Sire?”
“Just Sespian. If you haven’t heard, I’m not-”
Amaranthe had taken a couple of nonchalant steps toward Sespian, and she interrupted his words with an elbow nudge to the ribs. Sicarius nodded at her. If Forge hadn’t come forth about the paternity information yet, there was no reason for them to announce it of their own accord. They could worry about being honest with the populace after Sespian had regained the Barracks and the throne-if that was what he and Amaranthe wished to do. Sicarius would prefer to see another with the responsibility and Sespian free to live a life of his choosing.
Sespian got the message, for he switched to, “Let’s just say someone else is sleeping in my bed at the moment.”
“Though it seems not everybody is happy about that,” Books said. “We stumbled across an assassin who was apparently in the Imperial Barracks to cut Ravido’s throat.”
“I hope you left him alone then,” Amaranthe said.
The two prisoners were gawking at Sespian. Sicarius wondered why Amaranthe had brought them and was speaking so openly in front of them. Had Books truly overheard her discussing the acquisition of troops? Did she intend to start with this random pair? More likely, she’d had to choose between killing them or bringing them along to keep them from tattling about the team’s presence in the city. Now they were stuck with them.
“Not exactly.” Books looked at Sicarius.
Sespian, Basilard, Yara, and Mancrest all frowned at Sicarius. Amaranthe didn’t frown, but there was a sad acceptance to her gaze. Sicarius was tempted to explain what had happened, letting her know he’d been forced to kill the other assassin, but she was right: this wasn’t an appropriate place for storytelling. Besides, he refused to get into an argument, defending his actions, with this many people looking on.
“The molasses factory on Fourth and Waterfront, is that your suggested hideout?” Sicarius asked.
“Yes,” Yara said.
“We should ascertain its acceptability and share information there instead of dawdling here.” He strode off without waiting to see if anyone followed, in part to avoid seeing further disappointment from Amaranthe and, in larger and more practical part, he told himself, to arrive ahead of them and fully scout the proposed hideout for trouble.
Chapter 5
Amaranthe walked past two huge cylindrical tanks, wondering if they still held liquid, and led the team toward the back door of Svargot’s Molasses Distillery. Sicarius was presumably already there, scouting the place. On the walk over there, he’d returned to the group twice to warn them of enforcers along their route. Wanting to avoid more confrontations that night, she had veered out of the way to slip past the patrols unnoticed. She’d been walking alongside Sespian and their two prisoners, Corporal Evik, a rangy man with black hair that did its best to curl despite the short soldier’s cut, and Private Rudev, the fellow who’d been pinned beneath the beam. With every limping step, he gritted his teeth. Most of them anyway; a couple of front ones were missing. He was the one who’d made the spanking comment in the basement, and Amaranthe had caught a few other sarcastic mutterings from him, so she wasn’t surprised his face had met a few fists in its day. He’d grown respectful, or at least quiet, in Sespian’s presence though, and she sensed there might be hope in winning them over.
Basilard trotted ahead of the group to open the back door while Yara dug in her rucksack to produce a lantern.
“Thank you,” Amaranthe said.
Though she believed Sicarius was around, she stepped to the side as soon as she entered, putting her back to the wall, so she wouldn’t be outlined in the doorway. She trusted that Yara and Basilard had scouted the building during the day, but the temperature had dropped below freezing, and they weren’t far from a populous part of the city. Vagrants might also find the quarters amenable for the night. Or bounty hunters.
The air smelled of charred wood, a different scent from the pervasive coal smog that permeated the city in the winter. Someone had made a campfire recently.