Sespian didn’t smile at this attempted joke. “Nobody will follow me once they learn the truth, and those we’ve gathered in the meantime will feel betrayed.”
“I assume this means you didn’t find anything useful in Sicarius’s files?”
Sespian studied his fingernails. “Books read the records more closely, and I’m sure he could give you further details, but Hollowcrest and my fath-Raumesys picked a common-born male because they weren’t sure if they were going to let the parents live after the… experiment. They wouldn’t consider killing a warrior-caste man, I suppose. They happened to find an extremely gifted athlete and warrior in a marine sergeant named Paloic who came to their attention because he served with a young Captain Starcrest. He was something of an unsung hero, standing in the shadow of his superior officer, but the way he fought and led his marines was impressive enough that Starcrest sent a letter to the Admiralty, suggesting him for officer training. Instead, he got turned into brood stock.”
“Hm, not warrior-caste, but the sort of hero imperial citizens like. I don’t suppose he’s still alive somewhere?” Amaranthe imagined dragging Sicarius off on a hunt to find his parents when this was all over. He might not be enthused, but she’d be tickled to meet them.
“No,” Sespian said with a grimness that implied there was more to the story. “He committed suicide shortly after his summons to the capital.”
Definitely more to the story.
“Go on,” Amaranthe said.
“It seems Hollowcrest had a notion of creating a mixed blood assassin, one who could pass as a Turgonian but one who could also blend in should he be sent on missions across borders.”
Yes, that was something that Sicarius had done, with chilling success.
“They kidnapped a Kyattese ambassador in the capital, a bright woman with numerous degrees who’d come to work on establishing better trade and tariff policies with Turgonia.”
“Oh?” Amaranthe asked, though she had an inkling of where the story was going. Maybe she didn’t want the details.
“Paloic was instructed to inseminate her. Given the results, he must have done it, but one can surmise that it was a forced mating, something that, given his subsequent suicide, didn’t sit well with him.”
Amaranthe dropped her chin into her hand. Hollowcrest had certainly had a knack for taking upright young soldiers-and enforcers-and using their indoctrinated loyalty to the empire to force them to do as he wished.
“After a suitable male child was delivered, the mother was killed,” Sespian said. “Not only is the story of how my grandfather raped my grandmother to produce my father not one I want to see in the newspapers, it’s not going to improve my claim on the throne. If anything I’m in a worse spot now, because I’m one quarter Kyattese instead of being full-blooded Turgonian.”
“That… shouldn’t be that important. All Turgonians have mixed blood if you go back far enough, but, yes… I don’t think that story would stir the hearts of the people.”
“Sicarius’s heritage should remain a secret, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Well, let’s not give up. If I can discombobulate Forge enough before you make your main push, maybe they’ll be too distracted to get their article into the newspaper.” Or maybe they could lock up the senior Lord Mancrest and put Deret back in charge of the Gazette. The backs of Amaranthe’s eyes throbbed. Her project list was getting longer and longer.
“Maybe.” Sespian didn’t sound convinced. He stood up, putting a hand on her shoulder before leaving. “I do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. Thank you.”
Amaranthe could only sigh as he headed for the door.
Sespian paused with his hand on the knob. “If it means anything to you, I saw some of the details of his childhood and how they raised him. I… can’t imagine ever wanting to spend time with him, but I… get why he is what he is.”
You’ve seen him fight for us, for you, Amaranthe wanted to say. Wasn’t that enough? She clenched her teeth to keep from speaking aloud and tried to tell herself this represented progress. At least Sespian didn’t hate him any more. But, bloody dead ancestors, she wanted so much more for them, for Sicarius.
Out in the factory, someone had covered all the windows and lit a few lanterns, so one might find one’s way to a room-or the water closet-without falling off a catwalk and into a vat along the way. She offered a silent thank you to Books or whoever had taken the initiative.
A yawn so huge it evoked tears took over her mouth. She supposed she should find a place to sleep-were any of those offices left at this point? — but she remembered Sicarius’s request for a private audience. She should see what he wanted. He would have found a private room or nook somewhere for himself. She wondered what he’d say if she asked to share it with him. Maybe having the indomitable Sicarius’s arms around her would let her mind rest enough for a peaceful night of sleep. Of course, if past moments of closeness were anything to go by, she’d be too distracted to think about sleeping.
Clangs sounded on the nearest set of catwalk stairs. Akstyr shambled toward her, his hair in disarray, even more disarray than earlier in the night.
“We’ve got a problem,” he announced.
“Oh?” Amaranthe asked.
“I better show you.” With nothing more helpful than that, he climbed back up the stairs.
Amaranthe followed him, not simply up to a catwalk but up a ladder as well. It led to a trapdoor that opened onto the roof. She climbed out after him and pulled her jacket tighter. Cold wind gusted in from the lake, which was just visible from the three-story perch. She wondered if their guess was correct, and the Behemoth lay on the bottom. Given how many inimical things her team had found lurking underwater, she was beginning to think the capital should have been settled in the mountains, with nothing except a small stream nearby.
Clouds hid the stars and moon, and Amaranthe almost missed the dark figure stepping away from the chimney. She tensed, hand dropping to her waist, but she hadn’t been carrying her weapons around the factory.
“Oh, good,” came Yara’s voice. “I was thinking about getting someone. I thought I heard… I’m not sure what it is. Something heavy pacing about down there.”
“You’re standing guard?” Amaranthe peered about. “Alone?”
“I drew the black tile, and, yes, alone because someone with a tendency to whine got cold when I pointed out that snuggling to share body warmth would be distracting and inappropriate during guard duty.”
“Nobody wants to hear about that stuff,” Akstyr said. “Over here, Am’ranthe. We might be able to see-”
A cringe-inspiring canine howl drifted out of the night, the eerie tone raising gooseflesh on Amaranthe’s arms. It made her want to run inside and hide behind Sicarius.
Trying for a modicum of bravado, she finished Akstyr’s sentence with, “-something we don’t particularly want to see?”
“What was that?” Yara demanded.
Instead of saying what she wished, such as, “Why don’t we go inside, lock the doors, and not find out?” Amaranthe walked toward the edge of the roof on the lake side of the building. She thought the noise had come from that direction, but the way the wail had coursed through the streets all around them made it hard to tell. Wondering if she should have gone back inside for weapons, she peered over the side. Somehow she doubted weapons would help. If Akstyr had been the one to come and get her, it had to be something-
Another yowl erupted from the shadows. Even expecting it this time, Amaranthe flinched. At least she drew a better bead on its location-perhaps a half a block away and in one of the alleys between the other buildings, but she still couldn’t tell what had made the cry. No wild animal, she feared. Snow dusted the ground and, in the light of a streetlamp down the block, she spotted prints, large prints made by something heavy.